Today was going to be the second darkest day of the year… and Herg Ploont hated himself for having missed the fact that YESTERDAY had been December 21st, the darkest day of the year.
He sighed to himself, eyes closed, relaxing in bed. He thought back to all the times he had been late for things. Late for class, late for dates, late at filing his taxes… he’d been late for his own wedding.
“Yeah, THAT worked out great, didn’t it?” he thought, remembering that, in the end, Syliva had filed for divorce first. “Serves me right,” he thought. “Syliva. Who names a kid Syliva and insists it’s not pronounced saliva?”
He’d been late to every party he’d ever been invited to… once as late as a month. “And that was for a Christmas party,” he remembered. But boy, had they laughed about THAT one!
“Why am I always missing things like that?” he pondered to himself. “What is my malfunction?”
He was perpetually late for work, and late with submitting invoices that saved the company money because he was behind by at least 2 year’s worth of salary.
“Is it Sunday… or Monday?” he thought. “Knowing me, it’s WEDNESDAY and I’m two days late getting back from the weekend. Thursday, even, knowing me.”
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People gave him a lot of credit, but he hated himself a little. Maybe this year, he thought, his 2014 resolution should be to show up to things on time. But could he change? Could a leopard change its spots? This habit of lateness was a well-established pattern for him; he’d even been late to his own scheduled birth date by three weeks, managing to be born on February 29th.
“I was born on a LEAP YEAR? No wonder I’m always late,” he thought. “I guess people CAN call me ‘late for dinner’.” The thought made him giggle out loud.
And that’s when he heard a blood-curdling scream.
He bolted upright and stared open-mouthed at his co-workers, mother, ex-wife and current wife all standing around his bed. Which he realized wasn’t a bed at all.
He was late for his own funeral.
