Sir Terry Pratchett Succumbs To "the Embuggerance," Aged 66
New submitter sp1nl0ck writes Sir Terry Pratchett, the creator of Discworld, has died aged 66, following a long battle with Alzheimer's Disease. Sir Terry announced that he was suffering from The Embuggerance in an open letter to fans over seven years ago, and recently had to cancel a planned appearance at the International Discworld Convention last summer, and donated over £500K of his own money to research into the condition. He also spoke in favour of a euthanasia tribunal, the members of which would consider the case of each '...applicant...to ensure they are of sound and informed mind, firm in their purpose, suffering from a life-threatening and incurable disease and not under the influence of a third party'. Sadly, he didn't survive long enough to see such a tribunal — or indeed any kind of assistance for those suffering from an incurable condition who wish to end their own life — come into being. More at the BBC.
A lot.
At least Death should be kind to him.
He made Death more human - and humane - than almost any author before him.
Terry, Sir, just make sure you don't end up cleaning Albert's boots.
“And he goes around killing people?” said Mort. He shook his head. "There’s no justice.”
Death sighed. No, he said,...THERE IS JUST ME.
Ook. :(
"Evil will always triumph over good, because good is dumb." - Dark Helmet (Spaceballs)
Sir Terry Pratchett was the greatest humanist I knew in my life. ...
He managed to touch the souls of great number of people through his uniquely clear worldview and managed to infuse great human values in the best possible way.
Needless to say, reading and living with his books was one of the most enlightening experiences I have ever had with the written letters.
His wisdom and approach to life will be dearly missed. Him being of the most famoust atheists, I can only say he left this earth forever, to finally settle in our hearts and the souls of those to come after us, growing up to be better human beings, through his books and ideas.
Because ideas never die
RIP Sir Terry Pratchett
Long Live Sir Terry Pratchett
Now, Make Your WISE Move...
"I would like my pudding now nurse. And then I think I'd like to... write... something... I don't remember what."
Standing in the corner, he waits. The sand slowly flows, but it nears it's end. The old man still glows, as thousands of threads spread away from him.
SQUEAK.
I AGREE. IT IS A SHAME TO SEE HIM THIS WAY.
SQUEAK.
NO. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN.... BUT I CANNOT WAIT TO ASK HIM HOW IT ALL ENDS.
The old man looks up, through them at first... and then he sees them. For once, the smile on the hooded figure's skull is genuine.
"I... I remember you. The anth... ant..."
ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION.
"Yes, that. We knew each other?"
ONCE. AND WILL AGAIN, SIR.
He so rarely said it, and these feelings... remembering his young aprentice, and beloved daughter. The beautiful child they have.
"There... is a girl, yes?"
SHE IS SPEAKING TO THE AUDITORS, SIR. THEY ARE UNWILLING TO LISTEN.
"Well then. You know what they say, two things you cannot avoid. Taxes and..." He looks into the firey blue eyes, and becomes aware.
SQUEAK.
"Quite right. Is it time already? I have so much left to do."
YOU HAVE GIVEN ALL YOU CAN SIR.
"No, not cancer. Alzheimers."
I AM AWARE.
"So, where is the boy? I remember a boy."
CARRIAGE ACCIDENT.
"Ahh. Never much trusted cars. Or horses."
THEY GET YOU WHERE YOU WANT TO GO.
"Must I?"
SOON. BUT WE MAY SIT HERE AWHILE.
SQUEAK
DO YOU HAVE ANY BISCUITS?
"No. Shame really."
YES.
"Is it truely turtles?"
ALL THE WAY DOWN. I HAVE SEEN THEM.
"Ahh. I would love to see it. Perhaps a small trip before?"
IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE.
"The light is slower there... and there's a monkey...."
ORANGUTAN. SAME PRINCIPLE.
"Yes... will they remember me?"
SQUEAK.
"What was that? I could not hear you."
HE SAYS WE WILL, SIR.
"I never much liked the trouble people had with you. You seem like a nice fellow."
I HAVE MY DAYS.
"Don't we all?"
SOME LESS THAN OTHERS.
"Is it quick?"
YES. AND I BROUGHT THE SWORD. CEREMONY DICTATES IT.
"Ahh. How about a cup of tea?"
I WOULD ENJOY IT. DO YOU PLAY CHESS?
"No. how about checkers?"
And so they sat, two old friends regaling each other, though the old man could not remember all of the details, the cloaked man and his rat filled him in, when it was needed.