I’m sure you’ve ruminated a great deal about life: pondering, planning, plotting how to make the most of it.
Have you ever thought about how you’d like to die?
Would you fancy a soldier’s death? You’d have won many a battle but lost the last one against the usurper of breath.
Or is it a sailor’s death that you fancy? You’d kick the bucket doing what you do best, pulled into the arms of the sea mother, you spent your entire life worshipping.
Would a famous person’s slow death be up your alley? Celebrated long after your physical absence, strangers will mourn you like their own, until trenching hoes of time bury the memory of you underground.
Or is it a rebel’s death that you prefer? A death charted out with cunning by those who unfairly wield power and hang justice, the last trace of your murder will be invisible. You’ll meet the maker, hoping at least he’ll mourn you.
Me? I favour an activist’s death, basking in the rapturous knowledge that I left the world more equal than I found it.