A man falls on his own machete and ponders his impending death as it impends.
(from The World of the Short Story)
Still…? Still not two seconds passed: the sun is at exactly the same altitude; the shadows have not advanced one millimeter. Abruptly, the long-term digressions have just been resolved for the man lying there; he is dying.
Interesting, thoughtul and a total downer. Not much in the way of surpises. He’s just curled up with a machete sticking out of him. I mean, he’s in a comfortable position besides that, but yeah. He’s dead meat.
According to the book’s brief bio, Horacio Quiroga (born in Uruguay, lived in Argentina) wrote about death all the time. And his best friend accidentally shot himself. And his father, stepfather and wife killed themselves. Quiroga killed himself, too. All this death writing and actual death presents us with a real chicken/egg scenario. Gotta figure he was a goth in high school.
INXS, “Never Tear Us Apart”