The Dance Of Death

It was the little lady's bedtime. I was reading her a story as is the norm. Recently she has gotten quite into Roald Dahl and I have been reading her a chapter each night before the sleep battle.

The current book we were reading was Mathilda. An odd tale to be frank, which seems to involve lots of physical violence against children. No matter, the little lady loves it.

In the chapter we were reading we got to that old childrens book staple, the parents dying. In my head I was thinking, why oh why do all the parents die in these bloody books.

Fortunately there were no questions and we finished that chapter. It was time for lights out. As the little lady is still a young un she likes someone to stay with her till she falls asleep.

We lay there, I heard her breathing get deeper. Then deeper. Then she started snorfling softly.

Righto thought I, time to get out of here!

I was just about to get up when her little voice piped up.

Daddy, I am worried.

Dammit. No escape for me.

Really darling, what are you worried about?

No doubt it would be something to do with Scooby Doo, Dino Trux or maybe a good old fashioned monster under the bed? Something easily dealt with.

In the dim light from her gro-clock I could see her eyes wide as she turned to me.

I am worried that you will die Daddy.

WHAT?!? Aye, thanks very fucking much.

I am worried you will die when I am little.

Seriously? Was she for real? Funnily enough, I'm not very keen on that idea either.

Don't worry lass, that is quite unlikely.

There was a muffled sob from the dark patch where her head was. Something gleamed in the dim light. I hoped it wasn't a blade.

The sob escalated into a wail.

I don't want you to die Daddy, promise me you won't die. PROMISE PLEEEASE!

Oh lordy, I wished she would stop saying die. What to do? I was reminded of that scene in Team America (Fuck yeah!) where the dude promised the chick he would never die so that he could get his end away. That was funny though. This wasn't quite as amusing.

She started thrashing about and crying about death. More pertinently, me dying. I tried not to take it personally. Perhaps it was even a compliment? Not once had she mentioned Mummy. Perhaps she only dreamed of me dying? Could that be good? It didn't feel good.

I gave her a hug and stroked her brow and she stilled somewhat. I decided to give her some meesterboom style wisdoms. The kind that usually get me in trouble from the good lady.

Well little one, everyone and everything d...

I was interrupted by a soft snoring. She had conked out.

I snuck out feeling somewhat guilty for not being immortal. I had better come up with something good for next time.