“Yes, boss. In a hole just to the right of those deserted buildings. He thought he was being buried alive, you should’ve heard him scream. We did as you said, boss, put him in a coffin and lowered it into a makeshift grave. We left holes in the lid to make sure he could breathe.”
“Excellent work, Jimmy. Is he being more talkative this morning?”
“Can’t shut him up, boss. He’s told us everything.”
“Good. Now put him back in the coffin and bury him again. Oh, this time Jimmy, cover up the holes.”
“Sometime this morning, I think. On the High Street by the synagogue. I got hit by a bus.”
“Oh dear, it appears there’s been a dreadful mistake. It should have been a Mr Peter Michael Jones who died this morning, not you. You’re not due here for a good few years yet. This is most unfortunate. If you’ll take a seat Mr Jones I’ll see about getting you back into your earthly body. Let’s just hope it’s not too late.”
The empty tram trundled along the deserted tracks, sticking rigidly to an irrelevant timetable.
At each stop, a mechanical voice would tell you where you were and wish you a good day.
The doors opened for their mandatory fifty-seven seconds and then closed. The driver, an automated robot, needed no tea breaks, nor worked any shift pattern so could continue this journey, back and to, from one end of the promenade to the other, forever.
Had he been programmed to be more aware of his surroundings he may have noticed that the human race had long ceased to exist.
She remembered the beginning. He’d tried so hard to straighten her out, to drag her screaming from the abyss. That’s love for you. But it never lasts. Her demands for his constant attention had stretched his patience to breaking point. Last night he’d told her he was leaving.
She lay in bed watching the dark clouds roll across the sky, remembering their final hours together. She’d pleaded with him to stay, promised she’d change, all to no avail.
She looked down at his blood-soaked body.
Now that he was gone, what was there to keep her from following him?