"mathmathmathmathmathmath," Willy Loman rambled as he grabbed imaginary diamonds off the jungle floor. "the woods are burning, the woods are burning" he screeched, thrashing about wildly. "i've got to fetch a diamond out of the jungle, I've got diamonds, kid!"
His panic led to a roundhouse-kick executed directly into the chest of his eldest son, Biff Loman.
"Calm down, pop," Biff said, desperately, trying to keep a wild willy under control. He parried every thrust the deranged salesman threw at him, but to no avail. Willy Loman was an absolute unit of power. fueled by pure, unadulterated fear, the father beat upon his son, screeching "you failed math you lazy bum" over and over again.
"I can't see the stars anymore. You can't grow a single carrot. Ben, what am i to do, o Ben, o Ben," Willy cried, tears slipping down his wrinkled face. "The woods are burning. I don't got no diamond. I had some stockings but they were gone too." His sorrows quickly turned to fantasy as he treated himself to a lavish vision of his own funeral.
"I'll die the true death of a salesman. Hundreds of clients, no, thousands, will come. O boy, o boy, my sons will be proud!"
Shaking a fist, he pranced around his yard, spraying seeds onto the ground.
"They'll be disappointed," said the old wrinkly visage of uncle Ben. "you're a coward, Willy Loman. deceitful, lying coward." Paying no attention to the fact that two of the words were practically synonymous, he continued to admonish his brother, not stopping or ceasing until Willy Loman was shame-faced and lost.
"But my sons-"
"What sons willy, what sons?"
"Ben, my sons. Biff and- what's his name- Snoppy. no, Snowy. no, Hoppy. No, what's his name?"
"I'm getting married, pop, just you wait and see," his second son exclaimed, as he was absolutely and brutally ignored by his father.
"Popopopopopopop i'm getting married"
“His name is happy you absolute buffoon" Uncle Ben screamed, unable to bear it any longer.
"Yes," Willy Loman said. "his name is happy."
Biff Loman walked in with a bouquet of tulips and a smile.
"Hey ma," he said. "I have some flowers for you."
“You filthy bum, you. You worthless ungrateful douche with your big ears and your football jerseys and your failing math grades, you don't give a horse's bum about your father! You disgust me. Get out, and don't come back. What were you thinking, walking off with those lousy whores while your father walked back alone", Linda screeched at her son. "Don't you care if he lives or dies?"
"Ma, that's not-"
He was interrupted by the sound of an engine revving.
"What in tarnation was that?" he exclaimed loudly, dropping the tulips
"I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD," Willy Loman screeched, driving directly into the lamp post. The collision was godly. Sparks flew, metal screamed, flames sang. The car was engulfed with scarlet fire as the salesman breathed his very last breaths.
"I'm coming into the ju-n-g-l-e," Willy Loman breathed, as the life drained from his lungs. A hacking cough ensued, and only stopped until he was dead.
The true death of a salesman.
His funeral was grand. It was lavish. It was expensive, and a huge event with a grand total of five attendants.
There was Linda, Biff, and Happy, who were basically obligated to attend due to the fact that they were family. They wore grim expressions of thinly veiled disgust as they regarded the gravestone.
And then there was Charley, and Bernard, the anemic. Charley, the great pay-loaner, was there out of respect and friendship. Bernard only came because his father made him.
"Thou dost not blame a salesman for dreaming," Charley enunciated. "To live is to dream. And live, Willy did.
Willy Loman was a good man. Low, both in status and in height, but great in heart. He was good, and pure. never wanted anything but the best for his sons, no matter how useless they were. Yes, biff failed math (mathmathmathmathmathmathmath) and ended his early career; he was that one asshole who peaked in high school. Yes, happy is a huge manwhore and slept with too many women to count on seven hands. But willy loman wanted nothing for the best for them."
"Charley I'm getting married", Happy exclaimed, poking his father's gravestone.
"That's very nice happy, but not now," Linda said absently, with the same attitude as one would treat a third grader.
"May he rest in peace, and find the diamonds he was looking for." Charley finished his testament, clapping the gravestone with one large hand. Birds sang as everyone let go of willy, allowing him to go to Alaska (and then probably wander off to the jungle because his entire family sucks ass at navigating).
And then the woods burned. Willy Loman was gracelessly yeeted out of the afterlife, back into the world of living because the woods burnt.
"Mydiamondsmydiamondsmydiamondsmydiamonds," he screeched, popping out of his freshly-dug grave like a jack-in-a-box popping out of its wooden box.
"Dammit ma, we spend good money on that coffin," Biff complained, wringing his hands in financial distress.
"Shhh biff, your father has words to say."
Linda said this in an exasperated tone, as if she was hoping that the deranged diamond miner would yeet off and leave her family alone. Her well-earned freedom was short (by this the author means the few hours willy loman remained dead) but sweet. Its sweetness had her craving more, and she was almost tempted to bludgeon her late husband to death with a stocking.
"Thejunglethejunglemathmathmywoodsmydiamondsmathbiffladystockingscarrotsstarsboxedinwhatasimonizingjob," Willy rambled, climbing out of his grave. He picked up a baseball bat (because every funeral home has a baseball bat on the burial grounds. dont @ me plot convenience is a bitch) and advanced onto the terrified Biff Loman, squealing like a propaganda magazine.
"Pop no," said Happy half-heartedly, picking at his nails. "By the way, i'm getting married."
Willy was beating on his first born child with the graveyard baseball bat. He beat his legs and his knees and his arms and his elbows and his fingers and his toes and his chest and his stomach and his liver and his kidneys.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow," Biff cried with each blow. His negative IQ caused him to just sit there and get beat on, because he lost every brain cell playing high school football.
"You're pulling a Charlie Gordon," Bernard said, quoting the well-known novel, Flowers for Algernon.
"Nobody asked, you anemic, you," Willy said.
He was finally able to form a coherent sentence; whether it was from the rush of adrenaline or the joy coming from beating his child, nobody knew.
"Oh all right Willy, this has gone on long enough," screeched Linda, exasperated. She kicked off her black closed-toe high heeled pumps, and peeled her stockings off one by one. Whipping Willy Loman with her mended stockings, she split his life force into twenty thousand insurance payouts of a singular dollar.
It was over.
The woods had burnt.
He had fetched a diamond, and lost it.
He glanced up once at the stars. A second passed. He glanced again. There were none to be seen.
His carrots had sprouted, and died.
The salesman had sold his final sale.