Skulls at the Museum

As we rounded the corner at the bottom of the dark stairs, the person in front of us stopped so quickly we ran into him.  He sucked his breath in, and turned to leave, but there was no where for him to go. He was stuck. The skulls grinned with vacant eyes, but we knew they knew we knew they were long dead. But still. Why the grin? Did they think the man was silly? Or was it something else?

Death wears a smile because she knows. She knows when and how, although it is not she that decides either one. She knows when because it is her job to execute. She knows how it is to happen, but she does not decide how it happens. Her job is to execute according to the plan. She smiles because she likes her job most days. She wears chic clothes, expensive shoes, and get-out-of-my-way hats when the mood strikes her.

The skulls grin because it’s over. They’re done. Life has been well, life. There’s no more struggle. No more scratching for food, pondering the future, regretting the past. There’s nothing at all to do, but smile. Vacantly. Still. Completely still. It’s their job.

When you go next time to one of those museums, take a look. You’ll see. And you will realize that there is no way to know how each of those people lived. Were they happy? Were they rich? Were they famous? They’re not telling. It’s not their job, and it’s really none of our business. Isn’t that amazing?