[ WP ] Brain aneurisms are unexpected and kill you in an instant ... but they happen for a reason because the human stumbles upon a specific thought she must not have conceived in her lifetime .

I looked at the body on the slab, the man I was supposed to have dinner with, the man I loved more than anything. 
 
 `` Yes, it's him, Max Penny'', I said, not being able to say much more. 
 `` Thank you, ma'am'', the officer responded. 
 
 I wonder if his wife was behind it, I bet she was. Maybe jealousy? She envied his fame maybe? Perhaps his intelligence? Us? 
 
 `` What now? ``, I asked the officer. The man was staring at his report like he did n't want to fill it, worried perhaps that he'd die of boredom. 
 `` Well, we need to notify his next of kin, but I do n't think you need to do anything anymore with this''. 
 `` How did you know to find me anyway? ``, I asked. 
 `` Oh, well, we saw an appointment notification on his phone, and lucky for us, he did n't lock it, so we knew where to find you'', the officer responded. I did n't even recall his name. 
 
 Yeah, lucky! Max never took proper care of things like this! Susan could easily have spied on him, find the truth, hurt him. It had to be her, it had to! 
 
 `` Ma'am, could you tell me something? ``, the officer's voice sounded a mile away. 
 `` Uh, what's that, officer? ``, we'd ended up at his desk. I must've lost track. 
 `` Well, I've seen his face in the news, at least I think I have. Was he famous?'' 
 
 The ignoramus! How could he not know? Max Penny, the man who was to Mathematics what Stephen Hawking... no, Albert Einstein was, to Physics. The man who solved problems we thought we'd have to wait centuries to solve. When I met him, he'd solved the P versus NP problem in Computer Science. `` For fun'' he said! 
 
 `` Uh yeah, he was pretty famous, in Math'', I managed. 
 `` Yeah, that explains this...'', the officer motioned to a journal sitting on his desk. 
 
 Handing it to me, I flicked through and recognized it... Max's journal. Or at least, one of them, the handwriting in the beginning page was unmistakably his, clean, crisp, every equation annotated so others could understand. Another reason I loved this man. Susan, that bitch! 
 
 Oddly though, his writing became less and less clear. Was he working on the train? It got steadily worse, I could barely recognize the squibbles, a better word did n't exist for the chicken scratch the writing seemed to have degraded to... I wonder... 
 
 I took advantage of the officer's distraction to take the book and then take my leave. I had to keep something of Max's. His wife could never understand, and she'd probably sell or burn it, that stupid cow. Oh, Max! I miss you already. 
 
 At home, I looked at the journal again, and something was clear. Max was onto something fundamental. Right up to the point the writing started to falter, I understood what he was doing, taking the standard representation of numbers along axes of lines to spheres. A completely different way of representing them! That alone would have made a splash, but Max was after something... bigger. 
 
 I took an empty notebook and copied the last legible page, and decided to continue. The fundamentals Max laid out were painfully detailed, as if he was laying out a path. I would follow him, I would follow him anywhere. 
 
 The inertia of Max's work carried me forward, initially. I filled two such notebooks with work, and I knew I was coming towards an answer to Max's question at the start of his journal. Oh my love, would you be proud of me? Thoughts of you fill me with energy. 
 
 I had no appetite, I had a purpose, to finish Max's work. Nothing else seemed to matter. 
 
 At notebook number four, I noticed something... My writing was starting to falter. My mind did n't feel like itself. It did n't matter, I needed to keep going, I'd write slower. 
 
 At notebook number ten, it became clear. Susan did n't kill Max, this did, this problem. He solved it, as I have, and it killed him. I have this thought in the fraction of a second before life goes dark. 
 
 Division by Zero can not, and should not have an answer.
