The sound of the old man gasping for his last breath awoke Nurse Marie from her doze. It was two in the morning when she hauled herself to her feet. Before she reached the bed she knew Cheerful Charlie Chuckles, the end-of-the-seaside-pier comedian of 62 years’ vintage, had died for the last time.
As she checked his silent pulse, Cheerful Charlie’s body rattled, the main lights in the room shut out and the body was lighted by a single bedside lamp. She clearly heard:
Evenin’ ladies and gentlemen! Or as we say here at the seaside — ‘Mind the jellyfish!’
Welcome to beautiful Blackpool, home of sand, sun, and at least one suspicious stain in every boarding house!
I’ve been staying at a guesthouse run by a woman so strict, I have to knock before I use my own towel.
I said, ‘Do you do bed and breakfast?’
She said, ‘Only if you’re married to me!’
I spent the whole day on the beach. Lovely time!
Until the tide came in.
Then I spent the whole evening in the sea!
Oh, but marriage, my friends — It’s a wonderful institution.
But who wants to live in an institution?
My wife said she wanted something that goes from 0 to 60 in three seconds.
I bought her bathroom scales.
Thank you, dear friends, for bearing with my dreadful jests.
I’ll see you next tide, same time, same damp trousers!
Nurse Marie wheeled a screen around his body and went to telephone the priest.
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Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 