The year is 2082. I'm 89 years old. I'm
dying, surrounded by my large,
devoted family. I prepare my final
wishes as my children hold my hand.
"Divide my assets amongst
yourselves, sell the house to start
college funds for the grandchildren,
and throw my ashes into the ocean.
All I want is a small plaque by my
childhood home with my name and
dates, saying “Rest In Deace."
My oldest leans in, confused, "Do you
mean ’Rest in Peace," Mom? What
does deace mean?”
I beckon him closer with one hand,
and move the other a bit further down
"Deace nuts, bitch."
My family screams in horror as I
flatline and immediately descend into