Waiting for Sue
by Jace Daniel (b. 1969)
It happened at the top of a very tall bridge. Three women — a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead — were waiting for Sue.
“Is she on her way?” the brunette asked, holding the gun on the blonde and the redhead. “I don’t think I can last much longer. I have my responsibilities, you know.”
“We all have our own cross to bear,” the blonde said. “From cancer to AIDS to pneumonia to heart disease, I can barely keep up. Last year was a particularly busy one for me, with over seventy thousand people dying of diabetes in the United States alone.”
“I don’t envy you,” the redhead said, staring down the barrel of the brunette’s gun. “But accidents are far more tragic than disease. Factory mishaps, natural disasters, children getting hit by cars… if I have to deal with another accident-related death again, I’m going to look for another job.”
The brunette looked at her watch, finger on the trigger. “She was supposed to be here an hour ago. This job is killing me.”
“Look,” the blonde said, pointing. “As nature would have it, here she comes.”
“Better late than never,” the redhead said. “Timing is everything.”
Sue walked up to the three women and smiled. The brunette put down the gun.
“Sorry I’m late,” Sue said. “From depression to angst to hopelessness to loneliness, I’ve been swamped. I was quite busy this afternoon with a guy who decided to lock himself in the garage with a running automobile. He thought it would be a painless way to go, but if he wanted to know the truth, I would have informed him that hanging himself from the rafters would’ve been much quicker.”
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the brunette said, climbing up on the rail. “This job is murder.”
“Thanks for coming,” the blonde said, climbing up on the rail. “This job makes me sick.”
“Everything happens for a reason,” the redhead said, climbing up on the rail. “There are no accidents.”
And with that, the three women jumped.
(For M)
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