We die only once, and for such a long time.

Proud Gull. Boat Harbour. April 2013.

It is another Theme Thursday and today sees a burst of CREATIVITY and a shot little piece that came to me on the walk to work.

I call it Perception.

Quiet Jim was the first of the old gang to die. It came as a bit of a shock to get the invite to his funeral on Facebook. There were five in our gang: me; Quiet Jim (he was the quiet one); Loud Jim (he was the loud one); Big Jim (he was the fat one); and Little Jim (he wasn't very little, but he was much smaller than Big Jim). They just called me ‘Mike’.

It was a surprise to all of us that Quiet Jim was the first to go. He was so, well, quiet. Loud Jim drank too much, got into fights and generally wasn't a very nice person.Big Jim’s diet was terrible, he smoked like a chimney and the mere thought of exercise could send him into apoplexy. Little Jim (who really wasn't little at all) had a taste for bizarre sexual practices. I’m pretty laid back, but as an avid trainspotter am always running the risk when waiting by the railway lines.

No, Quiet Jim was, well, quiet. He never got in any trouble and kept his opinions to himself. He didn't smoke or drink. Nor was there any suggestion that he was into Autoerotic asphyxiation. He didn't even like trains.

Quiet Jim was a great listener. He was measured. Mature. Stoic. Everybody liked Quiet Jim. Therefore it was no surprise that there was a big turnout to the funeral. There were lots of tears and lots of kind words. His friends stressed his bravery. His brother spoke of the inspiration he took for him. His sister concentrated on the hurdles that he overcame. His mother spoke at length about the challenges inherent in having a child who spent his whole life in a permanent vegetative state.

Oh.

I just thought that he was shy.

I was even more shocking than the fact that he died. Then again, I have never been very perceptive.