So, I almost died today, or something.

Around noon, a little bit later, I thought I’d fix myself some lunch,
so I heated up some sauce and fried an egg and ate the thing and turned everything off,
or so I thought.
Then I got out of there and went about my business,
watched the football game, checked messages,
and all this while a burner of the stove was leaking gas ever so slightly.
I never noticed —I cannot smell—
well, not unless you’re holding the thing an inch away from my face.
Gas leaked for about three hours and then my aunt got home.
Some days ago, a shop not far away blew up for the same reason,
after turning on the lights, or at least that’s what my grandma thinks.
Anyway, my aunt comes in, smells the gas immediately
and turns it off without flicking on the lights.

Now here’s the thing —
she could’ve lit said lights before opening the door —
there’s a switch right outside—
and if she had, and my grandma’s right about the physics, we both would’ve blown up.

A fried egg, a faulty wrist move, no sense of smell, a switch outside.
There. Death.
It really makes you think.
How many people drop like flies each day because of crap like that?
Even people who would've mattered.
And you, you classic book,
you talk about hamartia and sense of tragedy.
Poor you, fake thing.

You seem to think that life cares about beauty.

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