dying

Kafka Goes On The Road To See Death

18 February 1917

A drive to the country, to see the dying.

A man from my childhood. We could have been porters in the station, with other people’s luggage, so little did he care.

There was no pretence at conversation, he did not even feign an interest. He had gone into himself, and death patiently awaited his return.

07/09/2024 0

When Kafka Saves The World, Does He Become God?

The old rabbi moved on his bed.

The young man raced over.
«Yes, Rebbe?»

The old rabbi opened his eyes, showing the
cast of death that has almost consumed him.
«Ka…» he groaned.

The young man had been told the dying rabbi would never regain his senses. He leaned closer.
«What do you want?»

The old rabbi struggled for breath.

The young man gazed at pallid features and clouded eyes.
« What can I do?» He put his ear over the gaping mouth.

«Ka… Ka…»

One last ragged breath, a hollow whisper.
«Kafka died for your sins.»

This piece of Flash Fiction was one of the 250 finalists, from the 35,609 stories from 149 countries, entered in the International IV Edition of the Flash Fiction Competition Museum of Words.

05/29/2024 0

Kafka Finds Out The Dying Know No More Than We Do

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

11 March 1917

To the country again.

To the dying.

The family questions why it has not yet happened. Friends take their place in the background. There seem as many social obligations here as elsewhere. I look for something profound, but the dying know no more than we. He does, however, gather his strength for a formal leave-taking. Apologizes to his sons for being a poor father, then expresses his surprise that they take the time to show him so much concern and attention.

They are confused, and wonder why he says such things. They insist his fears are groundless. I can tell their shock is honest, and that they tell the truth. The old man can not smile, but tells them he is glad they say what they say.

And I wonder, if I were in their place, how I could twist the truth to appease the dying.

03/12/2024 0

Whistling Past The Graveyard With Death

I had an invitation which I won’t take too personally. Well – on the other hand – it is as personal to me as it is to any one, so I’m sure that’s OK, too.

The event is Death Expo 2019. I’m assuming they don’t know something that I don’t know – but you never know. I assume that not only are they the experts, but it is – after all – their business. However, I can take comfort (you know, as much as possible) that the topic will … eventually … be as interesting to everyone who is – you know – alive.

Still, even though we all approach closer to Death with each minute of life, and it is really no surprise, I was a bit surprised to find an event dedicated to the fact. And I was a bit bemused by the Free Admission. I mean, don’t they have a captive audience? Still – live and learn.

And it all seems quite sensible, from ‘wills’ to ‘End of life at home’. I was, admittedly, taken quite aback by what I first read as “Death Dracula”. But, even as various images were skirting though my head, I re-read the word. It was “Doula”. Which I had to look up. A Doula is a type of midwife, helping one to exit, instead of enter, this world. As I said – live and learn.

(image)https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s–cQO3xRWG–/c_fill,fl_progressive,g_center,h_900,q_80,w_1600/fv0j6x6wbqomrql7qkjw.jpg

04/12/2019 0

Franz Kafka Ponders Death from “Kafka In The Castle”

2014-05-18-06-55-42

(Statue from the Kafka Museum, Prague)

07 June 1917

I wonder what my final thought will be – just before I die. I was moments away from death this afternoon, as I stepped unheeding onto the tram tracks. The motorman’s frantic bell made me leap. Had I been too slow, my last thoughts would have concerned where and when to take my vacation. Not very glorious last thoughts to possess.

But, had I the time granted to me, what would I chose to think about? Perhaps F. Perhaps the writing – I’d like to finish the novel. Would I torture myself thinking about father? Would I accept that my past – now that it was ending – was finally settled. Or would I instead – and this is what I really expect – be wondering what I was going to miss tomorrow?

06/04/2018 0