The Contract

image copyright – Susan Eames

“You mean I just sign that, and I’ll be able to walk again?” Linda rolled the wheelchair forwards and picked up the contract. “How much is this gonna cost me?”

The salesman smiled, “not a penny in this life ma’am, we collect post-mortem.”

“From my estate?”

“You could put it that way.”

“Well, I guess the kids are doing ok already…” she scratched a spidery scrawl across the document and handed it to the salesman.

The dead, useless appendages her legs had become, suddenly began to tingle. “Look!” she cried, “I’m wiggling my toes!”

But the salesman had already left.

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