Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt this week is
When Harold Lark passed beyond his mortal state he didn’t, in truth, give the ‘what next’ much mind. Mainly because he’d not expected to die while sitting watching TV. And if Harold had been given to metaphysical philosophising, which he wasn’t, his demise was so quick he would have struggled to string ‘what’ to ‘the f…’ before his fridge detonated, vaporising both Harold and the rest of Pretty Trees Close and its twenty residents.
In truth it was all so quick Harold barely had time to consider whether, in this newly acquired state he was standing or floating. It was then he realised he was in fact hovering, using wings that had grown out of his back.
When you’ve spent your life as what you might describe as an incurious Anglican, to find that, in effect you are Buddhist and you have…
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