A Death Fit For A Fool

I would choose to be a millionaire in every lifetime. As most people probably would if given the chance. Not that I would know what most people would do, since I'm often told I'm nothing like 'most people' which is fine. I don't want to be anything like 'most people'. Why would I when I'm a millionaire. And because I'm a millionaire, I live a comfortable life. I'm not self made...no, I didn't work for this...no. I come from a long line of trillionaires and billionaires, who worked hard enough that I won't ever have to. And most people would be grateful for that, but as we've already established, I am not most people, so grateful isn't necessarily what I feel when I think of those who came before me. If I had to name it...this feeling, I would lean more towards expectant, or maybe pleased. See it is my belief that this is what someone should do when they have that itch, that primitive yearning to continue their bloodline out of duty, or simply fail to pull out on time. If you take part in that selfish act of bringing life into this world then at least soften the blow with a little something to rely on. Money, so their descendants won't have to do anything at all if they don't so choose. And I guess that's what you could consider what it is that I do for a living. I simply live, I exist, I do what pleases me when I so much as have the thought that it might be something that could satisfy a quick-minute urge. I do not however, plan on furthering my bloodline in any way of the words. I see no point. Why would I when all this money could die with me, be buried with me. Or rather when I have all this money to bury myself in. See I've always said that my last hurrah will be my tomb. "Bury me like the Pharaoh's" I said. "Make sure archaeologists will be foaming at the mouth at the thought of digging me up." I want to die greater than I've lived. Notably I suppose. Textbook worthy, absolutely. I want my death to be a story that will be retold in every generation and continued on as a myth to whatever intelligent life forms come along after we've ruined the world. I want the death befitting of a god. That is if a god could die. I guess we'll figure it out, if I ever kick the bucket. I never thought of myself in that way before but it's possible. Me, a god. All powerful, above the common people, creating anything I want with the flick of a wrist and the signing of a pen. I'll probably be the first god to die a human's death. Maybe there was one or two before me, I forgot to check. The thought curls around my stomach tightening like one of the blood pressure cuffs. I wonder how it will happen. In my sleep, something most people would hope for. Personally, I'd rather eat shit. Actually new topic, that one wasn't as fun as I planned. Let's talk about my family some more. I have a brother, if you could call him that. Had. He died a fool's death, something average, something I'd much rather not talk about at this current moment in time, but we could come back to it later if I'd like. Let's talk of my parents. A mother, a father the basics. I had those of course. They loved each other, they were lovely, They loved me the most of course, it's all rather usual, not much to say on that. Oh! one did die rather notably, I can't remember which, I loved them too once upon a time, it might have been my mother something about a bomb-but I'd also like to stay away from that If I could be so kind. I was in love once, did I mention that yet? To a girl, she was beautiful of course. What would an ugly woman be to a man with everything? That is not being vain, it's simply stating the obvious. I would never fall for what is beneath me, what is unfitting of a god. Which I am. Hence my dilemma. Because there's been plenty of ugly women who have fallen at my feet, sin offerings, just their putrid selves seeking my wealth. Showing nothing in return. I asked them of course, that question, which I want to note, I was owed. Because wouldn't you also seek something from a person after they crawled their way into your pockets through fabrication and loveless shams. Did I mention my brother died of a tumor in his brain, isn't that something? I don't remember much of him, But I might of loved him. A long time ago that is. Now all I remember's when he stole my favorite hat. and to most people that probably wouldn't be considered a capital offense, but think about. To someone who could have anything, why would I care about a hat? Because dear listener it was in fact not just a hat, it meant something to me, I can't remember what it was, but it'll return later when this fit of rage calms down. Did I mention out of the three of us, I was the sweetest sibling. That I remember. Kindness was always my most notable trait. I wonder where it's gone. I wish to talk about Father now. He was a great man. He worked hard, he loved his family, loved his wife. He died some time before she did. Before the bomb-Lets talk about father. Father went slowly, but his symptoms came quick. Personality changes, mood swings, forgetfulness, nonsense stories, unwarranted aggress-I want to talk about something else now. What were we talking about before? Did I mention I'm a god. The last in a long line of god's who all died the same. It was a tumor I think. A tumor in our head's-I'm a millionaire, have I said that yet? I just need a little more money. A little more and I'll surely be able to buy my way out of a fools death.