It was Fate

   A Good Day to be Alive…..

Smith was awoken by the rattle of milkbottles and the whistling of the milkman.

He smiled, stretched and scratched.   It was a beautiful morning.

The sun shone through the window, bathing the room in a soft orange glow.

It was a good day to be alive.



Jones awoke in his smoke filled bedroom, from a fitful, alcohol induced sleep.

He cursed the bright light that hurt his eyes.   He threw the alarm clock against the wall.

He reached over to the bedside table and took hold of the empty cigarette packet.

He cursed the lack of cigarettes, he cursed the drink and he cursed life.



Smith strolled into the bathroom, washed and shaved.

He smiled at himself in the mirror.   It would be a good day, he just knew it.

He brushed his teeth and made his way to the kitchen.

A large mug of sweet tea and two slices of buttered toast would last him until eleven.



Jones gave himself what his old mother had called a ‘cats lick’.  He did not bother to shave.

He made his way downstairs where he examined the contents of the ashtray.

He found a cigarette butt and singed his eyelashes as he tried to light it.

Again he cursed.

Smith had finished dressing, put on his working boots and stood in the garden taking deep breaths.

He could smell the scent of next doors roses and other flowers.  He could hear the birds sing.

He began to stroll down the road.

Yes indeed, it was a good day to be alive.



Jones picked up his briefcase and stuffed some papers he had read the previous night into it.

He slammed the front door as he left the house.

He got into his car, which would not start for a minute or two.

Once again he cursed.



Smith strolled down the road with not a worry on his mind.

Jones drove down the road with all the worries of the world in his briefcase.

It was at the last moment that Jones saw a car reverse out of a driveway.

He braked and skidded.   Again he cursed.



Smith heard the car skid and saw it crash into a wall.

He ran towards it to help, a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards.

Halfway, he clutched his chest as he fell to the ground unable to breathe.

‘I’m going to die’ he thought.



Jones emerged from the badly damaged car without a scratch.   He cursed the other driver.

He cursed the lack of cigarettes.   Again he cursed the drink that caused the hangover.

‘I wish I was dead’ he thought to himself.



No one went to the aid of Smith who was now in the throes of a massive heart attack.

‘I hope I don’t die’ he thought aloud.



But he did………..

--------Mike--------