2024 New Year’s Obit
…and now, the retelling of the deceased’s last days. The fictionalized depiction of actual events was sanctioned by the deceased on their deathbed and a writer was hired from Upwork for only a quarter of a cent per word. Given the cost, there were low expectations for the quality.
A dark parking lot. The hazy glow from inside the bookstore, the only illumination. She checked from her left to her right, imagining the possible watchers. Once at her car, the thought of danger from the back seat sprung into her head.
She dismissed it as folly but quickly turned to eye the hatch. It was technically possible after all.
Her car’s interior was clear, so she turned on her headlights. Abrupt illumination. She swore she saw a glimmering. A small shining from the ground. But as quick as her eyes thought they saw it, it was gone.
Her heart skipped a beat. She chalked it up to too much caffeine from her bestie barista and drove out of the parking lot, starting her fifteen minute drive home.
She drove, keeping her eyes on the road and along the shoulders, watching for deer. She glanced in her rear view mirror. The occasional driver joined her, their headlights gaining and then passing on her left.
It wasn’t until after the second vehicle that she noticed small glimmers behind her, flashing under the spots of road with street lights.
She stared straight ahead. She didn’t see anything. Not really anyway. And she was almost home.
As she pulled into her apartment parking lot, clicking open the garage door, she knew it wasn’t a trick of the light. They were everywhere now. Covering the asphalt. Clinking against each other. Turning the pavement into some kind of metal pebbled cobblestone.
She took a deep breath, still sitting in her vehicle. If she just stepped hard, rushed through. She could close the garage door once she made it inside.
She stepped out of her vehicle, slammed the door, and walked. Feet stepped down one after the other to defend their ground. The clinking grew as they stacked one on top of another for height. Heads - tails - heads - tails.
She had only made it midway into the parking lot when they reached the tops of her shoes. Pulled to a stop, she looked up. The last thing she saw: Kylie silently meowing in the bedroom window.
It was eleven months before they found her body in the Coinstar. She was still alive, just barely, having subsisted off of condensation that collected on the coins when it was humid. Her life for those months had been change after change after change. She now knew the alloy percentages of each coin in her prison.
In the months following her disappearance, her domestic partner, John, and her feline companion, Kylie, repeatedly searched for her. Kylie usually spooked at the first hint of a vehicle and/or flopped over no-bones-style once her harness was on, but John resolutely committed to the search (you might also call it “the bit”). He was often accompanied by her loved ones, including the dog, Brody, who, despite inbreeding, would undoubtedly pick up her scent.
The deceased’s family was pleasantly surprised at the writing quality of her last moments. If she had still been alive, she would have reminded them that there are quality writers on Upwork even if they’re requesting shit for pay.
If not for her nephew, her story might never have been told. His large jar of coin. His decision to use the coin-counting kiosk. His resignation to the 12.9% service fee plus 99￠ transaction fee coupled with his disinclination for coin rolling. He dumped the change into the grate of the kiosk, glancing through the holes. So began her end with two simple words;
“Auntie Kim?”
Now on to 2024.