Courtesy of TheWeirdcrap.com
Better off Dead
by
Dan Ericsson
“DOLPHINS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD”, proclaimed the billboard, a dustily painted reminder to “VOTE FOR J. P. MARLEMAN,
RECONQUEST PARTY”. Pete drove on by, having read the sign every morning going to, and every evening returning
from, the city. He coasted past the “YEILD” sign with the dirty picture of the Swedish woman covering the “D”.
He never stopped. There were never any other cars.
There had never been a J. P. Marleman or a “Reconquest Party”, Pete had checked. The sign, which originally read;
“MARGRET THATCHER SAYS THAT ‘DOLPHINS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD’, VOTE FOR J. P. MARLEMAN, RECONQUEST PARTY, HE AGREES”,
was intended as a joke, satire long past it’s relevance. Somebody had, at some time and for reasons unknown, presumably
covered “MARGRET THATCHER SAYS THAT”, and “HE AGREES”, just as the “D” was on the “YEILD” sign. For perhaps the
same reason no one had ever objected. The creator had either died or acquiesced, unaware or not.
The billboard stayed, toweringly inefficiently. Pete realized, from time to time, as he looked at the cracked
wood and paint, that it could say just about anything, and no one would care. Pete never mentioned the sign to
anyone; sure that anyone who wanted to had already seen it. Others rolled past it, on their respective ways to
the city or home or anywhere in between. No one had ever said anything to Pete.
One time he had seen a police officer picking at the dirty picture with a knife, but had given up after cutting
himself. He hadn’t gotten very far. The top left corner had a pair of shallow, half-hearted nicks in it.
One day, before driving past the “DOLPHINS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD” billboard on the way home, Pete stopped into a
local grocery store. The clerk attempted small talk as he rang up purchases, often to no avail.
“What do you know?”, he amiably asked Pete.
“”Dolphins are better off dead”, replied Pete nonchalantly. There were no repercussions.
The intersection at which stood the “YEILD” sign with the picture on it was about halfway home for Pete. The billboard
was half a mile from his home. It, being situated where it was, and given the ghost townish rural region, was
Pete’s closest neighbor. The house that was otherwise nearest him was abandoned, the widow unable to sell and
living in the city.
Pete had never told any of his clients that “Dolphins are better off dead”. He rarely spoke to his clients as
it was. He had very few clients. The ones he did have had been clients for the last twenty years, at least, and
were either untreatable or apathetic. More so the latter. They refused to call, knowing that Pete would be unable
to help them. Pete refused to call, knowing that they wouldn’t come anyway. “Se si beau”, he would say in these
situations. Pete never took high school French, and was, if you asked, unable to tell either what “Se si beau”
meant, or how to spell it. He had heard Eddie Haskell say it on “Leave It To Beaver”. Pete also liked to say
“Que Lastima”, which means “What A Pity” in Spanish. That much Pete did know. “DOLPHINS ARE BETTER OFF DEAD”.
That much Pete did know.
“Se si beau” means “So Beautiful”.
Pete was pretty sure that none of his clients lived anywhere near him. He was also pretty sure that none of them
would know what he was talking about if he said “Dolphins are better off dead”. None of them would probably know
what “Se si beau” meant, either. One or two of them would like to hear about the dirty picture of the Swedish
woman. Que lastima.
Pete, after another day unable to help anyone conquer anything, drove back home. He once again coasted past the
“YEILD sign, its back to him and it’s warning for someone else. He could not see that the dirty picture of the
Swedish woman had been removed, scratched off along with most of the paint from the “D”. The sign still read “YEIL”.
Pete liked to read literary magazines. He had them sent directly to his home, hoping that the mailman who brought
them noticed the billboard and “YEILD” sign. He didn’t like being the only one who knew. When he wrote checks,
he found himself writing “Dolphins are better off dead” in the memo space. He never regretted it afterward.
When Pete arrived home after his pointless siege against the human psyche, he found a water logged, ripped issue
of “In Brief”, a short fiction/essay magazine on the edge of his porch. There was only one salvageable story,
and Pete collapsed into his couch, or chair, or whatever was closest to him to read it. He actually lay on the
floor.
“The greatest enemy to mankind is curiosity, also known as ‘the pursuit of Science’”, Pete looked up from the wrinkled
page, believing he heard machinery, to be specific chain saws, in the distance.
“When presented with a hill, the scientific mind, no matter how primitive will wonder: ‘What’s over that hill?’
And so the mind and fleshy transport of choice, the body, will ascend the slope, discovering, without thought
of those who had discovered the very same hill and beyond before, what lies beneath the crest on the opposite side”.
Pete continued to hear the chain saws, their hum accelerating. He looked toward the window, the mini-blinds down.
Pete turned back to the essay.
“And what if beyond the first lie three other hills? Identical or not, the same mind that drove itself up the
first hill will wonder: ‘What’s over that hill?’, perhaps in triplicate. Accommodating said desire, the scientifically
driven body crosses the recently discovered leeward side and climbs another slope. Then, perched atop the second
hill, the eyes of the body look out upon three other hills”. Pete set the magazine down, and cocked his ear toward
the window. Chain saws.
“Should he continue on to one of the new, distant hills, or does he return to capture the heights of the two he
left behind? Whatever the choice, in a purely scientific world, the dilemma of valleys behind hills could go on
forever, a plain, a dessert, or a forest providing a break but still an obstacle”. Pete could now discern the
gas driven chains ripping into resistance, and, as he looked at the blinds, his foot twitched toward the sound.
Pete pulled himself away to continue reading.
“With all of mankind wandering the hills, process becomes stagnant, or nonexistent. People die from starvation
and exhaustion, afraid to stop and eat.” Pete stood up and walked toward the window. He still held the magazine
in his hand. He read as he fumbled to grab the drawstring.
“And so I propose the enemy to curiosity, and by that token, man’s best friend:…” Pete’s hand found purchase,
and he yanked the blinds open, and his eyes away from the page. “DOLPHINS ARE BETTER” read the half of the billboard
that had not been demolished. Pete could not see the men who wielded the chain saws that demolished the sign that
meant nothing to anyone but Pete. One of them was the man who had scraped the dirty picture of the Swedish woman
off the “YEILD” sign, and another was the one who planned to repaint the “D” tomorrow.
It was those men who killed Pete, not a heart attack as doctors declared. He fell to the floor, not able to say
“Dolphins are better off dead” for the last time, not wanting to call for help, knowing it was too late. Even
if doctors came, by the time they got there the billboard would be completely gone and they wouldn’t read it.
No one would read it.
War, and that which accompanies war, death.”, concluded the essay that Pete wouldn’t finish.
“War stunts the growth of curiosity by giving it guidelines. Men of science can dream, but only of more powerful
weapons. Men can no longer wander the hills, as they must form armies and fight one another. The only curiosity
involved is finding out which nation is stronger. War puts the enemy of mankind to work, helping men defend themselves
against the curiosity of other men”.
The billboard was replace by a new sign, which read “HAVING TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP AT NIGHT? DO YOU WET THE BED?”.
Pete never saw the new sign, which was erected as his crumpled body lay in a morgue. No one was at Pete’s funeral,
no one saw him being buried. His tombstone read “He is in a better place now”. Se si beau. He is better off
dead. Que lastima.
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Courtesy of TheWeirdcrap.com