In death as in life, Oskar was a miserable sort. On his last morning as a living being, he opened the fridge to find that there was no milk, which meant that, instead of enjoying his usual bowl of muesli, he had to have brown toast and jam for breakfast. This was nothing short of a disaster. Breakfast, as it was well known, was the most important meal of the day, and so every bite of that toast was something important that had already gone terribly wrong.
As he swept away the crumbs from his plate and accidentally dropped his knife in the bin, Oskar knew that today was not going to be good. He could feel it in his heart. Little did he suspect that this was one of the last things he would ever feel in his heart, since his heart would stop beating a few hours later, and he would have to go on feeling things without it. With a deep and practised sigh, Oskar stooped to fish his knife out of the bin and put it in the sink to wash later. No, this was not going to be a good day at all.
Having managed to endure a miserable breakfast, miserable Oskar walked back to his bedroom and looked at his miserable form in the mirror. His beige linen trousers were not his favourite, which was especially unfortunate considering that he would be stuck wearing them for the rest of eternity. His round belly pushed at a brown belt, and the pale yellow polo he was wearing did nothing to cover his sallow and wrinkled arms, or to detract from his overall dreary appearance. He stepped a little closer to the mirror, examining a liver spot on his sagging jawline, peering at it with blue-grey eyes and prodding at it with blue-grey fingers. His thick eyebrows furrowed, enhancing the firmly settled frown-wrinkles on his forehead and just ever so slightly bringing forward his thinning hairline. A light from the window reflected in the mirror, briefly giving his eyes the impression of a twinkle that had not been there for decades. He grumbled to himself and left the mirror, still fingering the liver spot though his mind had already moved to other grievances. It was not that he was so old, our miserable Oskar, but life's joys seemed to have passed him by while he was busy having a bad day. It can have a tough effect on your appearance, when all of life's joys pass you by like that. You'll have to forgive him for looking like such a grouch. The fact is that he was a grouch, so looking like one just came with the territory. After he died, there was nothing more to be done about the wrinkles and the sallow appearance - although it certainly helped that the dead are all translucent white - but I'm sorry to say that even if a ghost's appearance could have changed to reflect their habits and moods, Oskar would still have looked the same. He was a miserable sort, and unfortunately being killed by a defective toaster oven did nothing to change that.
