Qurator's Mischievous Mondays | Everyone Gets One Glimpse of Their Final Day
Welcome to Qurator's Mischievous Mondays!
This will be a weekly competition that we will be hosting every Monday. We want to see a little more engagement and fun when it comes to some of our competitions so this will be a simpler and shorter competition. Easy to enter, but maybe not so easy to win. ;) This competition will be similar to the Monday Missions we had a long time ago, but instead of writing posts to enter we will now consider only the comments and answers on this blog as your entry to win.
Why Mischievous?
We all could use a little fun in our lives. We would even say that we deserve it, let loose a little and have a go at making everyone laugh or think a little, even if it is a little over the top or pure silliness. Go all out and let your creative juices flow.
Everyone Gets One Glimpse of Their Final Day
RULES
Write a comment in this post, your comment will be your entry.
Only comments that fit the theme and style.
It has to be done by you, no plagiarism.
All entries will be reviewed by the Qurator team.
Only one entry per account.
Deadline: Before the timer on this post runs out.
Your entry will not count if you aren't following the above-mentioned rules.
The Ice Cream Truck Plays Different Music Now
1st Prize - 30% Upvote
@blessing.simeon
2nd Prize - 25% Upvote
@josiva
3rd Prize - 20% Upvote
@ayomike
Congrats to the winners!
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Everyone Gets One Glimpse of Their Final Day
At 18, I said yes.
I thought I was brave, curious maybe, but when the screen lit up, I wasn’t ready.
I saw my mother older, fragile, whispering my name with a trembling smile.
I saw my hands reaching for hers, weaker than I ever imagined they'd be.
There were flowers. Familiar ones. My little sister’s favorite. She wasn't there.
Then I heard my voice, barely a whisper: “Tell them I was grateful.”
Ten seconds.
Ten seconds that broke me and rebuilt me.
Since then, I hold people longer. I say “I love you” like it’s running out. I laugh more. I pray more.
Because I don’t know the day, but I know the feeling.
And I’m building a life that deserves a goodbye like that.
Nice
Of course, but in just ten fleeting seconds, I only managed to see my carefree face. I was outside of my body, but I was still there. This isn't the end, just as I suspected. I don't understand why some people cry if this is the most normal thing.
I keep seeing my face, and I don't see it as so inert. It seems like a relief after all.
I'm eager to continue the adventure—what new dream will I visit this time?
I said YES.
At 18, not out of courage, just out of curiosity.
What I saw didn’t scare me.
There was peace.
I was older, quiet, with a soft smile. I was holding someone’s hand, maybe a partner, maybe a friend.
In the distance, I saw a familiar tail wagging: my old dog, the one who shared so many years with us.
He turned, as if waiting.
And I felt the need to follow him.
No regrets. No fear.
Just the strange comfort of knowing I’ll leave with a sense of peace, maybe even joy.
A deep serenity fills me, because in that moment, I know I’ve honored life. I’ve lived it fully.
“Hey, Otto... good boy. Wait for me.”
I meet him, and he tells me that... "as a gift for your detachment I will give you a vision of the future. What's more, you will have a 10-second vision of the moment of your death." And he disappeared.
No, wait, I don't want that gift...!
-She's gone- I don't want to be even for a second at the moment of my death. I don't want to be surrounded by people pretending to love me.
There I am, in the coffin. They have taken me to the funeral home. He is there, the only person who has shown me his love for so many years of his life, my son.
I'm sorry to leave you, my son, but that's life, a prelude to death. I was already old, I hope you understand. I know you love me, I did too. God left me so much time with you to enjoy you. The time came that I told you so much about it. I would leave you alone.
Cling to God, live your life. Don't enter into disputes with the Creator, after all my life was never mine, it was His. Now I return to Him.
I told you so many times about this moment but you were really not ready, I see you. You are destroyed. Your friends are with you. I hope you can live a life full of love.
Let's see. Who else is here?
There are so many people! There are people who didn't call me even once a month while I was alive. Some of them I don't even remember, and they cry.
I don't want this. What hypocrisy, to come and cry today. I shouldn't be surprised, because I imagined it. It's the same thing I see in so many funeral processions.
Thank you for this 10-second vision. I didn't want this and I don't need any more.
What I will do in the future is to dedicate myself to talk more to my son about God's love and how to let go of loved ones. The rest will always be the same in every funeral home.
I chose to see it. Of course I did. As a huge Final Destination fan, I already knew that cheating death isn’t exactly an advantage — it always finds a way. But my curiosity won. Not for the scare, but for the plot. I wanted to know if Death had crafted a dramatic storyline for me.
At 18, I sat in the cold chair of the Final Glimpse Central, hands sweating, heart in full-on cellphone vibration mode. Ten seconds. An eternity in miniature. I saw... me, at 79, laughing in a kitchen, holding a slice of toast with jelly. I choked and... roll credits.
Seriously? After surviving killer moths, metal shows, and a foggy road with three deadly curves, my grand finale is death by rogue toast?
I was mad for a minute. Then relieved. No jet engines, no derailed trains, no random panes of glass from the sky. Death spared me the Hollywood clichés and gave me a slapstick comedy.
In the end, the glimpse didn’t change my life, but it made me laugh. And honestly, that’s already a huge win. Because for me, living has always been about laughing through the chaos — right up to the last second.
At age 18, I stood at the threshold of adulthood—full of ambition, hope, and fear. Like every other person in our society, I was given the choice: see 10 seconds of my final day or walk away and never know. Most people say no. They don’t want to live under the shadow of what’s coming. They say it’s better not to know. I chose yes.
People told me I was crazy. “Why would you want to live your life in fear of that moment?” they asked. But I didn’t say yes out of fear. I said yes because I wanted direction. If I saw myself die alone, I would know to value the people in my life more. If I saw myself in a hospital bed, maybe I’d take better care of my health. If I saw something violent, I might live more cautiously. I believed that knowing—even just a flash—could give my life meaning.
The 10-second glimpse was nothing like I expected. It was quiet. I was sitting on a bench near a lake. The wind rustled the trees. I was old, wrinkled, smiling faintly. There was a book in my lap. A dog lay at my feet. Then, the light dimmed. That was it.
I came out of the vision in tears—not because it was sad, but because it was peaceful. I had feared so many things: a sudden accident, illness, being forgotten. But that glimpse told me something more powerful than the date or cause of my death—it told me that I’d find peace. That I’d live long enough to grow old. That I’d still find comfort in simple things like nature and stories and companionship.
Some might say knowing ruined the mystery of life. For me, it deepened it. I no longer fear the end. I live with intention, not dread. I take care of my body, nurture relationships, and make time for moments that feel like that bench by the lake. I chose to look, and in doing so, I chose to live.