Don't Fear the Reaper

Joe’s Monologue: “Don’t Fear the Reaper (But Bring More Cowbell)”
by Joseph Jukic

(Standing alone under a flickering streetlight, speaking to the night… or something in it.)

You know what’s funny, Death?
They told me not to fear you.
"Seasons don't fear the reaper," right?
Nor do the wind, the sun, or the rain.
But guess what? I’m not the weather.
I'm Joe. And I’ve seen your shadow in every waiting room,
in every syringe,
every prescription that came with a smile and a signature.

But I heard that song —
Don’t Fear the Reaper —
and something inside me flipped.
Not out of surrender, but defiance.
I realized maybe fear isn't the right flavor.
Maybe I laugh in your face,
smack your clipboard out of your hand,
and say the words that really piss you off:
“More cowbell.”

Yeah.
You don’t like that, do you?
Because I’m not just a number.
I’m not your next appointment.
I’m a goddamn science experiment with unfinished business.

I read about telomeres, Death.
Little caps on the ends of our DNA —
like the plastic tips on shoelaces that keep us from unraveling.
They say when the telomeres go, we go.
But now we’re learning how to lengthen them.
How to stop the clock.
Biohackers, monks, rogue chemists in basements
drinking green sludge and running cryogenic freezers in garages.

And me?
I’m right there with them.
Not afraid. Not obedient.
I don’t want to die politely in a bed while someone whispers “He fought so hard.”
No —
I want to live impolitely.
Loudly.
With a band behind me and a cowbell slamming in 4/4 time.

You came too early, Death.
I’m still getting younger.
Still finding new tricks in this old soul of mine.
So you better get used to disappointment.
Because tonight I’m playing your theme song —
and I brought the damn cowbell myself.

(Makes a cowbell sound, just once. Looks skyward.)

Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Come back when your scythe runs on stem cells.