1. The followingshortstorywassubmittedtothe SouthAfricanWriter’sCollege ShortStory
Competitionin2014, where itwonsecondplace.Itis publishedonline at
http://www.sawriterscollege.co.za/Resources/SA+Writers+College+Writing+Competitions/SAWC+20
14+Short+Story+Competition/2014+SA+Weiters+College+Short+Story+Competition+Runner+Up.htm
l
“I am a part of all that I have met.”
Ulysses
Lord AlfredTennyson
DEATH and SANDWICHES
By Gina Kukard
OliverGreenwoke upwithaslightlynauseatedfeelingchurninginthe pitof hisstomach.Hisneck
was stiff,he wassittinginagreenplasticchairin some sortof pensioner’squeueandhe hadno idea
howhe’dgottenthere. He rubbedthe sleepoutof hiseyes,smoothedhislong,rumpledgingerhair
and blue collaredshirt,andlookedaroundanxiously. He was secondinthe queue. The greendoor
at the frontof the roomopenedanda small,wiryhairedoldmanwalkedout. The ladyon the very
lastchair got up andwentintothe small room. Oliver,sensinghismissedopportunity,gotupwith
the rest of the surprisinglyoldpeople andmovedone chairspace forward. He wasnow sittingright
at the frontof the queue. He turnedtothe man sittingnexttohim.“Er, excuse me sir,but couldyou
tell me whatthisqueue isfor?”The mansmiledabsentlyatOliverandstartedspoutinginsome sort
of mixture of FrenchandArabic,suddenlyhe stoppedandsaidinflawlessEnglish,“Why,yes.”
“Yes?” Oliversaid,gettingexcited.
“Yes!” said the foreigner.
Oliverpaused,wilting.“Ah,yesisit?”
“Yes,” Saidthe bizarre little man,beamingathim. Olivernodded,blinkedhard,andbeganlooking
for an exit. There wasa blue doorat the opposite endof the room, he startedfor it. Suddenlythe
greendooropenedanda commandingvoice calledout,“NextPlease!”Oliverturned;the funny
Arabicman was lookingathim,he gave hima thumbsup and said“Yes,”quite exuberantly. Oliver
sighed;he was,afterall,firstinthe queue. He wentin.
The room itself wassurprisinglycozy;afew antique lookingpicturesof chickensadornedthe walls,
whichwere paintedapleasantpale yellow. Anold,scratcheddeskmade of maple tookupmost of
the room, andtwo scabbylookingblackleatherchairssat on opposite endsof it. The closestside of
the deskhelda brassplacard that statedthe name RufusGeddes;andbeneathit,inevenlyspaced
lettersfitforanypreschoolertoreadwas the lone word:Q U E R I E S. The far side of the deskheld

2. Mr. Geddeshimself,abaldmanwitha moonshapedface on a stout little body. Hiseyeswere set
quite farapart, givinghimanair of immense geniusorintense madness,andhe seemedquiteready
to leapoutof hischair and beginpacingthe geometricallyprintedcarpetforanyoccasion
whatsoever.He wasalsowearingabrownhound’s-toothjacketthatremindedOliverinexplicablyof
hislongdeceasedgrandmother.
“Ah,Mrs. Olive Green,”saidMr.Geddes.“Please sitdown.”
“Mister,”saidOliver,
“Yes?” The man lookedupquizzically.
“No,I meanI’m a mister,”saidOliver,“MisterOliverGreen.”
“Oh I see!”Criedthe little maninaslightlyquizzicalvoice thatclearlysaidhe didn’tsee atall.
“It’sthe longhair,I’ve beentryingtowrite andit’sjustreallygrown…”Olivertrailedoff,“That’sreally
beside the pointthough,howdidyouknow myname?”
“The labelingdepartmentgivesyouabraceletthatthe doorscans as you walkin;I geta readout on
my computer.” Oliverglancedathiswrist,sure enough,inboldlettersitwasprintedMRS.OLIVE
GREEN.
“Thisis…I mean,I’msorrysir,” saidOliver,holdingupahand ina state of complete bewilderment
now,“But where exactlyamI?”
True to form,Geddessprangupand beganpacingthe brown carpet,he narrowedhiseyesalittle
and lookedatOliverdisapprovingly,“Letme askyou thisfirst,Mrs. Green;have yourecently
stoppedpayingyourlife insurancepolicy?”
“Mister,and I’ve beenhavingalittle problemwiththe banksince I’ve beenbetweenjobsbut Idon’t
see howthat’s-”
“Andhave you stoppedforwardingyourchainmail viaemail?
“Yes,but how-“
“Well yousee Mrs. Greenwe nowhave a perfectstorm. You,uninsured,have failedtosecure your
ownpost deathfuture,andbynot sendingonthatchain mail,youhave dieddirectlyasaresultof
your ownactions.” Mr. GeddesroundedonOliver,andina matterof fact tone saidslowly,
“Suicide.”
“What?” Oliverstartedtohyperventilate,tryingtopiece togetherinformation. “Isthisa joke,did
my friendssetme up?”He reflectedamoment;he knew alot of accountants. Not exactlythe most
humorouscrowd.
Mr. Geddessatback at hismaple deskandlookedatOliveroversteepledfingers. “Ihate to be the
bearerof bad news,Olive,mayIcall youOlive? Butyouhave recentlydied. Youare now inthe
Departmentof LostTemporal Souls;(the DOLTS) or the SandwichCanteen. We’re abitshortstaffed
at the moment,strikesandall that. Soeveryone’spullingdouble duty. Speakingof which,would

3. youlike a ham andtomato while youwait?Made themmyself thismorning,they’requite good.”
Withoutwaitingforan answer,he pushedabuttonon the agingintercomsystemonhisdesk. “Ms.
Schoemann,please canwe gettwoof my ham and tomato’sonwhite up here?”He pausedand
gesturedtoOliver,whowassittingwatchingthe little manasthoughhisheadhad suddenlymutated
intoa tarantula.“White okaywithyou?”
Olivernoddedweakly,hisnatural mannerskickinginenoughtomanage a polite smilethatcame off
rather more like agrimace.Geddesresumedhisspeech.
“You see,Olive,whatpeople neverrealize whilereadingthroughthe pagesof theirlife insurance
policies,isthatsomewhere betweenpages34and 72 that needtobe signedinordertogrant your
policy;isa “Life AfterDeath”insurance form. Thislittle babyiswedgedinanunlikelyplace toasnot
to cause the readeranydiscomfort;religiousorotherwise,inthe afterdeathdecisionmaking
process. It seemsthatwhilstyouwere inthe processof signingthese formsoverbreakfast,alarge
dollopof strawberryjamcame to reston the sheet;andyou, thinkingitwouldnotbe noticedinthe
myriadof paperwork,threwitinthe trash. Ergo, you have noone deceasedtowelcome you
gracefullytoyourowndeathin a comfortable,happyplace,andyouhave togo throughthe nextlife
selectionprocessquitepainstakingly.
Olivershookhishead,“Nextlife selectionprocess? What?I don’t…How didIdie?Andwhydon’tI
rememberanyof thisselectionstufffromthe lasttime?”
A suddenknockhadbothmen turningtoface the reddoor directlyoppositethe desk. A portly
middle agedwomanwithmassivebreastsandspiked,bleachedblonde hairambledintothe room
withoutwaitingforaresponse. SeeingOliver,she immediatelydroppedintoaseductive pose
againstthe door frame,whichrequiredmuchstrainingof herblackleatherpantsaroundherbulging
buttocks. The frame itself groaned.Slowlyshe liftedherfleshyarmtostroke downherside,causing
a ripple effect.A toothysmile crackedovertwoof herchinsas she saunteredforwardsuggestively,
droppingthe twosandwichesinherenormouspaw ontothe desk.“AlloBeaut’ful,”She saidina low
pitchedScottishbrogue,ignoringherbossentirely. Olivergave aweaksmile inresponse.Ms
Schoemannflutteredhereyelidscoquettishlyandwaddledsexilyoutof the doorwitha lingering
backwardglance. She didlove the youngredheadgirls.
Geddessighed,pickingupasandwichandpeelingthe plastic clingwrapoff the top.“She can be a bit
overzealousasan assistantat times,butshe doeshave the mostperfectpeppertosaltto butter
ratioI’ve evertastedona toastedsandwich.”He chortledabsentlybeforetakingabite large enough
to finishhalf of the bread,andchewedinsilence forabitbefore he rememberedthathe was,in
fact, midinterview.He turnedabsently,“Now,whatwasthe confusionagain?”
Oliverdidn’tblink. “ItwasoverhowI died,”He said drily.
Geddesclearedhisthroat. “Ahyes. It appearsyou hadread a chainmail message statingthatif you
hadn’tre- sentthe poem,“DaLove of Da Earth” in24 hours,thatyou wouldfall off aroof while re-
shinglingandbe impaledbybamboostakesinyourneighbor’sherbgarden”.
Oliverblinked,“Thatdoesseemprettyspecific,doesn’tit?”

4. Geddescontinuedreading,“Yes,it’squite unfortunatethatyougot the poemwrittenbya witch
doctor herself.Whoknew?Anyhoo,assoonasyou’ve filledinafew papers,indemnityformsfor
your eternal soul,andthe like,we cangetyouto the nextstep;the NextLife SelectionProcess.”
Oliverrestedhisheadonhishand. “So…What isthisnextlife selectionthingexactly?”
Geddes’smile widened,he claspedandunclaspedhishandsinglee.“That, Olive;isthe bestpart.
Afterall the paperwork,whichcangeta bittedious- yougettodecide the kindof life youwantto
live nextinaccordance withwhatlife lessonsyouwanttolearn,andat the momentof yourbirth
youforgetall these thingsinstantly. Everynow andagainyou may experience ateenytinysenseof
déjàvu- your mindhasexperiencedexactlythe same sensationbefore whenyouwatchedtosee
whichpathyou wouldselect:butthese are hiccoughsandhappensorarely;youhardlynotice them.
The Viewingdevice thatallowsyoutomake these decisionsisamachine we call the Life Path
Generator. Let’ssay youwant toleada fulfillinglife,learnpatience andhumility. All youneedtodo
isinputthe features,andbob’syourauntie, itcouldgenerate alife pathinwhichyoucan become a
teacherof autisticchildreninBurkinaFaso.Or let’ssayyouwantto learnto be more ambitious,
more disciplined;itcanput youon the path of a naval soldierwhoturnshispassionforboatbuildi ng
intoa billiondollarcorporation.”
OliverlookedatGeddesblankly,“Ikindafiguredthatwaswhatfree will wasall about,”he said.
Geddesdevelopedawildlookinhiseye. “Peopleroundhere getabit uncomfortable withthat
phrase,Olive. The conceptof free will wasputtingusintoabitof a quandary.Because thenwe’d
have to bringthe whole humanityversusreligionspherebackintothings- andthatof course,makes
people…uncomfortable.Reincarnationsome call it,Heavenforothers,it’saplace you’re happy
because youchoose tobe happy,youchoose whatfuture can make youso.”
Geddessmiledaslowandinexplicable smile. Thenhe turnedinhisseatto the filingcabinetbehind
the red doorand pulledouta sheaf of official lookingbeige papers.
“I suggestyoutake a chairto presson and youfill these in,inthe men’sbathroom, lad.”Geddessaid
winking,“MsSchoemannwill be onthe prowl.”