Joseph Monroe started building the sarcophagus on the day his father fell under a bus.
“Fall under a bus?” he said, “No sir. A nice peaceful death, that’s what I want.”
It took him six weeks, and when he’d finished he lay inside and announced that he’d remain there until his dying day. He fixed a TV to the ceiling, hooked himself up to a catheter and had his wife bring him food and water. At first she tried to sleep there with him, but it was too narrow. For weeks she begged him to come out. For months.
“I ain’t movin’,” he’d say, “A nice peaceful death, that’s what I want.”
She was upset, but part of her understood. Which was why, when she finally shoved the lid across and trapped him inside, she was so surprised that he fought so hard to try to get out.
This is a 100(ish)-word flash fiction story written as part of #SmallTales, with the prompt “Body”. Look up the rules and take part here.
Simon John Cox 