Now That's Sad

Imagine, being so isolated that no one misses you when you're suddenly not quite there. There, but not there, as it were. Within a huge metropolis of countless people, all going about their business, one lone human being's end-of-life experience barely twitches an eyebrow with wonder, or compassion at the passage of yet another life from the quick to the afterlife.

Some kind mordant humour that is; that a lifeless form is casually mistaken for yet another festooning of a residence in honour of that peculiar holiday beloved of children everywhere, regardless of age. Corpses, skeletons, headstones, and all manner of macabre, ghost-like representations are used to deck out - as Hallowe'en ornamentation - private dwellings.

Sending delicious shivers of fear down the darling spines of children out trick-or-treating. And of course, child-conscious adults and fun-loving adults both, do their utmost to set the stage for the night of dark prowling well in advance, building up the suspense and the expectations to a crescendo of fearful delight.

For five days the residents of Marina del Rey, outside of Los Angeles, admired the display a neighbour had set up on his balcony. "It looked like somebody had thrown a dummy over the back of a chair", said a neighbour, afterward. After the grisly discovery of the body of Mostafa, Mahmoud Zayed, 75.

It is believed by local Sheriff's deputies that Mr. Zayed committed suicide, shooting himself in the head, through an eye. Neighbours, it was explained, had reported hearing "popping noises on Sunday".

Pop, you're dead. Just fall over; that's right. Looking good.

Isolation. Solitude. Loneliness. Despair. Disinterest.