People believe the lies they want to. They pick and chose fables to follow.“Death comes in threes.” Anyone sane knows it’s bull s***, but those who are desperate find logic in the nonsense. She began to count on her fingers.
Index: The husband of the woman who sits in front of her at church.
Middle: Her boss’ mother.
Ring: Her brother-in-law’s step-sister.
That’s three.
Tragic, she thought, but that thought did not linger long. She was too happy to stay alive.
But wise tales are not as wise as they seem.

We live side by side with death every day. Some embrace it, running the race.
Others cower in constant fear, dying with regrets on their lips.

She took the bus avoiding eye contact with the man she thought lived in a shopping cart. He was used to it, but it still hurt. He was struggling and needed a little attention. Don’t we all.

Judgment is too easy to cast nowadays. One look, one first impression and we are locked in a choking stereotype that is killing us slowly.

When she arrives at work she goes straight to her cubicle avoiding conversations at the coffee pot. She did not have a care for reality TV shows or any sort of TV shows. They distracted from the life she wasn’t living. At 9:05 she knew there were only 28500 seconds left. She sat at her screen refreshing the page, doing nothing until 5 o’ clock hit.

We slide by life, not giving an opportunity our undivided attention, or any attention at all. This is the problem, because in each opportunity is life. Not bland, grey, scheduled life, but a life that is spontaneous and exciting. A life worth living.

At five she goes home and makes one serving of pasta, lights a candle and eats a romantic dinner for one. Sometimes she writes, but lately inspiration is too far. She thinks: Death comes in threes, she is safe, she is safe. This mantra repeats in her head. She is safe. It repeats as she heads upstairs. She is safe. As opens up her nightstand drawer. She is safe. She counts on her fingers once more.
Middle: Holds the gun in place.
Thumb: Steadies it in her shaking wrists.
Index: Coddles the trigger.

Death comes in threes.
1, 2, Bang.