A relative of mine died a few days ago. His body was found at the back of his car which was parked along a main provincial road. I was told he was stabbed to death. Some idiot uploaded a photo of his corpse. The upper half of his face was swollen. His eyes seem like they endured some blunt trauma.
It’s like a grisly scene from the movies. But unlike films where its rapid pace or controlled release of information mask or suspend the pain, this one lingered. I was in a daze for a few minutes. I put on Jeffy Buckley’s “Last Goodbye” – the song I want to be played while my corpse is being cremated. There was nothing on my mind as Buckley keened like a delicate banshee. When the song ended, my scant memories of him slowly mushroomed. I didn’t shed tears. But I was in so much pain.
Perhaps the pain was rooted in my curiosity about his lifestyle. Apart from his gregarious personality and his profession, I didn’t know much about him. Was he affiliated with shady figures? Did he engage in some nefarious activity? The answers will come in the next few days. Hopefully, his truth won’t as complicated as most truths.
Punch Time Clock 