On February 3rd, 2009, Ruthiey was rushed to the hospital by ambulance, after consuming some cheese which contained a trace amount of Sodium Phosphate to which, it was discovered, she was deathly allergic. She was pronounced dead upon entry - they say it was the metal detectors that finished her off - and the medical personnel immediately removed the deceased's body to the morgue.
She didn't leave behind a loving husband or any loving children, because she was not old enough to be married and therefore, did not have children. Her family was appropriately devastated. Some of her friends were glad to see her go, but the great majority of them were rather speechless with grief. Strawberry, Elmo and Squishy seemed quite heartbroken at her funeral, as did the ever stunningly fashionable Miss Meyer, in her very original pink mourning gown. Jasper was there, in one of her trade-mark outlandish green gowns. Mari, Vicki and Lyssa, her most faithful online friends all attended via the internet and after Mari delivered a most solemn dirge in Hungarian, Vicki read a short poem she had written for the occasion. Lyssa was unable to say anything beyond that the deceased had not finished a particular novel she had been awaiting. Most of the people attending the funeral made strange eyebrows at the idea of online friends attending, because they never thought real people actually lived across the internet. The deceased would have wanted it that way, said the deceased's family. Kelsey Harding, one of the few reached for comment, said rather cryptically that she was not surprised and that, "She [the deceased] seemed the type who would die from an allergic reaction." Miss Harding is known to be rather an allergy expert but she gave no further explanation.
Near the front of the church, Sir Grim, Danni and Vek all stood, hands folded, quietly watching the end of Straya and all they held dear. Peanut Butter came up to the front and quietly, and rather tearfully, read a short eulogy to Butterscotch and while everyone else raised their eyebrows and racked their brains, the coffin shook slightly, as moved with emotion.
Paster Kempton did not attend as he did not receive the Facebook Invite and when Mary heard the news, she canceled Bible Study to attend. Even Arwen, her rather sardonic and cruel cat, seemed quietly regretful.
After her viewing, memorial, funeral, mock-American-burial, the deceased's family used the money in her bank account to fulfill her last wish of visiting Australia and she was buried there, close by the beach in a wooden- er, wooded area. It was ironic. Her entire life, she had dreamed of visiting, working and living in that beautiful golden country, and now she lay, dead and unaware of it all.
After a good cry, everyone felt better and went their own ways home, determined to spend the rest of their remaining time wisely. Posted on a small bulletin board at the funeral was a scrap from the deceased's attempts at poemetry. It read, most profoundly,
One must be close to death before one can truly live.
(ps. anyone who catches all these inside jokes should congratulate themselves with an immediate purchase of a box of caramel chocolates and a trip to the theatre.)