I’d rather be asked how do I want to live, but ... since I’m older than most people younger than me (hope ya’ll catch that one), I’m living as good as I can now.

But this isn’t about living, it’s about choosing a way of death. I can say that hanging is out. I don’t like the idea of struggling, wiggling and thinking; this was a bad idea.

Since the electric chair is a thing of the past, that’s dead in the water, although I don’t need someone throwing a toaster in the tub when I’m taking a bath!

Firing squad? Well if it were a foreign country, I wouldn’t have any say in the matter. Just lock, load and fire. End of story. Otherwise, nothing to worry about, and honestly, I’m not good on the idea of people I don’t know shooting at me.

The best way would be in my sleep. But even that one is a toughie. My sleep pattern is so spotty. Four hours one night, none the next, ten hours the next night. You get the idea.

So then I think back to when I was in my fifties where I would kid around about how I wanted to go out, so we’ll go with that one.

I want to be naked, in bed, with a beautiful woman on top. I grab a Pepsi, take a long chug, then take a hit off a cigarette (quit smoking seven years ago) and then die. Paramedics rush in five minutes later and she turns to them and says, “Can you guys come back in ten minutes? I’m not done yet!”

Yeah, I leave this world but my body still has some use.

But the odds say I’ll end up dying in my sleep. Bummer.

Based on my personality, I’d say being happy is probably something I look for in myself. Lately, I’ve noticed something distinct in myself. I’ve been feeling rather gloomy and down. I begin to ponder what exactly has left me in this mood. Have I been lacking something? I wouldn’t say I was sad nor was I happy. I began to anticipate and the more I did, the more I started to get anxious.

I looked into the mirror and all I saw was my reflection. I walked closer and there’s something that’s keeping me from being filled with joy. I wandered over and over and there seems to be a likely reason why I’m feeling this way. Perhaps the pandemic has really reduced me to see my joy everyday, my friends and family. I’ve really missed them and I think this was the major factor why there’s been this complication to me.

From beneath my heart, I truly miss each and everyone of my beloved family and my friends. I truly desire to see everyone in the near future. I’m genuinely grateful and the sense of relief let me down with a sigh.

Three Dilly’s

The Woodstock Festival was actually held at Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, New York, 43 miles southwest of Woodstock, New York.

In 1862, Congress passed a law requiring both Houses of Congress to be docked a day’s wages for each day’s absence. More than 159 years later, and that law has only been enforced twice.

President Martin Van Buren wrote his autobiography in 1862, the last year of his life. Van Buren overlooked one aspect of his life, the fact that he had been married. He never mentioned his wife, Hannah Hoes, in the book not even once.

On A Side Note: In 1872, criminals Patrick Morrissey, was convicted of stabbing his mother to death, along with Jack Gaffney, were hanged by the sheriff of Erie County in New York who went by the name: The Buffalo Hangman. In 1885, this notorious hangman became well known by another name: President Grover Cleveland.

Phew. Safe at last. Dundro sighed. He noticed the Horde of the Orcs were getting closer. Their unnaturally synchronised marching gradually filled the marsh with a terrifying din. And then came the Orcs.

An Albino was leading the Horde. He struck a terrifying figure, towering over his subordinates atop a Silvermane Warg. His armour was dull, blades keen. The milky white of his skin was criss-crossed with old scars. healing but nevertheless there. The rest of the Orcs matched Frodo's descriptions exactly. Their squarish blades cut the humid marsh air. Some had long spears pointed heavenwards. Their helms were rusted and bent, revealing only their hideous mouths lined with yellowing teeth.

Dundro watched all this from above. As much as he was scared out of his mind, there was something else about the sight that reinvigorated the adventurer in Dundro. He imagined Bilbo, crouched upon a burning bough, looked on by Wargs.

The Orcs marched swiftly, and soon enough, Dundro saw the last in their ranks pass by, leaving only the cacophony of footfalls in their wake. Dundro counted to 100 before feeling safe enough to descend from his arboreal shelter.

And so he did. As soon as he landed upon terra firma, he took off like the wind, making once again for the Brandywine river, hoping to follow it upstream so he could return to the Eastern Road and back to Hobbiton. Thus was his plan.

He followed the Orc tracks back to the Brandywine. But on his way, he spotted a strange article, embedded in the mud. Dundro caught it in his peripheral vision and stopped in his tracks to investigate. He bent over and pulled the object out of the mud, and shook the dirt off of it. His eyes widened. He looked the object over multiple times, trying to discern its purpose. But he could not glean anything from its appearance. It was fascinating to see, but Dundro could not make any sense of it.

What was it?

At this point, Dundro was about to give up. The sounds of Orcs which permeated the marshes made it hard to ascertain which direction it was coming from. That and the sheer lack of landmarks made Dundro feel even worse. And don’t forget, he was hungry, which is saying something.

As all these feelings swam about in Dundro’s head, he began to realise that this was exactly the adventure he was seeking his entire life! Not as high-stakes as Uncle Frodo’s, of course but it was something.

Empowered by this revelation, Dundro walked briskly and without fear, despite having no clue about the direction he was going. All of a sudden, there came a ear-piercing howl, emanating from no perceivable location.

Dundro froze mid-step.

Then came a cracking of a branch.

Snap.

Dundro whirled around. Nothing.

A growl and the shine of inhuman eyes came and went for the slightest moment. The hunting wolves crept closer.

Poor Dundro, on the other hand was completely oblivious. Then, the march of the Orc horde came within earshot of Dundro. The harsh Orc-tongue inflexions of a thousand-strong Enemy sounded.

This was enough to scare the wits out of Dundro, and he fled, screaming. The hunting dogs bayed and swiftly began pursuit. Dundro turned, saw the fell Beasts and almost fainted. He scampered along as fast as his stubby Hobbit legs could carry him. Unfortunately, this was a puny effort in comparison to the trained, deft Wargs.

They got closer. And closer. Closer.... The Wargs leapt with inhuman grace and revealed its pink maw...

Dundro eyed a low hanging bough on a nearby tree and derouted. The Warg smashed to the ground, growling in anger. The rest of pack swiftly tracked Dundro to the tree but they were too late, Dundro had already shimmied up the ancient oak and was now crouched on a high branch. Dundro’s heart raced as he waited to see if the Wargs had followed him. Thankfully, the fell Beasts failed to reach Dundro at his lofty position. They let loose a heart-wrenching roar of resignation, and just as quickly as they were there, they were gone. Dundro finally exhaled, calming his pounding heart. He rested his head on the trunk of his savior and closed his eyes. Dundro Baggins would live another day.

Dundro lay waiting in the streams of the Brandywine for hours, not knowing when to surface lest he be discovered by the Orcs yet again. His stomach thrashed and wailed at having missed the usual 4 meals that elapsed from the morning til noon, a rich part of Hobbit tradition. (To this day, you will not find any Hobbit that cannot cook anything you wish in more time than it takes to be eaten.)

Finally, he could not stand the hunger anymore. With a mighty heave, Dundro dug his feet into the riverbed (a difficult task as Hobbits are a slight folk). He pushed up and sat on the riverbed. Out of fear, he scurried about here and there, finally diving into a bush, placing the valiant but somehow weak amount of trust that a bush could actually provide any sort of significant cover. Not only that, but there was also no perceivable threat as far as his eye could see.

Flushing at his foolishness, Dundro rose from the bramble, brushing stray leaves off his sodden tunic. He surveryed his surroundings. A cursory scan revealed nothing of interest to his stomach, unfortunately. It appeared to be marshland. "So I'm in the Overbourne Marshland," said he matter-of-factly.

Ah well, I know exactly how to get home. Just use the... Dundro pulled out the soggy, smudged mess of a parchment that once resembled a... map. Well, then. This rather complicates things, doesn't it?

Dundro looked up. The sun was blotted out by the tall trees, whose boughs spread across to each other forming a giganitc web. The no-man's-land that had grown unchecked for centuries essentially formed an huge sunshield.

He furrowed his brow and placed his hands on his hips. He chose a random direction and thought to himself Home sweet home!

Just as he took his first step, heavy footfalls and the garish sound of a horn permeated the woods.

Just what I need.

The journey was long, suffice it to say, but Dundro was familiar with the route, having taken it several times. He sang an old Elvish tune:

me echad-ed-Barad-dur

tâl lagor taug mâb

maeg pilin a maeg crist

menelvagor min forven

mina in dúath

ir úlaer, ir glamog

maeg pilin a maeg crist

edhel innas dag

He arrived at his destination and promptly sat himself on a log. Unwinding the reel, the silence was disturbed by the sounding of a horn. Dundro nearly fell off his log as the harsh tone scraped at his ears. There was a great roar, and the earth shook beneath Dundro’s feet. He was paralysed in shock. His fears increased by leaps and bounds as here caught sight of the crude metal armor and squarish blades that he knew only too well from his readings of Bilbo’s and Frodo’s scripts. He dashed behind a large rock, overlooking the river opposing the horde of Orcs. But it was too late, there came a shout and heavy footfalls approaching the rock. Dundro restrained himself from crying out, instead he took a deep breath and dived into the waters of the Brandywine.

Looking up from the scum, he glimpsed the fell Enemy roaring in surprise as their prey eluded them. They were more frightening than Frodo’s descriptions.

Almost immediately, he was grabbed by the swift current and was forcefully swept down stream. Up and down he bobbed, chased by a squad of bloodthirsty Orcs. They were bearing a sigil of which Dundro was not familiar. Dundro once again submerged himself with a mighty breath and hoped the Orcs would leave him alone. He quickly scrambled together the remainder of his mental faculties and tried to think. The Brandywine ran from down the East Road to the Overbourn Marshes. Assuming the Orcs diverted from the river's path, whence should he then, leave? He dared not to scurry back to Hobbiton with a horde of Orcs on his tail. Dundro was not a courageous fellow, he dared not to traverse the Old Forest with the path permeated with beasts and Men alike.

Resignedly, Dundro placed his fate in the Brandywine River.

Dundro Baggins of (formerly) Bag End awoke from bed one morning. Stiffly he rose, grumbling at the young sun. Hobbits are queer folk, and have reached some of stagnation with the state of their lives. They were thus not prone to waking at odd hours. Dundro himself could not grapple with the fact that he had finally beat the sun at its own game. Unable to sleep, he stomped off cursing heavily.

He headed out, fishing rod in hand. He took one last look at a painting of his great-great-grandfather, Bilbo. How he wanted to go on an adventure like he did. And the tales he heard about his granduncle, Frodo, outmatched all expectations. How he wanted to meet Elves in their Homely Home and the Dwarves in their Mines. How he wanted to slay a mighty dragon or a fearsome orc. “Those days have long passed,” said he out loud, and sullenly made for the Brandybuck River.

There is a power cut in your city and you are kidnapped and put in a cave. There are three doors in the cave. The first one has hungry lions ready to gobble you up as soon as you take one step. The second one has electric saws ready to chop you up into kebabs. The third one has poisonous that will kill you with just a whiff.

Which door do you exit through?

A side note: There may be loopholes in this riddles, but please ignore them!

The answer

Is

The second one. There is a power cut so the electric saws would not work.

*I know, I know, they can run on batteries. I told you there would be loopholes!

She looked out towards the snowy caps of mountains that rose ahead of her. Her blonde hair whipped behind her, blown by the freezing wind. Gashes had cut through her pale skin. Her threadbare clothes were torn and bloody, turning a deeper shade of crimson as blood seeped out of the deep gash that ran along her waist. She fell to her knees as she glimpsed a cloaked figure speeding towards her.

“Mark?”

Her dry, cracked lips moved as she made an inaudible sound.

Then she fell to the ground, her body careening as her heart thumped one last time.

“NO!” a thunderous yell shook the icy tundra.

All was quiet.

Nothing could be done.

To save her.