Blue Ice
Hugo Calibri had not planned to die so soon. He pulled up the shade on his living room window a crack, just enough to glimpse the front yard.
Hugo had a sleepless night. Still in his pajamas, he raised the shade to get a better look at the driveway, while unconsciously rubbing the stubble on his chin. A bright yellow plastic bag lay in the middle of the grey macadam. Extending from its open end was a rolled up copy of the Magnolia Times. A smile flitted across his face as he realized the newsboy had just driven by on his bike.
Normally, Hugo would be in his business suit before the sun rose, finishing off his coffee and topping off Tucker’s bowl of dry food. The Russian Grey was his sole companion since his wife passed away several years ago. About now, he would be checking his watch and waiting for the newspaper to be dropped off before setting out to work. It was Wednesday, and the office staff at Wendel Manufacturing would soon wonder where he had gotten to.
However, this was not a normal day. Two weeks ago he made a decision which changed all that. Hugo now realized that he had made a major blunder. He had paid for a prediction. Fifty thousand dollars guaranteed he would know how long he had to live. At the time, it seemed like a great idea. He was reasonably fit, a middle-aged accountant living an uncomplicated life. Planning was central
to his worldview, and the chaos of living irked him to no end. He had been convinced that it would be so much better if he could chart the course of his remaining years, insuring that he organized each day, preparing for his last.
Hugo had a sleepless night. Still in his pajamas, he raised the shade to get a better look at the driveway, while unconsciously rubbing the stubble on his chin. A bright yellow plastic bag lay in the middle of the grey macadam. Extending from its open end was a rolled up copy of the Magnolia Times. A smile flitted across his face as he realized the newsboy had just driven by on his bike.
Normally, Hugo would be in his business suit before the sun rose, finishing off his coffee and topping off Tucker’s bowl of dry food. The Russian Grey was his sole companion since his wife passed away several years ago. About now, he would be checking his watch and waiting for the newspaper to be dropped off before setting out to work. It was Wednesday, and the office staff at Wendel Manufacturing would soon wonder where he had gotten to.
However, this was not a normal day. Two weeks ago he made a decision which changed all that. Hugo now realized that he had made a major blunder. He had paid for a prediction. Fifty thousand dollars guaranteed he would know how long he had to live. At the time, it seemed like a great idea. He was reasonably fit, a middle-aged accountant living an uncomplicated life. Planning was central
to his worldview, and the chaos of living irked him to no end. He had been convinced that it would be so much better if he could chart the course of his remaining years, insuring that he organized each day, preparing for his last.