Mura's father's best friend was killed in the winter of 1960. The Cold War was still rampant, and the economy was simply lukewarm, moderate at best. Christmas time, it was festive and of course Bert the Turtle was on, saying his famous motto, "Duck and cover!"
If only his friend had listened.
It was dinner time. Mura's father's mother had just prepared steak, and the smell was flowing throughout the room. It had enticed Mura's father and his friend, so they rushed into the kitchen, and sat down for dinner. They talked about the daily grind and such, and they had a blast. They then prayed. Mura's father hoped that one day he would be able to have a family of his own as nice as he had now, and that the following year would be great with no conflicts or problems.
"Hey Muro, do you have any ketchup?" his friend questioned him.
"Of course, but normally ketchup is for hamburgers, right?"
"It's just the way I like my steak."
He got up from the table, grabbed the ketchup, and aimed to apply it upon his succulent feast. However he had missed, and it spilled upon the floor.
"Don't worry Muro, I'll clean it up for you."
He took an overstep and slipped on the ketchup. To Muro's chagrin, he had twisted his neck.
At the funeral, it rained heavily. A deep hue of gray surrounded Muro as he sobbed.
Death had stolen his best friend from him. All because of a single miss-steak.
