Mrs Norris
by Michael S.
Collins
Mrs Norris
knew she was going to die. She knew this, not
only because it was written in the tea leaves,
but also all over the walls and in the sky as
well. God was never one to take things subtly
with Maggie Norris: everywhere she walked she was
confronted by the words "you are going to
die!" This was never very reassuring. As a
psychic she had started to see the phrase hanging
welcomingly everywhere since she had turned fifty.
She wrote her will, divorced her husband so he
wouldn't die a widower, and said final farewells
to friends before dishing out her fortunes to
various CASH charities. This was all very well,
but now Mrs Norris was turning eighty. This meant
either her psychic skills were not all that great,
or else God was in a fairly sadistic mood this
century.
Maggie
wondered if she should watch the news, yet she
knew she had heard it all the night before, and
the night before that. Half an hour of two
smartly dressed newsreaders solemnly addressing
to the camera that she (Mrs Norris) was going to
die. Which must have been slightly boring for
everyone else in the universe. This was followed
by the Sports Roundup, an hour long show
featuring young men excitedly jumping up and down,
and discussing the importance of sporting news
like, "you are going to die!"
It should be
noted just now that Mrs Norris was not an awful
psychic. Nor was God feeling sadistic this
century. This was, in fact, an administrative
error. There was an error message that had
existed somewhere on the computer screen of Maria's
(or if you wish to use her old name, Death's)
computer. However, with her continual nights out,
she simply failed to notice it. No malice was
intended towards Maggie Norris - it was all an
unfortunate mistake. Which is all you can say
about some people, to be honest. Much like what
is about to happen to her.
Mrs Norris was
trying to sleep. It was difficult, seeing as
every single second her eyes were closed the
words "you are going to die" jigged
merrily through her mind, as if to spite her.
This was all very distracting. Seventeen years
ago she had visited a Doctor. This clearly
confused master of medicine told Maggie to take a
few aspirin and have a lengthy lie down. Thirty
years of warnings of her impending death had made
Maggie Norris impatient, surly and agitated. She
was also annoyed when that Doctor, two years
after his pat diagnosis, had inconsiderately
fallen off a pier in Dover, and been eaten by a
Great White Shark holidaying in the English
Channel to get away from all the media attention
in Florida.
Maggie was fed
up waiting for her impending death. This is
somewhat ironic, as in a few hours time Maggie
Norris will have a heart attack and die.
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