Life was straight forward to him.  If he knew what a paradigm was, his life would be marked by pleasure.  His hedonism wasn't the least bit glorious; there were no jaunts, no benders, no adventures.  The life of Ron was a long-drawn-out ride.  Today, like any, he ordered pizza for delivery.  Despite his unstructured day, he always ate at the same time.  A chime interrupted Call of Duty Black Ops Time Travel Into The War of 1812; this game was a type of anachronism, where your character was from a different time period.  For twenty dollars more, Ron pre-ordered the special edition package with extra gun designs.  Ron was twenty pounds overweight, but he made his way to the front door as if seventy-five pounds overweight.  After the exchange of money for food, he resumed his game; sitting and eating in silence was torture to him; he always needed stimulated, even while eating.  Ron mashed on his controller, while hastily putting pizza in his mouth, as to not be too distracted from the game.  This long-drawn-out life continued for decades. 

He was older now.  Fifty-seven.  He was playing the latest Call of Duty, with cold pizza on the couch next to him.  The phone rang.  It was Ron's doctor.

 'You have cancer.  Your life span is two months.  I've scheduled a meeting with a hospice chaplain for you next Tuesday." 

"Okay"

"More information will be sent via email"

"Oh okay"

Next Tuesday arrived.  Ron made his way through an empty beige corridor.  At the end of the hallway on the right was an entrance with no door.  The room was desolate.  In the room was a desk and two chairs.  The juxtaposition between the two men's appearance was strong.  Ron was a doughy body.  He had a round face that lacked any strong features; his eyes were dull yet innocent and kind.  Compared to Ron, the hospice chaplain was sparkling and glistening with life.  The chaplain was the same age as Ron but had aged well; his eyes were seated deeply and had a sort of madness and intelligence to them.  His face wasn't slim, but neither round and featureless either.  His body was long and full, standing a few inches over Ron who was 5'10 or so.

"Have a seat"

"Okay" Ron said

"I'm here to console you, but you have to tell me about yourself.  What are your beliefs?  I mean to say, what are your beliefs of death, and does life have any significance to death?"

Sean was distraught, he never thought pensively about death.

"I've never thought about those things, why are you asking me!?" He said with anger and resentment.

"When death comes, you'll have wished you came to terms with yourself."

"Okay"

"Here take this.  This may kill your apathy."

The hospice chaplain handed Ron, The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy.  When Ron arrived home, he read through the book with a voracious and hurried appetite.  Within eight hours he had finished the book.  The next day Ron was found on the city corner in a delirium; he was shouting incoherent ramblings at passersby. 

"All in a daze!  You're all insulated, ignorant, and shielded from the inevitable!  Stop what you're doing.  Stop your hurry and know yourself for once.  Know life, existence, the enigma of the world!  Ha!  Ha!  Death is the sign.  Death will show you to give thanks.  If your soul is too ill to give thanks, you must acknowledge…. yes!  Acknowledge at least.. acknowledge your life, death, regrets, wasted time, memories, people, the taste of an apple.  Ha!  Ha!  Yes.. madness, I'm thankful for my madness, because it is a part of life, and I'm thankful for life."

During the rambling, the chaplain was walking back to his home in the city.  He heard a frenzy of madness that hinted of insight.  His inquisitiveness brought him to the voice on the corner of some street.  It was Ron.  They made eye contact with each other and smiled.  An hour later Ron was found dead on the street.  It was Thanksgiving Day