Read along while you listen to Canadian story-reader Heather Sherman's treatment of my slice-of-life flash-fiction Obituary:
😎
The original story, as written:
Doob was a soak who drank alone at his regular barstool in his local, where today the dark interior contrasted with a warm sunlit afternoon outside. He had extended his lunchtime drinking, skipped returning to work, had told his employer he would be out of the office to follow up an unspecified list of potential new prospects.
Donald O'Brien hated his job, hated his life.
Looking straight ahead he saw himself nursing his whisky and beer in the mirror sat behind the optics. This ritual he would repeat until, probably some time mid-evening, he would stagger back to the empty home he no longer shared with his wife.
Now well into his early thirties, Doob's hair had thinned and jowls were becoming noticeably pronounced. The creased suit he wore was just as shabby, as were his stained shirt collar and a tie he'd just loosened to the point it resembled a noose. Doob muttered to himself under foul breath.
He didn't turn round when the stranger walked in and ordered a beer. The stranger in turn paid no obvious attention to Doob. The man, who looked vaguely familiar, carried his cold beer to an empty table sat over in a far corner, right on the periphery of Doob's blurring vision.
Doob then recalled an episode from his school days when, aged fifteen, he'd submitted a scathing review of a recently deceased celebrity's biography to a national Sunday newspaper who duly published it. He became a popular topic of conversation that week among his teachers, through whom the wider school learned with wonder of his moment in the limelight.
Prompted by the memory, Doob the washed-up insurance rep now realized where he'd seen the stranger before. Although he couldn't quite remember the man's name, Doob knew he'd briefly been a pupil in his year. His palms now started to sweat.
Glancing through the window and out at the afternoon sun, Doob was composing a three-line obituary for himself in his head as he signalled to the barman for another round.
Proverbs 23:29–35 - KJV