Death isn’t funny.

There is nothing about death that is remotely funny.

Except there is. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. The bus she rode into was, apparently, a party bus. A bunch of pissed accountants out on an office party when Aurora rode a motorbike into them and died. There’s a fucking night out for everyone concerned.

Oh, come on! Don’t hate me for thinking that! There must be something funny about a party bus being involved in a fatal road smash. Or ironic, at least. God, I bet I know what all the accountants are talking about round the water-cooler today, in between doing GST reconciliations or whatever the fuck it is they do all day, and it sure as shit isn’t how Vicky drank too many chardonnays and chucked all over Heather on the way home.

But death isn’t funny.

So I find out.

Not when everyone in my house is walking round like they’ve just been hit on the head with a brick. Not when everyone is acting like a freakin’ zombie, with no idea what to say or do. Not when death just took away one of the few people on this planet I could actually give a shit about. Not when death sucks this much.

And sure as shit not when your brother is this train wreck – and I mean a complete freakin’ train wreck. He’s fallen apart like he was there, standing in the middle of the road, pushing her and the bike in front of that party bus.

Van’s mind has never been his strongest point, but I figure this is in serious danger of pushing him over the edge.

I don’t think there’s much you can do about death except hold on to the people who are alive.

How’s that for pretty fucking profound?