by T Raven Scott

Created on: September 01, 2010   Last Updated: September 15, 2010

         Somewhere there’s a suicide hot line operator questioning her worth as a human, contemplating wrapping the phone cord round her neck, convincing her latest caller to save a bullet for her. Talking people out of death has got to takes its toll. I’m sure some schlub’s sob story could make quite the case for a death worth dying. Death has better options. Heaven has great benefits. No need for car insurance when you can float like a butterfly and better health care if you’re stung by a bee-and hell, well, hell sure as hell has got to be better than this!

        The Joan Riverdale Nursing Facility was directly across from JFK hospital, the very sight where Edgar popped out placenta covered to-be-hugged-by-his-mother. Although Edgar wasn’t exactly on his deathbed, he thought of it often. He also thought of Death’s bed. Was it comfortable? How could you ever get a good night’s sleep with a bazillion or so soon-to-be-corpses on the brain? He could think of nothing more sad and depressing than to die in the same place he was born. In his eyes, it would render his entire existence meaningless. He feared that everything he did up until this point would be washed away, his own precious memories and every memory of him…GONE!  A Holden Caulfield-of-dreams-deferred, The Beginning of the Ender’s Game Over Man. Game Over.

      Edgar stared out his window into the Edison sky. He thought about the Old Parsonage Diner, Menlo Park Mall and the Edison Tower. He thought about Thomas Edison. He had this recurring dream of stealing the bright idea for the light bulb right from the top of T.E.’s head. Grabbing it moments before Edison looked up to see his phosphorescent fortune illuminated above his nose. It was almost as if Edgar already had a light bulb of his own above his tiny head. His brainforest as only he called it was wondrous woodland of wit. Perhaps, if Thomas Edison had invented the light bulb, it was Edgar who had invented the idea.

      “Achoooof! Nurse Salt’s sneeze seized his daydream.

      Carpe Sneezum.

      Until now he hadn’t noticed, but Nurse Salt always attached an F to her sneezes. He was sure it wasn’t intentional, but rather an orthodontic disaster resulting in a severe overbite and

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