I've never
But i wish i had, in this case.

My Grandad, God Bless him, lost his wife some 10 years before he popped his clogs. To boot, he began to exhibit the signs of alzheimers.

We figured that it was in his best interests to move him into a nursing home, simply because he was having trouble keeping himself together and remembering to do things such as a) lock his door b) feed himself or c) attend any appointments at the doctor.

Bear in mind, this was before the advent of PDA's and other such guff for keeping people electronically moving.

Aaaanyhoo. We moved him into a nursing home, and like the scoundrel that he was, he picked up habits like he was a teenager.

He was approximately 500 yards from the pub, and would often go out at teatime, and stumble home at closing time. My old man, and myself, have also experienced this trait.

At any rate, his life was comfortable. A little ... too comfortable. My dad was given a call one evening from the home, asking if he could come and speak to his father. Apparently there had been an 'altercation' in lift. Fearing that my granddad had gotten drunk and assaulted someone, he drew up the car solemnly outside, apologising to every one of the staff on his way in.

Except, by 'altercation' they're meant fraternisation. Yep, my dear old granddad had been 'altercating' with a ladyfriend in the lift. Nice one granddad, i hope i'm still that randy at 75. I still hope my dad high-fived him, and then quietly told him to keep it 'low-key'.

The reason i bring up this story is that my granddad died in that nursing home; and it's a funny story...

He came home, pissed as a fart one night. Apparently singing lots of old Scots songs at top volume, he proceeded to get into the lift and head for his lady's room. Granddad was a filthy bugger.

However, upon getting halfway along the corridor, he tripped and fell flat on his face. Comedy images aside he -in his fragile, old state- managed to fracture his skull. Some 20 yards from his lady's room. Pissed out of his skull. Wearing a party hat.

He never woke up.

By by God do i wish i'd found him. Simply to give him credit, one last time, for his sheer audacity to die without dignity. For his tenacity for being a randy bugger that i hope one day I will become.

Cheers mate, you will be sorely missed!
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:58, 6 replies)

the Ex
I once saw my Ex dead, face down, one hand sprawled out in front, the other under his body. Hole in the head from being shot.

Then i woke up. I was so sad that it was only a dream.
(brotagaia, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:52, 1 reply)

A wagon driver
I knew had a suicide land on his windscreen, (jumping off a bridge); he said it was "weird".
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:52, Reply)

Not human but,,,
When I was about 10 or so I was cycling to my friends house to play some football. Hey it was a sunny day not a cloud in the sky and I was but a young scamp. This time however my dog decided to follow me. Coming out of the house onto the road the dog runs ahead and ends up doing cartwheels down the road after a white van smacked it.

Cue tears etc, etc I’m inconsolable can’t do anything but watch TV and roar and cry. Anyway dog is later put down (murdered in my mind at the time) cue me in hysterics (come on I was 10 and it was my only real friend) and Ma doesn’t know what to do to cheer me up.

The next day we headed to the big town and bought me a pair of football boots. “Sniff, sniff thanks” I warble, so back into the car and home. I disappear to play football and after a while Ma comes looking for me. I’m nowhere to be found. She panics and runs around the house (we live in the country) and eventually finds me in my dogs freshly re-dug grave showing my new boots to by day dead dog. He didn’t say if he liked them or not.

Sorry for length I’m meant to be typing an assignment and this makes it look like I am to anyone watching.
(Samantha Bricks Better half done a poo on, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:52, Reply)

Not at all funny, but anyway...
I used to travel to 6th-form college everyday from a moderately large suburban railway station in London. As this was peak time I'd be treated to a steady string of suicide and attempted suicides on the tracks over the 2 years I was at college.

The one that particularly stood out for me was a cold February morning. I'd just bought myself a large tea from the coffee shop and had sat down on one of the freezing cold metal seats with the cigar-shaped holes in a criss-cross pattern on it. I opened up my copy of Metro and began reading the day's events, complete with spelling errors.

It was after about 3 or 4 minutes that I heard the immortal phrase...
"Stand well away from the edge of Platform 3. The approaching train is not scheduled to stop at this station"

...As the train thundered past I heard a huge *BANG* and the train screeched to a halt. "Oh God," I thought, "Not another."
I heard a few people screaming. By the time the train had stopped it had mostly cleared the station platform, leaving behind the remains of the poor girl who'd decided to end it all.

The bit that stuck in my mind? Her detached, gore-covered arm was stuck to the live rail, frantically juddering as the current surged through it. It's a sight I'll never forget.
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:49, Reply)

Saw my dad dead
That sucked.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:44, Reply)

YES!
The first time I traveled to New Zealand with MrSpong, on a mission to check out the country and the rellies-to-be.

We were traveling down to his Marae to meet an Aunty and Uncle, and when we arrived there was a full tangi just getting going. I was completely lost as I had no idea what people were saying (they all spoke in Maori) and what the protocol was (I know women and men are not allowed to sit together on the Marae at official ceremonies). I was getting on fine until MrSpong announced that the tangi would be going on for 3 days so we'd be bunking down in the Wharenui with the rellies...and the body in an open casket.

O_o

2 nights sleeping with a dead body, that's less than a lot of serial killers.

To be fair, the whole thing was pretty amazing, and the Maori attitude towards death is very healthy and sensible. I've been to a couple of Tangi's now, and even kissed Aunty Mabel goodbye at hers.

Never mind the length, I spent 2 nights with a stiffy!
( DeSpong currently knitting your suggestions - see profile, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 8:02, Reply)

Eeuuw!
When I was a teenager I was into horse-riding, like so many girls of that age. One day riding through the woods I was knocked out of the saddle by a tree branch (cliche) and ended up lying in a puddle of mud, eyeball to eyeball with a long-dead fox.
Shortly after this I discovered boys and lost interest in things equestrian.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 7:55, Reply)

I'll try to keep it short
In my class for my EMT I did a few shifts observation in the ER and on ambulances.

In the ER I worked on a kid who lost everything lower than his mid spine due to drinking and driving... and crashing. I helped the surgeon in ER surgery but was not allowed in the Operating room to fix the kids skull.

On the ambulance I proved to be an unlucky asset. First day of heavy snow of the year, it offered lots of fun. In one shift we saw three deaths. One was an old man drifter who was dying on a couch, left to suffer a few days before the thieving gargoyles who took him in finally called the authorities. A good source of pain meds. He died when I failed to save him.

Later that day we responded to an amazing call, a shooting... in the face! On the way there we were amazed to see another dead body in the road a block away. The shooter ran out of an alley and got hit by a car.

Oh and a drugged bitch who stabbed her mom, she was mental and kept kicking us in the ambulance. WTF?

Being Alaska, we had a few dozen drunks to respond to.

Sorry for length, I usually make up for it elsewhere.
(Marty McFly's Father You're not getting any peanuts until we get home!, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 7:07, Reply)

Grandfather/Uncle
My grandfather died in July 05, when I was 19, and this is the first close member of my family to die, and as such was the first funeral I attended. He'd been sick for ages, chronic diabetes, then pancreatic cancer, then a stroke. In the few days up to his death, he'd been begging my nan to let him home, but we'd all been told to prepare for his death. He died about 5am, my mum got the call about 6, from my nan. I'd not long been in from work, so I was awake still. By 7, we were in Poole (living in Portsmouth at the time).

He looked like he was sleeping, those of us present, my nan, mum, aunt, uncle and me, we all expecting him to let out one of his little snores, grunt and roll over. The thing most troubling was in the week leading up to his death, he'd developed a problem with his foot, some kind of circulatory issue, and by the time we'd got there, it had turned bright fucking purple.

My mum and aunt were cut, my uncle was taking it in his stride, and my nan is a sensationally strong woman, and was helping my comfort the others. I remember not crying too, even at his funeral I didn't cry. I was upset, but I never had a particularly close bond to him, it was a sad loss, but an inevitable one, he was at peace.

The other significant story occured in August 2006, Bank Holiday Weekend. This was my uncle, Alec. Not technically my uncle, he was my grandfather's (dad's dad) brother, but we all called him Uncle Alec. He'd had lung cancer, and every time I went to see my grandparents, they'd say how weak he was becoming, and in the end he passed. Now this goes against QOTW principle, because I didn't see his dead body, I couldn't face it. At his funeral, I stayed in my seat, unable to stand through the weight of the tears.

This man was the thing legends are made of. He was the one who took fatherly responsibility for my sister and I, when my dad lacked this ability. He was the one who taught me how to fish, camping stuff, how to play, and cheat at, board games. He taught me half the rude jokes I know now, even though I was too young to really know what they meant. It's really hard to describe how much of an impact someone has on your life, but he just did. Nothing I say here will ever do him justice really.

Even though it's been a while, I still don't deal with this too well, he was supposed to be the crazy drunk at my wedding, with all the fun stories to tell. The thing that saddens me most, is I learned the coolest things about him, at his funeral, stuff like him knowing Swahili, from serving out there when he was younger. I'd give anything to chat to him about that now, just because there's so much stuff I never knew til it was too late. But the thing that sticks out to me is my last conversation with him, and as such my last words were, me hurrying to get off the phone, as I had to go meet my mum for lunch. Nothing shakes that guilt.

Apologies for length and all that, but hey, it's a story at any rate.
( Trijian, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 6:13, 1 reply)

Unfunny
I had the unpleasant experience of watching my father die. He had been in intensive care after collapsing with pneumonia and was on a respirator. It was all the result of cancer - of the throat, the liver, it was spreading.
After a couple of weeks of fading hope the doctors called us in for the meeting to tell us we weren't extending a life, we were prolonging a death.
That day we withdrew life support and the nurse administered a shot of morphine to make him more comfortable. His lungs were nearly full, and as his body lost oxygen the colours of his face changed. patches of red and purple - I recognized from paintings I'd seen. As it happened, he was surrounded by his family, but his eyes were fixed on mine, and I was determined to meet his gaze.
It took a while - maybe five minutes, but it seemed like forever. The nurse had already declared him dead when he suddenly took a last breath - a final reflex, then a death rattle.
When he was gone, it wasn't him. He was waxy and pale, different even than the man I had known five minutes before.
Aside from that bloody misery, there is a happy part, and that is that I flew 3 hours to get to him in time and get to the hospital, and I had a chance to tell him that I loved him, which I had never done before. He had a ventilator in, but he tapped his chest, and pointed back at me so I knew he loved me too.
I miss him still.
Thanks for letting me tell this.
(TommyShanks, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 5:38, 3 replies)

Emergency Services Volunteer
I'm a member of the State Emergency Service in Victoria, Australia. We do flood and storm, as well as road accident rescue.

As a result, we're usually early on the scene after car accidents, amongst other emergencies, so one has to deal with it fairly often. Probably the worst dead body I've unfortunately had to see, or deal with, was in Frankston, a suburb in the south of Melbourne. Frankston is generally full of bogans and such (not too dissimilar from chavs, but equally as stupid), especially in the northern part, and along the railway line. A guy in his mid twenties happened to be on the railway right of way one afternoon. In front of a 40-car steel freight train. We picked most of him up with a shovel.

There's been others, and one of my fellow members once had to deal with a friend being involved in a fatal accident. We are fortunate that there is counselling available, and that the SES does look after their members.

With regards to length, it was 40 cars long, and travelling at 80km/h.
(Grey_Ghost has yet to decide on a sig on, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 5:08, 2 replies)

....And now I've fully read the title (Need Coffee)...
The only dead bodies I've ever seen were on this sick site my mate used to show me when he came round to my house as a kid.

I'm sure you remember it; where people post up police images of murders / suicides / accidents.

I think the worse was the guy that used a shotgun on himself; there was A LOT missing from his head and grim couldn't begin to describe it.

I'm not generally a squeamish guy but that really made me feel ill. How could anyone do that to themselves; and more importantly; think of the poor bugger who found him dead :-O
(MrTM, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 4:44, 2 replies)

Not seen, or even smelt
Uni, in the 80s. Girlfriend and and I were enjoying the usual spoils of a grant (sex, drugs, alcohol) and she lived above an old and strange bugger who kept himself to himself. Until the day we heard "Police" at the door one morning. Panicking, we hid the stash and went to the door. Apparently the old guy had been reported missing 2 weeks before, and he'd died in the flat below. This was the hot summer of 85 and we were too wasted to notice anything, other than the drains were a bit worse than usual.

He'd basically dissolved in his chair, and Plod couldn't believe we hadn't even noticed. On pointing out he always smelt like that, we found out that he was a diabetic and his legs had rotted over a space of 3 months and he couldn't (or wouldnt) get out to get help.

To be fair, Plod that came in to the flat immediately smelt the dope smoke and said "Not surprised you didn't notice it. Get rid before SOCO arrive or we'll have you in as well".

To his credit, we were OK, but I feel for that poor guy dying alone.
(Dr Teeth Who asked you, you fuckin' hobbit?, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 4:00, 3 replies)

I was married for 3 years.
After 11 years together, every "special" night, I felt like a necrophilliac.

Sorry. I'm drunk and out of dead body tales.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 3:59, Reply)

the only dead bodies i've seen are those of relatives at funerals, and then when I was too young to be able to respond thoughtfully
So I asked my girlfriend (non-b3tard) for a good story from her morgue days (she worked in a morgue in Ireland, which accounts spectacularly for her sense of humor and generally bubbly personality).

"Which story do you want - the perfect murder story or the necrotic leg story?"
"Necrotic leg! Necrotic leg!" I squeal.

"So there was this fat guy... I mean FAT... like wobbles like jell-o when he walks fat... and he's diabetic. His insulin needle breaks off in his leg... and he doesn't go to the doctor for it, not even when the needle traveled deeper into his leg. So the leg gets infected, necrosis sets in, and he dies because necrotic tissue reaches his brain."

"now... the entire body is in stage 2 decomposition, which is normal for a fat dude who's been dead for a week. The leg, however, is in stage 5, which means all the fat has liquefied..." (cue me wincing and throwing my half eaten sandwich in the garbage)

"Well, removing foreign objects is part of the procedure, so we X-ray it... and this is a LOT of fat, his skin is barely containing it... so we make an incision where the needle out to be... and the skin falls apart. There's no way to find this needle. So we spend the better part of an hour, jabbing and prodding a green and liquefied leg with a pair of tweezers, until we got that goddamned needle out. At this point my scrubs are covered in death goo, and I need to use a shit ton of vinegar before I can get the smell out and go to work at the bookstore. Even then, people gave me funny looks."

Length? She can tell you all about that too.
( AgentMuu hentai coordination, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:38, 5 replies)

Yes - my grandfather
When the muscles all stop working and the circulation goes, people don't look like they did before they died. He just wasn't there anymore, it's like the body was just, well, the place he used to live. Something like that anyway.

Doesn't make me any more comfortable with the people here who are talking about fucking corpses though. If that's something that goes on at all, it makes me very glad that when I die, I'll be dead.
(sabre-tooth monkey, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:38, Reply)

Attempted Necrophilia
This story was told to me by a boy I met last week, so I can't be utterly sure of its authenticity.

***

Boy's friend was in the hospital for some sort of surgery, I'm not sure what. All goes as expected, and she awakes...

...to the sight of a nurse standing over her, wanking. She then realizes that she's half-naked--the nurse had stripped her. She does what any woman in her right mind would do, and screams like hell.

People come in and she's rescued from the pervert.

The best part of the story is revealed later--there was some sort of mix-up, and her comatose body was filed as well, dead. The nurse had been wanking over her supposedly dead body, while waiting for it to cool down enough for squishier delights.

***

So maybe the only bodies in it are the silent watchers of the nurse's perversion, but I think it still holds true to the spirit of the question.
(Madame, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:23, 2 replies)

Another
Back when I worked in NYC, I had a remote office out in Redbank, NJ. So I kept my summer rental home on the beach and would commute out there when I knew I had to be in Redbank. It was a lovely home and the drive wasnt bad at all (compared to Manhattan).

One day, two weeks before Christmas, I am driving up the Garden State Parkway and come up on MAD traffic. Dead stopped. Inching along ocasionally. I was on my cell and said the words "You know, with this bullshit traffic, somebody better be dead up there."

A few moments later, I saw the SUV had overturned and the fire department lads had two bodies laid out on the ground with white sheets over them.

I have NEVER felt like such an absolutely twunt as I did at that moment. I have NEVER said or even THOUGHT anything like that since. Those poor people
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:09, 3 replies)

Have posted this story before but...
I've seen quite a few dead bodies of family members who've died. Being brought up catholic you have to endure the formalities of viewing the body (which, creepily, is kept in a room in your house the night before the funeral) to say goodbye. I've never found looking at them that disturbing, it's the emotions behind the loss that make it difficult. It's the unexpected stumbling across of bodies that seems to shock more...
India - For those of you who have visited the sub-continent you'll know that gruesome sights are pretty common. In six months of travelling around I saw many awful things including lepers with missing fingers/hands/noses, people suffering from elephantisis with grotesquely swollen limbs, women with awful burn scars from unsuccessful dowry-death attacks (see edition.cnn.com/WORLD/9608/18/bride.burn/), but by far the most horrific thing I saw in India was in a town called Varanasi. This is a place where Hindus go to die as it is very auspicious to have your funeral on the banks of the holy Ganges river. It's an everyday event to have funeral parties with dead bodies on stretchers carried through the narrow passageways of the town on their way to the ghats (riverbanks) to be disposed of in the traditional way (either cremated on the banks of the river, floated on a raft down the river or sunk to the bottom with a heavy weight attached - which method depends on who you are and how you died) so you get accustomed to the death around you pretty quickly. It's a common sight to see a body floating down the river and can actually be quite comical to see a dead (holy) cow, all bloated and legs akimbo, passing by.

However, one day as I was walking along the ghats I noticed up ahead of me some piece of something with flies buzzing around it. On approach some of the flies retreated revealing the single most upsetting thing I have ever seen - the bloated lower half of a dead baby from it's bum to it's feet. It looked like the top half had been eaten by something. I assumed that it must have been dragged from the river by a dog after being partially eaten by the creatures in there. No-one else seemed to bat an eyelid and I couldn't bring myself to remove it from the footpath so I had to walk away and leave it. It's a sight I'll never forget and even makes me cry now just thinking about it. sob.
On a brighter note, seeing some of the mummified remains of notable monks on display in glass cases in temples, wearing cool shades is quite amusing.
(antigen is running away from something, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:08, Reply)

Tesco truck
About 3 years ago where I used to live, in the quiet(shite), town of Lymington, on the south coast I used to see fairly regularly this old bid on one of them electric go-kart invalid carriage things crossing a main route road near the top of Lymo high street.
Anyway, there was a pedestrian crossing there, press the button, wait for green man, cross. Simple yes?
Not for her, she always used to wait until the stopped traffic was just about to start moving, and she'd nip across the road infront of them, finishing with a triumphant look of 'i'm better than you' on the island outside Wellys club.
One day i saw her, the bloody great big tesco lorry driving along the road didn't. Although i had said several times in the past, she's gonna get it one day, I wasn't quite prepared when i saw that, and it will stick with me for the rest of my life, twas a right mess, and I really do hope that there was no need to do a visual I.D because that would've been outright cruel.
Never knew who she was, but I'll never forget either.

If I can find any info, i'll add linky on.



And last summer after having been there and supporting my step-sons girlfriend with the twins she was carrying, if not helping directly, i.e my missus done it, we were all looking forward to the joyful day of the birth, woo, thinks I, scalextrix, excuse to have a beer etc. She gets told they'll induce at 36 weeks. All going well so far.
exactly 1 week before she was due to be induced, went to hospital for last checks, only to be told they had both died. She carried them kids for nearly 36 weeks, then had to give birth naturally to them.
Poor little buggers, they were left with us for a bit, in this little room in a special area in Poole hospital.

Seeing the old bint above suddenly seemed worthless, when i was holding the fragile bodys of my 'grandchildren'.
Jamie and Lewis they were called, and I'll always remember them, and it makes life seem fragile and special, don't waste it people.
(Mensa Reject has gone out, I'll be back on, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:01, 1 reply)

Dead Wagon
I used to work in a garage. A hearse came in for an MOT (annual roadworthiness inspection, for all you furriners) once, and I had to drop it back off at the funeral directors place afterwards.

Surprisingly quick, although the handling wasn't up to much, and it didn't have a radio.
(theweapon never ever bloody anything ever, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 2:00, Reply)

Many, many, many*
But like many things, you never forget your first.
It was a car crash, the car had gone into the back of a flatbed truck and the driver had been decapitated.
I remember it vividly because I was off to one side talking to some cops when a colleague arrived late, came running up and slipped on some brain.
Oh how we laughed!

(* Used to be a reporter on the police round)
( difficultchild, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 1:50, Reply)

an occupational hazard
Being an actress, I have more than my share of gay friends, which means I have way more than my share of friends dead from AIDS. Bob was gorgeous, funny and a flailing, almost-bad dancer. He and I giggled our way through many rehearsals, secure in the knowledge that as the leads we could get away with our silly behavior. Make-up artists for Christian Dior, he and his boyfriend Glenn were among my most favorite people.
I had been on the road for 9 months playing Juliet across the US. I came home for a weekend by chance, and no sooner had I walked into my mommy's house the phone rang: it was Glenn, telling me Bob had AIDS, he didn't have long and he wanted to see me.
No one knew I was coming home - I hadn't seen Bob and Glenn in a few years - but somehow the Gods arranged for our schedules to converge. I drove to his place immediately. Bob was in a hospital bed in the living room, emaciated, covered in kaposi's sarcoma lesions, but his eyes were the same as when we giggled and danced those few years ago. I hadn't been there long when he began coughing up blood and with it, lung matter. I held him up in my arms, trying to clear the crap from his tongue, his mouth, his throat, in the process getting the gruesome stuff on my hands and arms. In a few minutes it was over, and when he was calmer and we were cleaning him up, I said, "Wow Bob, you sure know how to make a girl feel needed". After that we joked and laughed and gossiped, and mostly just looked into each other's eyes and knew we loved each other. I stayed there for a month, helping care for him. One day I was helping the home help raise him for a sponge bath, and with his arms around me I said, "Oh Bob, I've always dreamed of being in your arms!" his eyes, inches from mine, glittered and glowed as he whispered, "Don't tell Glenn!" and we laughed. Apparently it was the last time. I went home for the night, until the hysterical call from Glenn: Bob was gone. The night I left, Bob told Glenn he wanted to go home, to the green fields. So he did.
When I came into the apartment, he was laying there as always, but at the same time he wasn't there at all. It was as if he was a table, a box; a piece of incidental furniture, nothing at all. I looked at him and kissed his face, his hands, his hair. But he was gone - all that he was, was gone. Less than 1 month later I eulogized him in front of 2000 people. 1 month after that, Patrick, Steven and Justin were dead. 2 months later Tony, David and Carl were dead. and Ted. and Christian. and Miles. and Steve. and Ricky. And 4 months later Glenn went to join Bob in the green fields.
I had a dear friend who asked me how I could have stayed so long in "a death house" (as she called it), how I could've been bathed in lung matter and blood without fear for my own safety, how I didn't go crazy tending Bob, Carl, Miles, Tony, David, Glenn... all of them. I just shook my head; when you love someone, you'll do anything for them, and I loved them all.
(sar "though she be but little she is fierce", Fri 29 Feb 2008, 1:47, 1 reply)

Heck...this is depressing...and that's coming from a goth....
Who chose such a nasty subject matter? Especially when Spring is springing, and we should all be getting happier and randier with the longer days and warmer weather!!??!!

Anyway...to keep On Topic - I've seen lots of dead bodies - I saw my mum when she was nearly a dead body and that was probably the most nasty fooking thing I've ever seen - she was dying after years of alcohol abuse - 2 to 3 litres of vodka a day in her (very) latter years; having to haul her out of the loo after she'd haemorhaged (bloddy hell, how do you spell that word) all up the walls sticks out in my mind nearly the most.

So, seeing as it is days away from the 10 year anniversary of her death I am going to give a light hearted (ish - I am a pseudo goth after all) tale in honour of life, as I cannot see the point in depressing each other with countless tales of 'seeing a dead body' which, basically is just a lump of meat...

If you've read any of my other posts you'll know I have prob been one of the world's most unwise peeps in terms of relationships etc.

The one before I met the angelic slimtallgoth was with a Rite Nutter - I escaped Derby one weekend after a particularly nasty bout of ass kicking (mine) on his part.

I had both my lovely boys with me, and one of Kie's (the eldest) mates too, so we loaded up my old polo with the tent, sleeping bags, some Snot Poodles, etc - I was actually being a Prepared Mum in that I'd made sarnies and all of that kind of business...we stopped in the Welsh Mountains and Larked About for ages while we ate them, stretched our legs, marvelled at the lovely day, the fucking Brilliantness at being Alive and Free...

We headed West, we wended our way up lanes and minor roads. My fabbo kids and Aaron (the friend) sang like little angels to System of a Down (the BEST band in the world as of course you should all know) - god it was so hard not to giggle/cry at their beautiful voices ringing out to 'Old School Hollywood' (Kie's fave song)

We arrived on Mochras (Shell Island) North Wales and the boys gleefully ran amok amongst the mega huge sand dunes while I got the tent up. I got some burgers and things for a barbie, but they were so busy sliding down a massive sand dune (50 ft plus) they didn't want to eat. I vaguely prodded the burgers, I gazed out over bay all across the Lleyn peninsula, watched the sun go down, knew the tide had covered the road leading to our little magic place - the freakish twat could not follow us there, not that he even knew where we were.

I had never felt more alive, or more at peace.

They played football til 11pm and I sat in my car next to the tent having a rollie and listening to radio 4 while they settled down to sleep...listening to the waves restlessly roll against the sandy shore, feeling the warm breeze against my face through the open window....thanking whoever that I was still alive

I would like to hijack this QOTW and ask, at what actual moment in your life, did you feel Most Alive?
( curvylittlegoth heard the voices in your head on, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 0:59, 4 replies)

Yes, I have
One night, as I was walking down a beach alley in Portugal, I saw the dead body of a little girl lying by the walkway.

A strange looking couple were hurriedly digging a hole a few meters away.

I guess I should have called the police, but I was so curious!

I hid in the bushes and watched them eat her liver and then bury her.
( Zhmei HEY B3TA I WAS ON YOUR DINGY ISLAND AT LAST!1!, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 0:47, 1 reply)

Nottingham
Hailing from Nottingham, or Shottingham as it is so affectionately called, I've been witness to a fatal stabbing, driven past the fresh corpse which was the aftermath of a gang shooting outside a KFC, and I've seen someone jump from a car park, although that numpty didn't die, sadly.

And they say Nottingham gets bad press for its gang culture.
(Deiwos - Woo I found my old name!, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 0:29, 2 replies)

The Photo
The only body I've seen in real life is that of my uncle, and that was at his funeral so it's not much of a story. There is one other body that haunts me continuously, though.

He's an old man. He sits upright in his armchair, and you would think he was having a nap if not for the revolver in his lap and the neat little hole in his temple, bleeding not as profusely as you would think. The peaceful look on his face betrays the way he must have felt when he was alive.

I discovered him one day while sorting through one of the massive boxes of black and white photos my dad (a photojournalist) has accumulated over the years - of news events, friends and family, cats, total strangers, and one of Evel Knievel, I think.

When I found him, it shocked me, and I'm not one to be shocked by these sort of things. At the time I didn't know that my dad used to work for the county coroner, so I had no idea why such a picture was in our house. I stared for a long time before reluctantly putting him back.

I constantly wonder who he was and why he did it. I'm too scared to ask my dad about it. It distresses me some days, but otherwise he just sits there in the back of my mind. In his armchair.
( trintrin has jam for blood, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 0:29, Reply)

I've seen good friends and family die of cancer. A dead body is merely an empty shell for what once was, life goes on
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Fri 29 Feb 2008, 0:22, Reply)