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[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | "What did I do?" I asked.
"Nothing." he said, "That's the point. You didn't do anything. Your lack of contribution to either the good or evil side of things has placed you in the worst of predicaments. I fear for what will become of you. I fear the powers that are coming for you."
This probably should have scared me, but it didn't. Instead, I laughed.
"Powers? Good and evil? You can't be serious."
The strange man turned to look at me. He pulled back his hood. It was the first time I had seen his face. I wished I hadn't.
His eyes were like fire. They weren't literally like fire. They didn't blaze or shine or anything like that, but they were fiery. I had never seen a gaze that seemed so...alive. It was if the very essence of life was contained behind those golden orbs.
"This is exactly what I mean." he said. Or so I thought. It was to my horror that I realized he wasn't moving his lips: "You don't believe in us. As I said, this places you in a very precarious position. There are all kinds in this universe who have their own uses for you. I have to get you to where you belong before they all come crashing down on us. Dealing with the powers of deep heaven is not something that most find favorable." he paused and squinted at me. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"
I said nothing. I was trying to wake myself up from what appeared to be a very vivid dream.
He sighed and rolled his eyes: "So disinterested that you have not even studied myths and legends. What did you do with your life?"
"I'm an accountant." I said. "I keep people's books in order."
The man peered at me in silence. "This isn't a dream," he said, "It's very real. You're not an accountant anymore. From henceforward you are the most sought after and valuable commodity in the whole of deep heaven--save for Maleldil himself." the man pulled his hood back over his head. "Come," he said, "We've a long journey ahead of us." | I guess I'm dead. It's been a good life. I've never been anything special. I'm not a religious woman, never really was.
Finished my degree, worked for a few years in business, a few promotions. Nothing interesting. Another cog in capitalist machine that is the U-S-of-A. I write and paint but I don't mention that to people, All of my long-term relationships have failed for one reason or another so I live alone with my cat and Netflix.
I died in an accident. I wasn't paying attention and a bus hit me, never saw it coming. I got to see my body though.
I mean God *damn* the blood was interesting. Ever wonder how much fluid is in a human body? Go to an accident scene. It's kinda funny, actually. How weak and fragile the human form is.
Then ***he*** came. Death came in his full, aweful glory.
>"Please don't run from me"
>"DUDE. EYES! How many??"
>"...you're not scared? You're a 30 year old girl who just watched her body bleed out"
>"I have So Many notebooks full of horror angel art you have no idea. And I'm a woman, welcome to the 21st century."
I didn't know I could make something twice my size recoil in fear. And yet, I think he's scared of a tiny dead human.
>"Is your name Luna?"
>"Isn't that your job to know?"
Is he trying to scare me back? I only use that name on my art, I never told a soul.
As the paramedics are cleaning up the last of my guts, it becomes quite clear he won't let me move on without answering his question.
>"Only in art. Never published, never shared."
>"You're not going to be judged. You're coming with me."
---
[shitty ending removed I'll try writing a part 2] | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | I guess I'm dead. It's been a good life. I've never been anything special. I'm not a religious woman, never really was.
Finished my degree, worked for a few years in business, a few promotions. Nothing interesting. Another cog in capitalist machine that is the U-S-of-A. I write and paint but I don't mention that to people, All of my long-term relationships have failed for one reason or another so I live alone with my cat and Netflix.
I died in an accident. I wasn't paying attention and a bus hit me, never saw it coming. I got to see my body though.
I mean God *damn* the blood was interesting. Ever wonder how much fluid is in a human body? Go to an accident scene. It's kinda funny, actually. How weak and fragile the human form is.
Then ***he*** came. Death came in his full, aweful glory.
>"Please don't run from me"
>"DUDE. EYES! How many??"
>"...you're not scared? You're a 30 year old girl who just watched her body bleed out"
>"I have So Many notebooks full of horror angel art you have no idea. And I'm a woman, welcome to the 21st century."
I didn't know I could make something twice my size recoil in fear. And yet, I think he's scared of a tiny dead human.
>"Is your name Luna?"
>"Isn't that your job to know?"
Is he trying to scare me back? I only use that name on my art, I never told a soul.
As the paramedics are cleaning up the last of my guts, it becomes quite clear he won't let me move on without answering his question.
>"Only in art. Never published, never shared."
>"You're not going to be judged. You're coming with me."
---
[shitty ending removed I'll try writing a part 2] | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | I guess I'm dead. It's been a good life. I've never been anything special. I'm not a religious woman, never really was.
Finished my degree, worked for a few years in business, a few promotions. Nothing interesting. Another cog in capitalist machine that is the U-S-of-A. I write and paint but I don't mention that to people, All of my long-term relationships have failed for one reason or another so I live alone with my cat and Netflix.
I died in an accident. I wasn't paying attention and a bus hit me, never saw it coming. I got to see my body though.
I mean God *damn* the blood was interesting. Ever wonder how much fluid is in a human body? Go to an accident scene. It's kinda funny, actually. How weak and fragile the human form is.
Then ***he*** came. Death came in his full, aweful glory.
>"Please don't run from me"
>"DUDE. EYES! How many??"
>"...you're not scared? You're a 30 year old girl who just watched her body bleed out"
>"I have So Many notebooks full of horror angel art you have no idea. And I'm a woman, welcome to the 21st century."
I didn't know I could make something twice my size recoil in fear. And yet, I think he's scared of a tiny dead human.
>"Is your name Luna?"
>"Isn't that your job to know?"
Is he trying to scare me back? I only use that name on my art, I never told a soul.
As the paramedics are cleaning up the last of my guts, it becomes quite clear he won't let me move on without answering his question.
>"Only in art. Never published, never shared."
>"You're not going to be judged. You're coming with me."
---
[shitty ending removed I'll try writing a part 2] | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| I guess I'm dead. It's been a good life. I've never been anything special. I'm not a religious woman, never really was.
Finished my degree, worked for a few years in business, a few promotions. Nothing interesting. Another cog in capitalist machine that is the U-S-of-A. I write and paint but I don't mention that to people, All of my long-term relationships have failed for one reason or another so I live alone with my cat and Netflix.
I died in an accident. I wasn't paying attention and a bus hit me, never saw it coming. I got to see my body though.
I mean God *damn* the blood was interesting. Ever wonder how much fluid is in a human body? Go to an accident scene. It's kinda funny, actually. How weak and fragile the human form is.
Then ***he*** came. Death came in his full, aweful glory.
>"Please don't run from me"
>"DUDE. EYES! How many??"
>"...you're not scared? You're a 30 year old girl who just watched her body bleed out"
>"I have So Many notebooks full of horror angel art you have no idea. And I'm a woman, welcome to the 21st century."
I didn't know I could make something twice my size recoil in fear. And yet, I think he's scared of a tiny dead human.
>"Is your name Luna?"
>"Isn't that your job to know?"
Is he trying to scare me back? I only use that name on my art, I never told a soul.
As the paramedics are cleaning up the last of my guts, it becomes quite clear he won't let me move on without answering his question.
>"Only in art. Never published, never shared."
>"You're not going to be judged. You're coming with me."
---
[shitty ending removed I'll try writing a part 2] | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | I guess I'm dead. It's been a good life. I've never been anything special. I'm not a religious woman, never really was.
Finished my degree, worked for a few years in business, a few promotions. Nothing interesting. Another cog in capitalist machine that is the U-S-of-A. I write and paint but I don't mention that to people, All of my long-term relationships have failed for one reason or another so I live alone with my cat and Netflix.
I died in an accident. I wasn't paying attention and a bus hit me, never saw it coming. I got to see my body though.
I mean God *damn* the blood was interesting. Ever wonder how much fluid is in a human body? Go to an accident scene. It's kinda funny, actually. How weak and fragile the human form is.
Then ***he*** came. Death came in his full, aweful glory.
>"Please don't run from me"
>"DUDE. EYES! How many??"
>"...you're not scared? You're a 30 year old girl who just watched her body bleed out"
>"I have So Many notebooks full of horror angel art you have no idea. And I'm a woman, welcome to the 21st century."
I didn't know I could make something twice my size recoil in fear. And yet, I think he's scared of a tiny dead human.
>"Is your name Luna?"
>"Isn't that your job to know?"
Is he trying to scare me back? I only use that name on my art, I never told a soul.
As the paramedics are cleaning up the last of my guts, it becomes quite clear he won't let me move on without answering his question.
>"Only in art. Never published, never shared."
>"You're not going to be judged. You're coming with me."
---
[shitty ending removed I'll try writing a part 2] | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | "What did I do?" I asked.
"Nothing." he said, "That's the point. You didn't do anything. Your lack of contribution to either the good or evil side of things has placed you in the worst of predicaments. I fear for what will become of you. I fear the powers that are coming for you."
This probably should have scared me, but it didn't. Instead, I laughed.
"Powers? Good and evil? You can't be serious."
The strange man turned to look at me. He pulled back his hood. It was the first time I had seen his face. I wished I hadn't.
His eyes were like fire. They weren't literally like fire. They didn't blaze or shine or anything like that, but they were fiery. I had never seen a gaze that seemed so...alive. It was if the very essence of life was contained behind those golden orbs.
"This is exactly what I mean." he said. Or so I thought. It was to my horror that I realized he wasn't moving his lips: "You don't believe in us. As I said, this places you in a very precarious position. There are all kinds in this universe who have their own uses for you. I have to get you to where you belong before they all come crashing down on us. Dealing with the powers of deep heaven is not something that most find favorable." he paused and squinted at me. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"
I said nothing. I was trying to wake myself up from what appeared to be a very vivid dream.
He sighed and rolled his eyes: "So disinterested that you have not even studied myths and legends. What did you do with your life?"
"I'm an accountant." I said. "I keep people's books in order."
The man peered at me in silence. "This isn't a dream," he said, "It's very real. You're not an accountant anymore. From henceforward you are the most sought after and valuable commodity in the whole of deep heaven--save for Maleldil himself." the man pulled his hood back over his head. "Come," he said, "We've a long journey ahead of us." | I watched as my mom fell asleep. Her rocking chair had stopped creaking, finally. I wanted to tell her to stop, but she was crying and I didn't want to make her cry anymore. if I remember correctly, I didn't quite understand why she was crying. She kept saying my name. I mean, I knew I was sick, but I knew I was going to get better. That's what was supposed to happen. You get sick and then you get better. That's what happened to my brother when he had a cold and my best friend from school when she had something in her stomach. She missed my sixth birthday one year prior and I was happy to hear she got better.
That's what's supposed to happen. People got sick and in a week or so, you got better. So I didn't see the reasoning behind my mother's sorrow.
People brought teddy bears and balloons to my room. I was allowed to stay at home for my "remaining days". I thought that meant that I would be home until this weird sickness that made me feel confused and weak would pass.
The home phone suddenly began to ring, lighting up the room with the green lights under the buttons. A happy tune had begun to play. I reached my skinny pale arm over to it and picked it up. I remember the phone number was nothing. There was Nothing there. I coughed and answered before it woke my mom and made her cry again. Everything made her cry at this time. She even stopped going to work.
"Hello?" I say into the phone. All I heard was breathing. I wanted to call down the stairs for my brother to stop messing with me, but all my strength had been gone long ago. I waited for a couple seconds. "Stop it." I breathed.
"Are you okay?" Someone on the line said. I wanted to ask it *they* were. They sounder so far away from the speaker.
"Well..." I said. "My back hurts." I'd been sitting up for the shortest time and I was winded. "I want to play baseball with my brothers." I sighed. At this point I realized this voice was not my brothers, but something made me trust the man. He sounded like a dad. Not my dad, though. Like when you go over to your friends house and he says "You kids want some macaroni?" Like that.
"Y-you won't be long." He said. He coughed. "I'm s-sorry. I mean I won't be long."
"You won't be long for what?" I asked, looking over to my mom, who snored a big snore. She was deep in sleep. Maybe she was even dreaming.
"I... I won't be long." He said again. His voice is still quiet. Maybe he's an uncle.
I look out the window but I don't see anyone coming down the walk. "What's your name?" I asked him. I glanced at my mother again. I didn't want her to wake up. "You can't ring the doorbell. Okay? The doorbell is broken. But if you knock..." I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it as it started to beep. I looked up to check if my mother was awake, but something in the corner caught my eye. Suddenly I wanted her awake.
The figure standing in the corner held out his hand before bringing it back to its side. It was no monster, but a person.
"Mom?" I whispered frantically. "Mommy." I grabbed at her sleeve and discovered that the pain I once felt upon moving around had halted. "Mommy there's someone..."
My mom didn't wake up, but the man walked over to me. I still couldn't see his face. He didn't say anything.
"How did you get in so fast?" I asked. I decided that one of my brothers let him in.
"Has your time come?" He finally said. I could now say for sure that he was the same person from the phone.
I shook my head, not knowing what he meant.
"I think it has. Are you in pain?"
*Ohh,* I thought. *He's the doctor.*
"My legs and arms were hurting, sir." I was suddenly very aware of the pain in my limbs.
He hesitated, and then he held a shaky arm out. "If you come with me..." He stops and looks at my mother. "If you come with me... You won't feel so horrible anymore."
"I need to ask my mom." I said to him. "Mom?"
"No need." He said quickly. "You will see your mother again. She won't hear you now..."
I looked at her again. She didn't even wake up to the sounds of the phone or this man or me calling out to her. "You're not the doctor."
"I am not the doctor." He put his arm back down.
"Well, who are you?" I asked him. I felt no fear of him then, even though he'd muted me to my mother.
"I've come to escort you home." He told me with an encouraging nod.
Home. I was already home. I can't explain to you why I took his hand. I couldn't tell you exactly why I lead him down the hall through the house and down the front walk. I don't know why everything disappeared around us and we were in a garden. But it did. And all hurt I had melted away.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | I watched as my mom fell asleep. Her rocking chair had stopped creaking, finally. I wanted to tell her to stop, but she was crying and I didn't want to make her cry anymore. if I remember correctly, I didn't quite understand why she was crying. She kept saying my name. I mean, I knew I was sick, but I knew I was going to get better. That's what was supposed to happen. You get sick and then you get better. That's what happened to my brother when he had a cold and my best friend from school when she had something in her stomach. She missed my sixth birthday one year prior and I was happy to hear she got better.
That's what's supposed to happen. People got sick and in a week or so, you got better. So I didn't see the reasoning behind my mother's sorrow.
People brought teddy bears and balloons to my room. I was allowed to stay at home for my "remaining days". I thought that meant that I would be home until this weird sickness that made me feel confused and weak would pass.
The home phone suddenly began to ring, lighting up the room with the green lights under the buttons. A happy tune had begun to play. I reached my skinny pale arm over to it and picked it up. I remember the phone number was nothing. There was Nothing there. I coughed and answered before it woke my mom and made her cry again. Everything made her cry at this time. She even stopped going to work.
"Hello?" I say into the phone. All I heard was breathing. I wanted to call down the stairs for my brother to stop messing with me, but all my strength had been gone long ago. I waited for a couple seconds. "Stop it." I breathed.
"Are you okay?" Someone on the line said. I wanted to ask it *they* were. They sounder so far away from the speaker.
"Well..." I said. "My back hurts." I'd been sitting up for the shortest time and I was winded. "I want to play baseball with my brothers." I sighed. At this point I realized this voice was not my brothers, but something made me trust the man. He sounded like a dad. Not my dad, though. Like when you go over to your friends house and he says "You kids want some macaroni?" Like that.
"Y-you won't be long." He said. He coughed. "I'm s-sorry. I mean I won't be long."
"You won't be long for what?" I asked, looking over to my mom, who snored a big snore. She was deep in sleep. Maybe she was even dreaming.
"I... I won't be long." He said again. His voice is still quiet. Maybe he's an uncle.
I look out the window but I don't see anyone coming down the walk. "What's your name?" I asked him. I glanced at my mother again. I didn't want her to wake up. "You can't ring the doorbell. Okay? The doorbell is broken. But if you knock..." I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it as it started to beep. I looked up to check if my mother was awake, but something in the corner caught my eye. Suddenly I wanted her awake.
The figure standing in the corner held out his hand before bringing it back to its side. It was no monster, but a person.
"Mom?" I whispered frantically. "Mommy." I grabbed at her sleeve and discovered that the pain I once felt upon moving around had halted. "Mommy there's someone..."
My mom didn't wake up, but the man walked over to me. I still couldn't see his face. He didn't say anything.
"How did you get in so fast?" I asked. I decided that one of my brothers let him in.
"Has your time come?" He finally said. I could now say for sure that he was the same person from the phone.
I shook my head, not knowing what he meant.
"I think it has. Are you in pain?"
*Ohh,* I thought. *He's the doctor.*
"My legs and arms were hurting, sir." I was suddenly very aware of the pain in my limbs.
He hesitated, and then he held a shaky arm out. "If you come with me..." He stops and looks at my mother. "If you come with me... You won't feel so horrible anymore."
"I need to ask my mom." I said to him. "Mom?"
"No need." He said quickly. "You will see your mother again. She won't hear you now..."
I looked at her again. She didn't even wake up to the sounds of the phone or this man or me calling out to her. "You're not the doctor."
"I am not the doctor." He put his arm back down.
"Well, who are you?" I asked him. I felt no fear of him then, even though he'd muted me to my mother.
"I've come to escort you home." He told me with an encouraging nod.
Home. I was already home. I can't explain to you why I took his hand. I couldn't tell you exactly why I lead him down the hall through the house and down the front walk. I don't know why everything disappeared around us and we were in a garden. But it did. And all hurt I had melted away.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | I watched as my mom fell asleep. Her rocking chair had stopped creaking, finally. I wanted to tell her to stop, but she was crying and I didn't want to make her cry anymore. if I remember correctly, I didn't quite understand why she was crying. She kept saying my name. I mean, I knew I was sick, but I knew I was going to get better. That's what was supposed to happen. You get sick and then you get better. That's what happened to my brother when he had a cold and my best friend from school when she had something in her stomach. She missed my sixth birthday one year prior and I was happy to hear she got better.
That's what's supposed to happen. People got sick and in a week or so, you got better. So I didn't see the reasoning behind my mother's sorrow.
People brought teddy bears and balloons to my room. I was allowed to stay at home for my "remaining days". I thought that meant that I would be home until this weird sickness that made me feel confused and weak would pass.
The home phone suddenly began to ring, lighting up the room with the green lights under the buttons. A happy tune had begun to play. I reached my skinny pale arm over to it and picked it up. I remember the phone number was nothing. There was Nothing there. I coughed and answered before it woke my mom and made her cry again. Everything made her cry at this time. She even stopped going to work.
"Hello?" I say into the phone. All I heard was breathing. I wanted to call down the stairs for my brother to stop messing with me, but all my strength had been gone long ago. I waited for a couple seconds. "Stop it." I breathed.
"Are you okay?" Someone on the line said. I wanted to ask it *they* were. They sounder so far away from the speaker.
"Well..." I said. "My back hurts." I'd been sitting up for the shortest time and I was winded. "I want to play baseball with my brothers." I sighed. At this point I realized this voice was not my brothers, but something made me trust the man. He sounded like a dad. Not my dad, though. Like when you go over to your friends house and he says "You kids want some macaroni?" Like that.
"Y-you won't be long." He said. He coughed. "I'm s-sorry. I mean I won't be long."
"You won't be long for what?" I asked, looking over to my mom, who snored a big snore. She was deep in sleep. Maybe she was even dreaming.
"I... I won't be long." He said again. His voice is still quiet. Maybe he's an uncle.
I look out the window but I don't see anyone coming down the walk. "What's your name?" I asked him. I glanced at my mother again. I didn't want her to wake up. "You can't ring the doorbell. Okay? The doorbell is broken. But if you knock..." I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it as it started to beep. I looked up to check if my mother was awake, but something in the corner caught my eye. Suddenly I wanted her awake.
The figure standing in the corner held out his hand before bringing it back to its side. It was no monster, but a person.
"Mom?" I whispered frantically. "Mommy." I grabbed at her sleeve and discovered that the pain I once felt upon moving around had halted. "Mommy there's someone..."
My mom didn't wake up, but the man walked over to me. I still couldn't see his face. He didn't say anything.
"How did you get in so fast?" I asked. I decided that one of my brothers let him in.
"Has your time come?" He finally said. I could now say for sure that he was the same person from the phone.
I shook my head, not knowing what he meant.
"I think it has. Are you in pain?"
*Ohh,* I thought. *He's the doctor.*
"My legs and arms were hurting, sir." I was suddenly very aware of the pain in my limbs.
He hesitated, and then he held a shaky arm out. "If you come with me..." He stops and looks at my mother. "If you come with me... You won't feel so horrible anymore."
"I need to ask my mom." I said to him. "Mom?"
"No need." He said quickly. "You will see your mother again. She won't hear you now..."
I looked at her again. She didn't even wake up to the sounds of the phone or this man or me calling out to her. "You're not the doctor."
"I am not the doctor." He put his arm back down.
"Well, who are you?" I asked him. I felt no fear of him then, even though he'd muted me to my mother.
"I've come to escort you home." He told me with an encouraging nod.
Home. I was already home. I can't explain to you why I took his hand. I couldn't tell you exactly why I lead him down the hall through the house and down the front walk. I don't know why everything disappeared around us and we were in a garden. But it did. And all hurt I had melted away.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| I watched as my mom fell asleep. Her rocking chair had stopped creaking, finally. I wanted to tell her to stop, but she was crying and I didn't want to make her cry anymore. if I remember correctly, I didn't quite understand why she was crying. She kept saying my name. I mean, I knew I was sick, but I knew I was going to get better. That's what was supposed to happen. You get sick and then you get better. That's what happened to my brother when he had a cold and my best friend from school when she had something in her stomach. She missed my sixth birthday one year prior and I was happy to hear she got better.
That's what's supposed to happen. People got sick and in a week or so, you got better. So I didn't see the reasoning behind my mother's sorrow.
People brought teddy bears and balloons to my room. I was allowed to stay at home for my "remaining days". I thought that meant that I would be home until this weird sickness that made me feel confused and weak would pass.
The home phone suddenly began to ring, lighting up the room with the green lights under the buttons. A happy tune had begun to play. I reached my skinny pale arm over to it and picked it up. I remember the phone number was nothing. There was Nothing there. I coughed and answered before it woke my mom and made her cry again. Everything made her cry at this time. She even stopped going to work.
"Hello?" I say into the phone. All I heard was breathing. I wanted to call down the stairs for my brother to stop messing with me, but all my strength had been gone long ago. I waited for a couple seconds. "Stop it." I breathed.
"Are you okay?" Someone on the line said. I wanted to ask it *they* were. They sounder so far away from the speaker.
"Well..." I said. "My back hurts." I'd been sitting up for the shortest time and I was winded. "I want to play baseball with my brothers." I sighed. At this point I realized this voice was not my brothers, but something made me trust the man. He sounded like a dad. Not my dad, though. Like when you go over to your friends house and he says "You kids want some macaroni?" Like that.
"Y-you won't be long." He said. He coughed. "I'm s-sorry. I mean I won't be long."
"You won't be long for what?" I asked, looking over to my mom, who snored a big snore. She was deep in sleep. Maybe she was even dreaming.
"I... I won't be long." He said again. His voice is still quiet. Maybe he's an uncle.
I look out the window but I don't see anyone coming down the walk. "What's your name?" I asked him. I glanced at my mother again. I didn't want her to wake up. "You can't ring the doorbell. Okay? The doorbell is broken. But if you knock..." I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it as it started to beep. I looked up to check if my mother was awake, but something in the corner caught my eye. Suddenly I wanted her awake.
The figure standing in the corner held out his hand before bringing it back to its side. It was no monster, but a person.
"Mom?" I whispered frantically. "Mommy." I grabbed at her sleeve and discovered that the pain I once felt upon moving around had halted. "Mommy there's someone..."
My mom didn't wake up, but the man walked over to me. I still couldn't see his face. He didn't say anything.
"How did you get in so fast?" I asked. I decided that one of my brothers let him in.
"Has your time come?" He finally said. I could now say for sure that he was the same person from the phone.
I shook my head, not knowing what he meant.
"I think it has. Are you in pain?"
*Ohh,* I thought. *He's the doctor.*
"My legs and arms were hurting, sir." I was suddenly very aware of the pain in my limbs.
He hesitated, and then he held a shaky arm out. "If you come with me..." He stops and looks at my mother. "If you come with me... You won't feel so horrible anymore."
"I need to ask my mom." I said to him. "Mom?"
"No need." He said quickly. "You will see your mother again. She won't hear you now..."
I looked at her again. She didn't even wake up to the sounds of the phone or this man or me calling out to her. "You're not the doctor."
"I am not the doctor." He put his arm back down.
"Well, who are you?" I asked him. I felt no fear of him then, even though he'd muted me to my mother.
"I've come to escort you home." He told me with an encouraging nod.
Home. I was already home. I can't explain to you why I took his hand. I couldn't tell you exactly why I lead him down the hall through the house and down the front walk. I don't know why everything disappeared around us and we were in a garden. But it did. And all hurt I had melted away.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | I watched as my mom fell asleep. Her rocking chair had stopped creaking, finally. I wanted to tell her to stop, but she was crying and I didn't want to make her cry anymore. if I remember correctly, I didn't quite understand why she was crying. She kept saying my name. I mean, I knew I was sick, but I knew I was going to get better. That's what was supposed to happen. You get sick and then you get better. That's what happened to my brother when he had a cold and my best friend from school when she had something in her stomach. She missed my sixth birthday one year prior and I was happy to hear she got better.
That's what's supposed to happen. People got sick and in a week or so, you got better. So I didn't see the reasoning behind my mother's sorrow.
People brought teddy bears and balloons to my room. I was allowed to stay at home for my "remaining days". I thought that meant that I would be home until this weird sickness that made me feel confused and weak would pass.
The home phone suddenly began to ring, lighting up the room with the green lights under the buttons. A happy tune had begun to play. I reached my skinny pale arm over to it and picked it up. I remember the phone number was nothing. There was Nothing there. I coughed and answered before it woke my mom and made her cry again. Everything made her cry at this time. She even stopped going to work.
"Hello?" I say into the phone. All I heard was breathing. I wanted to call down the stairs for my brother to stop messing with me, but all my strength had been gone long ago. I waited for a couple seconds. "Stop it." I breathed.
"Are you okay?" Someone on the line said. I wanted to ask it *they* were. They sounder so far away from the speaker.
"Well..." I said. "My back hurts." I'd been sitting up for the shortest time and I was winded. "I want to play baseball with my brothers." I sighed. At this point I realized this voice was not my brothers, but something made me trust the man. He sounded like a dad. Not my dad, though. Like when you go over to your friends house and he says "You kids want some macaroni?" Like that.
"Y-you won't be long." He said. He coughed. "I'm s-sorry. I mean I won't be long."
"You won't be long for what?" I asked, looking over to my mom, who snored a big snore. She was deep in sleep. Maybe she was even dreaming.
"I... I won't be long." He said again. His voice is still quiet. Maybe he's an uncle.
I look out the window but I don't see anyone coming down the walk. "What's your name?" I asked him. I glanced at my mother again. I didn't want her to wake up. "You can't ring the doorbell. Okay? The doorbell is broken. But if you knock..." I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it as it started to beep. I looked up to check if my mother was awake, but something in the corner caught my eye. Suddenly I wanted her awake.
The figure standing in the corner held out his hand before bringing it back to its side. It was no monster, but a person.
"Mom?" I whispered frantically. "Mommy." I grabbed at her sleeve and discovered that the pain I once felt upon moving around had halted. "Mommy there's someone..."
My mom didn't wake up, but the man walked over to me. I still couldn't see his face. He didn't say anything.
"How did you get in so fast?" I asked. I decided that one of my brothers let him in.
"Has your time come?" He finally said. I could now say for sure that he was the same person from the phone.
I shook my head, not knowing what he meant.
"I think it has. Are you in pain?"
*Ohh,* I thought. *He's the doctor.*
"My legs and arms were hurting, sir." I was suddenly very aware of the pain in my limbs.
He hesitated, and then he held a shaky arm out. "If you come with me..." He stops and looks at my mother. "If you come with me... You won't feel so horrible anymore."
"I need to ask my mom." I said to him. "Mom?"
"No need." He said quickly. "You will see your mother again. She won't hear you now..."
I looked at her again. She didn't even wake up to the sounds of the phone or this man or me calling out to her. "You're not the doctor."
"I am not the doctor." He put his arm back down.
"Well, who are you?" I asked him. I felt no fear of him then, even though he'd muted me to my mother.
"I've come to escort you home." He told me with an encouraging nod.
Home. I was already home. I can't explain to you why I took his hand. I couldn't tell you exactly why I lead him down the hall through the house and down the front walk. I don't know why everything disappeared around us and we were in a garden. But it did. And all hurt I had melted away.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | There is no sting, no pain, not even worry. It comes as a light tap on the shoulder with the simple words, "It's time." I look up to the man robed in deep night; hard to describe the light swallowing color. Darkness closed around us as if we were in a dense forrest, yet I could still see the black robe clearly. The journey is silent. I stilled my own breath praying for brief respite from the solemn silence. Nothing. Less for curiosity and more to break the hollow veil I stutter, searching for the proper words which may be my last. "Where.." My guide stops without turning. "Are we going?", he responds filling in my disjointed words. With a heavy sigh he turns to me. I see his face for the first time. Despite the ominous garments his face is strangely comforting. Human, tired; his face is carved with the channels of the years. "We're nearly there", he responds. I'm struck silent again. His voice, the voice of the personification of what we all fear the most, shook. I wanted to ask something, anything else just know if I misinterpreted his tone. I opened my mouth, but he stopped and spun. "You want to know?!" His vocal chords strained against his anguish, his eyes were glassy. "We all march to the end! It is constant. You think I have power over this, don't you? I've stood where you stand." His head sunk for a moment. Without a glance back to me, he turned and stepped forward. His stride had changed. One foot dragged past the other. Only a few feet before me he pivoted and locked his wet eyes on mine. His lip quivered, "good luck." Staring into my soul his left foot went back, hovering for a contemplative moment. His head tilted up as his weight shifted. There was no ledge in view, yet he fell. Stricken by empathy I lunged to grab Death, but there was no man, only an empty robe. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | Being on a death bed wasn't quite so bad. They gave you pudding whenever you wanted, bathroom breaks were only a push of a button instead of this whole ordeal of getting up and walking to their nearest toilet and listening to that horrendous flushing sound. You just felt the water wash away your stain on the Earth, your mark of the territory gone into a pool of chlorinated water. What a waste.
Jefferson slid the beige plastic spoon full of green jello into his mouth. It wasn't pudding but it was something he could eat. He clicked the television remote that was tied to the bedframe, this was truly the best of all worlds he didn't have to work for anything just pure relaxation. This was true retirement, not any of that "get on a sailboat and follow your dreams" or "buy a telescope and follow the current which ever way it takes you". He always got those commercials confused, primarily because they all harvested on the false joy of lovers spending time together. What a crock all that was, pudding was his only true love at this point.
Jefferson heard the heart monitor go flat, but the hospital wasn't the most up to date and he could've sworn he'd heard it fake him out before. He continued to try and push the green gelatin into his mouth but the spoon just wouldn't move from the cup. Whatever. Jefferson tried to change the channel, one of those bastardized retirement commercials was coming on again, he could feel it. But his other arm wouldn't inch closer to the remote, "what the hell..." At least he could turn his head from the commercial.
The room was boring as can be, just eggshell white walls with a wooden door and a curtain for "privacy". It hadn't changed, he rolled his head to the window, not even trees could be seen from this height. At least it was a cheap room, he could save some money for later on in his life, or the government could use it to fund creationism like he'd pleaded for them to do. "Alright, let's see now, Jefferson Bridges? You...shit, seriously God. You got this death...you got this, he's just another human pile of water and microbes how bad can he be?" Jefferson turned towards the voice, a football coach with a deceitful black hood covering his face was standing between Jefferson's bed and the door.
"Uh...who are you?"
"Well, I'm supposed to be the guy that takes your soul...but if you want to stick around here, I can come back in like a year or two..."
"Nah I can go now. I'm not doing anything." The cloak dipped down as if it were looking at the spoon.
"I think you can wait. I mean it's fun here right?" The cloak seemed to fade back towards the door.
"Why would I wait? I'm good to go, I can't even lift up my spoon why would I stay if I can't even eat Jello or pudding anymore?"
"So you don't take my job that's why. You've lived a pretty boring life haven't you...Mr.Bridges?"
"I'd like to say that's not true but I suppose to some people it could look that way." Jefferson couldn't turn his head any longer, he was dead set on the cloaked coach.
"Well according to my little clipboard here. You have expanded literally no effort in this life. Which is great for you because that makes this upcoming one all that much more thrilling. In fact, you're life here has been so boring you're one of the top 5 picks of the season."
"I'm sorry, picks for what?"
"Oh the Reaping Games. You see God and each of his little arch angels and the devil and his head demons all get to draft a team of reapers who go out and collect souls. They have match-ups, think of the football here on earth well Fantasy Football would be a more appropriate metaphor but you get the gist. Each reaper gets points for the souls they bring in, celebrities and individuals that have exerted more will during their lives are worth more points and then there are the golden gooses, the next big winners that have saved all their energy and will for the next life. God gets the rights to all the nuns and such but there are a few, like you, that haven't done anything and didn't submit to his service. You get to be the next big reapers most of the time."
"So I'm going to take souls as a punishment for being lazy in this life?"
"Yeah that's about the stuff. No rest for the wicked and no rest for the lazy either." The coach garbed ghost took a step towards Jefferson's bed.
"But there's a clause, if you decide to exert a little of that will now, just sign this contract right here," the reaper pulled a clipboard and a pen out of thin air and pushed it towards Jefferson, "we can let you sit out a year and come back next year in a new recruiting cycle." The reaper pushed his pen closer to Jefferson's hand.
"I'd rather take your spot on the team. I'm sick of these retirement commercials all the time."
"No...please, I've got one more year and then its a pool of virgins and the greatest wine I can imagine. My contract is almost complete and...my afterlife is in your hands Jefferson. I see here you haven't really helped anyone in your life, well we can change that for your afterlife. Just wait a year, its like being redshirted."
"Red shirts always die in Star Trek." Jefferson replied, this might actually be worth the effort if he got to have this much fun being a dick when he was taking souls. And maybe someone would thank him.
"Of course you're a trekkie...listen, just don't say anything about this. It was all a dream alright, I'll just let you lay there for awhile. A reaper will come get you eventually."
"I don't think so. Put me in the draft pool right now. Or I'll call him down and you'll be kicked out of your contract. Isn't that what the good book says, if I call on Him he'll be there."
"Come on now...Jefferson, don't be a dick man. Just, someone else will come recruit you in a minute."
"Well I'm you're assignment right? Do as your told. That's what we little people are supposed to do. Oh God!" A white cloud puffed into the room, right under the television. The retirement commercial stopped.
"Yo! Jefferson, oh you've got some killer stats. This guy causing problems?"
"I'm trying to accept the draft but he's reluctant to let me in."
"Well, Jeremy, that's a violation of your contract isn't it? No virgins for you!" God rolled his arms like he was doing the tootsie roll and ended with his fingers pointing at the reaper in coach's garb, the reaper disappeared in a cloud of ash. Jefferson swore he heard a perpetual shout of "no" in the room for a few seconds. "Alright Jefferson, we'll get you started right away, the drafts in a few days and you get bonus points for ratting out a cheater. I'll send down a maid or two to get you all washed up and dressed. They'll show you how to flex all that willpower you haven't used too. It's gonna be one hell of a season." God waved his hands across his body and he was instantly dressed in prominent fan gear, a giant foam finger was even on his left hand. He winked at Jefferson and was gone in a white cloud of smoke just as quickly as he'd entered. See, Jefferson had just been bidding his time his whole life, now he could do something important. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | Being on a death bed wasn't quite so bad. They gave you pudding whenever you wanted, bathroom breaks were only a push of a button instead of this whole ordeal of getting up and walking to their nearest toilet and listening to that horrendous flushing sound. You just felt the water wash away your stain on the Earth, your mark of the territory gone into a pool of chlorinated water. What a waste.
Jefferson slid the beige plastic spoon full of green jello into his mouth. It wasn't pudding but it was something he could eat. He clicked the television remote that was tied to the bedframe, this was truly the best of all worlds he didn't have to work for anything just pure relaxation. This was true retirement, not any of that "get on a sailboat and follow your dreams" or "buy a telescope and follow the current which ever way it takes you". He always got those commercials confused, primarily because they all harvested on the false joy of lovers spending time together. What a crock all that was, pudding was his only true love at this point.
Jefferson heard the heart monitor go flat, but the hospital wasn't the most up to date and he could've sworn he'd heard it fake him out before. He continued to try and push the green gelatin into his mouth but the spoon just wouldn't move from the cup. Whatever. Jefferson tried to change the channel, one of those bastardized retirement commercials was coming on again, he could feel it. But his other arm wouldn't inch closer to the remote, "what the hell..." At least he could turn his head from the commercial.
The room was boring as can be, just eggshell white walls with a wooden door and a curtain for "privacy". It hadn't changed, he rolled his head to the window, not even trees could be seen from this height. At least it was a cheap room, he could save some money for later on in his life, or the government could use it to fund creationism like he'd pleaded for them to do. "Alright, let's see now, Jefferson Bridges? You...shit, seriously God. You got this death...you got this, he's just another human pile of water and microbes how bad can he be?" Jefferson turned towards the voice, a football coach with a deceitful black hood covering his face was standing between Jefferson's bed and the door.
"Uh...who are you?"
"Well, I'm supposed to be the guy that takes your soul...but if you want to stick around here, I can come back in like a year or two..."
"Nah I can go now. I'm not doing anything." The cloak dipped down as if it were looking at the spoon.
"I think you can wait. I mean it's fun here right?" The cloak seemed to fade back towards the door.
"Why would I wait? I'm good to go, I can't even lift up my spoon why would I stay if I can't even eat Jello or pudding anymore?"
"So you don't take my job that's why. You've lived a pretty boring life haven't you...Mr.Bridges?"
"I'd like to say that's not true but I suppose to some people it could look that way." Jefferson couldn't turn his head any longer, he was dead set on the cloaked coach.
"Well according to my little clipboard here. You have expanded literally no effort in this life. Which is great for you because that makes this upcoming one all that much more thrilling. In fact, you're life here has been so boring you're one of the top 5 picks of the season."
"I'm sorry, picks for what?"
"Oh the Reaping Games. You see God and each of his little arch angels and the devil and his head demons all get to draft a team of reapers who go out and collect souls. They have match-ups, think of the football here on earth well Fantasy Football would be a more appropriate metaphor but you get the gist. Each reaper gets points for the souls they bring in, celebrities and individuals that have exerted more will during their lives are worth more points and then there are the golden gooses, the next big winners that have saved all their energy and will for the next life. God gets the rights to all the nuns and such but there are a few, like you, that haven't done anything and didn't submit to his service. You get to be the next big reapers most of the time."
"So I'm going to take souls as a punishment for being lazy in this life?"
"Yeah that's about the stuff. No rest for the wicked and no rest for the lazy either." The coach garbed ghost took a step towards Jefferson's bed.
"But there's a clause, if you decide to exert a little of that will now, just sign this contract right here," the reaper pulled a clipboard and a pen out of thin air and pushed it towards Jefferson, "we can let you sit out a year and come back next year in a new recruiting cycle." The reaper pushed his pen closer to Jefferson's hand.
"I'd rather take your spot on the team. I'm sick of these retirement commercials all the time."
"No...please, I've got one more year and then its a pool of virgins and the greatest wine I can imagine. My contract is almost complete and...my afterlife is in your hands Jefferson. I see here you haven't really helped anyone in your life, well we can change that for your afterlife. Just wait a year, its like being redshirted."
"Red shirts always die in Star Trek." Jefferson replied, this might actually be worth the effort if he got to have this much fun being a dick when he was taking souls. And maybe someone would thank him.
"Of course you're a trekkie...listen, just don't say anything about this. It was all a dream alright, I'll just let you lay there for awhile. A reaper will come get you eventually."
"I don't think so. Put me in the draft pool right now. Or I'll call him down and you'll be kicked out of your contract. Isn't that what the good book says, if I call on Him he'll be there."
"Come on now...Jefferson, don't be a dick man. Just, someone else will come recruit you in a minute."
"Well I'm you're assignment right? Do as your told. That's what we little people are supposed to do. Oh God!" A white cloud puffed into the room, right under the television. The retirement commercial stopped.
"Yo! Jefferson, oh you've got some killer stats. This guy causing problems?"
"I'm trying to accept the draft but he's reluctant to let me in."
"Well, Jeremy, that's a violation of your contract isn't it? No virgins for you!" God rolled his arms like he was doing the tootsie roll and ended with his fingers pointing at the reaper in coach's garb, the reaper disappeared in a cloud of ash. Jefferson swore he heard a perpetual shout of "no" in the room for a few seconds. "Alright Jefferson, we'll get you started right away, the drafts in a few days and you get bonus points for ratting out a cheater. I'll send down a maid or two to get you all washed up and dressed. They'll show you how to flex all that willpower you haven't used too. It's gonna be one hell of a season." God waved his hands across his body and he was instantly dressed in prominent fan gear, a giant foam finger was even on his left hand. He winked at Jefferson and was gone in a white cloud of smoke just as quickly as he'd entered. See, Jefferson had just been bidding his time his whole life, now he could do something important. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| Being on a death bed wasn't quite so bad. They gave you pudding whenever you wanted, bathroom breaks were only a push of a button instead of this whole ordeal of getting up and walking to their nearest toilet and listening to that horrendous flushing sound. You just felt the water wash away your stain on the Earth, your mark of the territory gone into a pool of chlorinated water. What a waste.
Jefferson slid the beige plastic spoon full of green jello into his mouth. It wasn't pudding but it was something he could eat. He clicked the television remote that was tied to the bedframe, this was truly the best of all worlds he didn't have to work for anything just pure relaxation. This was true retirement, not any of that "get on a sailboat and follow your dreams" or "buy a telescope and follow the current which ever way it takes you". He always got those commercials confused, primarily because they all harvested on the false joy of lovers spending time together. What a crock all that was, pudding was his only true love at this point.
Jefferson heard the heart monitor go flat, but the hospital wasn't the most up to date and he could've sworn he'd heard it fake him out before. He continued to try and push the green gelatin into his mouth but the spoon just wouldn't move from the cup. Whatever. Jefferson tried to change the channel, one of those bastardized retirement commercials was coming on again, he could feel it. But his other arm wouldn't inch closer to the remote, "what the hell..." At least he could turn his head from the commercial.
The room was boring as can be, just eggshell white walls with a wooden door and a curtain for "privacy". It hadn't changed, he rolled his head to the window, not even trees could be seen from this height. At least it was a cheap room, he could save some money for later on in his life, or the government could use it to fund creationism like he'd pleaded for them to do. "Alright, let's see now, Jefferson Bridges? You...shit, seriously God. You got this death...you got this, he's just another human pile of water and microbes how bad can he be?" Jefferson turned towards the voice, a football coach with a deceitful black hood covering his face was standing between Jefferson's bed and the door.
"Uh...who are you?"
"Well, I'm supposed to be the guy that takes your soul...but if you want to stick around here, I can come back in like a year or two..."
"Nah I can go now. I'm not doing anything." The cloak dipped down as if it were looking at the spoon.
"I think you can wait. I mean it's fun here right?" The cloak seemed to fade back towards the door.
"Why would I wait? I'm good to go, I can't even lift up my spoon why would I stay if I can't even eat Jello or pudding anymore?"
"So you don't take my job that's why. You've lived a pretty boring life haven't you...Mr.Bridges?"
"I'd like to say that's not true but I suppose to some people it could look that way." Jefferson couldn't turn his head any longer, he was dead set on the cloaked coach.
"Well according to my little clipboard here. You have expanded literally no effort in this life. Which is great for you because that makes this upcoming one all that much more thrilling. In fact, you're life here has been so boring you're one of the top 5 picks of the season."
"I'm sorry, picks for what?"
"Oh the Reaping Games. You see God and each of his little arch angels and the devil and his head demons all get to draft a team of reapers who go out and collect souls. They have match-ups, think of the football here on earth well Fantasy Football would be a more appropriate metaphor but you get the gist. Each reaper gets points for the souls they bring in, celebrities and individuals that have exerted more will during their lives are worth more points and then there are the golden gooses, the next big winners that have saved all their energy and will for the next life. God gets the rights to all the nuns and such but there are a few, like you, that haven't done anything and didn't submit to his service. You get to be the next big reapers most of the time."
"So I'm going to take souls as a punishment for being lazy in this life?"
"Yeah that's about the stuff. No rest for the wicked and no rest for the lazy either." The coach garbed ghost took a step towards Jefferson's bed.
"But there's a clause, if you decide to exert a little of that will now, just sign this contract right here," the reaper pulled a clipboard and a pen out of thin air and pushed it towards Jefferson, "we can let you sit out a year and come back next year in a new recruiting cycle." The reaper pushed his pen closer to Jefferson's hand.
"I'd rather take your spot on the team. I'm sick of these retirement commercials all the time."
"No...please, I've got one more year and then its a pool of virgins and the greatest wine I can imagine. My contract is almost complete and...my afterlife is in your hands Jefferson. I see here you haven't really helped anyone in your life, well we can change that for your afterlife. Just wait a year, its like being redshirted."
"Red shirts always die in Star Trek." Jefferson replied, this might actually be worth the effort if he got to have this much fun being a dick when he was taking souls. And maybe someone would thank him.
"Of course you're a trekkie...listen, just don't say anything about this. It was all a dream alright, I'll just let you lay there for awhile. A reaper will come get you eventually."
"I don't think so. Put me in the draft pool right now. Or I'll call him down and you'll be kicked out of your contract. Isn't that what the good book says, if I call on Him he'll be there."
"Come on now...Jefferson, don't be a dick man. Just, someone else will come recruit you in a minute."
"Well I'm you're assignment right? Do as your told. That's what we little people are supposed to do. Oh God!" A white cloud puffed into the room, right under the television. The retirement commercial stopped.
"Yo! Jefferson, oh you've got some killer stats. This guy causing problems?"
"I'm trying to accept the draft but he's reluctant to let me in."
"Well, Jeremy, that's a violation of your contract isn't it? No virgins for you!" God rolled his arms like he was doing the tootsie roll and ended with his fingers pointing at the reaper in coach's garb, the reaper disappeared in a cloud of ash. Jefferson swore he heard a perpetual shout of "no" in the room for a few seconds. "Alright Jefferson, we'll get you started right away, the drafts in a few days and you get bonus points for ratting out a cheater. I'll send down a maid or two to get you all washed up and dressed. They'll show you how to flex all that willpower you haven't used too. It's gonna be one hell of a season." God waved his hands across his body and he was instantly dressed in prominent fan gear, a giant foam finger was even on his left hand. He winked at Jefferson and was gone in a white cloud of smoke just as quickly as he'd entered. See, Jefferson had just been bidding his time his whole life, now he could do something important. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | Being on a death bed wasn't quite so bad. They gave you pudding whenever you wanted, bathroom breaks were only a push of a button instead of this whole ordeal of getting up and walking to their nearest toilet and listening to that horrendous flushing sound. You just felt the water wash away your stain on the Earth, your mark of the territory gone into a pool of chlorinated water. What a waste.
Jefferson slid the beige plastic spoon full of green jello into his mouth. It wasn't pudding but it was something he could eat. He clicked the television remote that was tied to the bedframe, this was truly the best of all worlds he didn't have to work for anything just pure relaxation. This was true retirement, not any of that "get on a sailboat and follow your dreams" or "buy a telescope and follow the current which ever way it takes you". He always got those commercials confused, primarily because they all harvested on the false joy of lovers spending time together. What a crock all that was, pudding was his only true love at this point.
Jefferson heard the heart monitor go flat, but the hospital wasn't the most up to date and he could've sworn he'd heard it fake him out before. He continued to try and push the green gelatin into his mouth but the spoon just wouldn't move from the cup. Whatever. Jefferson tried to change the channel, one of those bastardized retirement commercials was coming on again, he could feel it. But his other arm wouldn't inch closer to the remote, "what the hell..." At least he could turn his head from the commercial.
The room was boring as can be, just eggshell white walls with a wooden door and a curtain for "privacy". It hadn't changed, he rolled his head to the window, not even trees could be seen from this height. At least it was a cheap room, he could save some money for later on in his life, or the government could use it to fund creationism like he'd pleaded for them to do. "Alright, let's see now, Jefferson Bridges? You...shit, seriously God. You got this death...you got this, he's just another human pile of water and microbes how bad can he be?" Jefferson turned towards the voice, a football coach with a deceitful black hood covering his face was standing between Jefferson's bed and the door.
"Uh...who are you?"
"Well, I'm supposed to be the guy that takes your soul...but if you want to stick around here, I can come back in like a year or two..."
"Nah I can go now. I'm not doing anything." The cloak dipped down as if it were looking at the spoon.
"I think you can wait. I mean it's fun here right?" The cloak seemed to fade back towards the door.
"Why would I wait? I'm good to go, I can't even lift up my spoon why would I stay if I can't even eat Jello or pudding anymore?"
"So you don't take my job that's why. You've lived a pretty boring life haven't you...Mr.Bridges?"
"I'd like to say that's not true but I suppose to some people it could look that way." Jefferson couldn't turn his head any longer, he was dead set on the cloaked coach.
"Well according to my little clipboard here. You have expanded literally no effort in this life. Which is great for you because that makes this upcoming one all that much more thrilling. In fact, you're life here has been so boring you're one of the top 5 picks of the season."
"I'm sorry, picks for what?"
"Oh the Reaping Games. You see God and each of his little arch angels and the devil and his head demons all get to draft a team of reapers who go out and collect souls. They have match-ups, think of the football here on earth well Fantasy Football would be a more appropriate metaphor but you get the gist. Each reaper gets points for the souls they bring in, celebrities and individuals that have exerted more will during their lives are worth more points and then there are the golden gooses, the next big winners that have saved all their energy and will for the next life. God gets the rights to all the nuns and such but there are a few, like you, that haven't done anything and didn't submit to his service. You get to be the next big reapers most of the time."
"So I'm going to take souls as a punishment for being lazy in this life?"
"Yeah that's about the stuff. No rest for the wicked and no rest for the lazy either." The coach garbed ghost took a step towards Jefferson's bed.
"But there's a clause, if you decide to exert a little of that will now, just sign this contract right here," the reaper pulled a clipboard and a pen out of thin air and pushed it towards Jefferson, "we can let you sit out a year and come back next year in a new recruiting cycle." The reaper pushed his pen closer to Jefferson's hand.
"I'd rather take your spot on the team. I'm sick of these retirement commercials all the time."
"No...please, I've got one more year and then its a pool of virgins and the greatest wine I can imagine. My contract is almost complete and...my afterlife is in your hands Jefferson. I see here you haven't really helped anyone in your life, well we can change that for your afterlife. Just wait a year, its like being redshirted."
"Red shirts always die in Star Trek." Jefferson replied, this might actually be worth the effort if he got to have this much fun being a dick when he was taking souls. And maybe someone would thank him.
"Of course you're a trekkie...listen, just don't say anything about this. It was all a dream alright, I'll just let you lay there for awhile. A reaper will come get you eventually."
"I don't think so. Put me in the draft pool right now. Or I'll call him down and you'll be kicked out of your contract. Isn't that what the good book says, if I call on Him he'll be there."
"Come on now...Jefferson, don't be a dick man. Just, someone else will come recruit you in a minute."
"Well I'm you're assignment right? Do as your told. That's what we little people are supposed to do. Oh God!" A white cloud puffed into the room, right under the television. The retirement commercial stopped.
"Yo! Jefferson, oh you've got some killer stats. This guy causing problems?"
"I'm trying to accept the draft but he's reluctant to let me in."
"Well, Jeremy, that's a violation of your contract isn't it? No virgins for you!" God rolled his arms like he was doing the tootsie roll and ended with his fingers pointing at the reaper in coach's garb, the reaper disappeared in a cloud of ash. Jefferson swore he heard a perpetual shout of "no" in the room for a few seconds. "Alright Jefferson, we'll get you started right away, the drafts in a few days and you get bonus points for ratting out a cheater. I'll send down a maid or two to get you all washed up and dressed. They'll show you how to flex all that willpower you haven't used too. It's gonna be one hell of a season." God waved his hands across his body and he was instantly dressed in prominent fan gear, a giant foam finger was even on his left hand. He winked at Jefferson and was gone in a white cloud of smoke just as quickly as he'd entered. See, Jefferson had just been bidding his time his whole life, now he could do something important. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | Ow. i thought to myself, putting a hand to my head."what happened last night feels like i got run over by a truck." i said out loud. "YOU DID" a nearby voice said. Siting up i started to rub the sleep form my eyes. then stopped just now seeing where i was. "Did i go to party at the hospital last night?" I said looking around "and pass out in the operating room?"
"NO BUT IF IT HELPS YOU WHERE COMPLETELY HAMMERED LAST NIGHT."
"well that expanses the headache" I said levering myself off of the table and wandering to the counter.
"NO **THAT** WAS THE TRUCK"
I turned to the cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room and was just about to demand an explanation when I saw what was on the table.
It was me.
without noticing the shock the figure had upon seeing my face i rushed to the operating table
"MY LORD?"
"no!" I screamed "I can't be be dead!"
"MY LORD IT IS SUCH AN HONOR TO SEE YOU ONCE MORE. DOES THIS MEAN YOUR BACK FROM "
"What are you talking about?" i bellowed at the figure
"MY LORD DON"T YOU RECOGNIZE ME, THE REAPER OF MEN?, YOU'RE THE REAPER OF ALL. ANY OF THIS RINGING A BELL?" The figure grinned at me. Not that he could do much else. "NO? THAT VACATION OF YOURS MUST OF TAKEN A LOT FROM YOU SIR. LOOK AT YOUR HAND AND WITH LUCK YOU WILL REMEMBER "
I glanced down at my hands and saw, for once in my life the truth of what lay there. bones. bones blacker then black. no, not just black this, this was the epitome of blackness. the blackness that black just aspires to be. and with that realization it came back. eons of memories and with it the knowledge of who, no what i was.
" MY LORD?"
"*YES DEATH.*"
"WELCOME BACK. WE HAVE WORK TO DO." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | Ow. i thought to myself, putting a hand to my head."what happened last night feels like i got run over by a truck." i said out loud. "YOU DID" a nearby voice said. Siting up i started to rub the sleep form my eyes. then stopped just now seeing where i was. "Did i go to party at the hospital last night?" I said looking around "and pass out in the operating room?"
"NO BUT IF IT HELPS YOU WHERE COMPLETELY HAMMERED LAST NIGHT."
"well that expanses the headache" I said levering myself off of the table and wandering to the counter.
"NO **THAT** WAS THE TRUCK"
I turned to the cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room and was just about to demand an explanation when I saw what was on the table.
It was me.
without noticing the shock the figure had upon seeing my face i rushed to the operating table
"MY LORD?"
"no!" I screamed "I can't be be dead!"
"MY LORD IT IS SUCH AN HONOR TO SEE YOU ONCE MORE. DOES THIS MEAN YOUR BACK FROM "
"What are you talking about?" i bellowed at the figure
"MY LORD DON"T YOU RECOGNIZE ME, THE REAPER OF MEN?, YOU'RE THE REAPER OF ALL. ANY OF THIS RINGING A BELL?" The figure grinned at me. Not that he could do much else. "NO? THAT VACATION OF YOURS MUST OF TAKEN A LOT FROM YOU SIR. LOOK AT YOUR HAND AND WITH LUCK YOU WILL REMEMBER "
I glanced down at my hands and saw, for once in my life the truth of what lay there. bones. bones blacker then black. no, not just black this, this was the epitome of blackness. the blackness that black just aspires to be. and with that realization it came back. eons of memories and with it the knowledge of who, no what i was.
" MY LORD?"
"*YES DEATH.*"
"WELCOME BACK. WE HAVE WORK TO DO." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| Ow. i thought to myself, putting a hand to my head."what happened last night feels like i got run over by a truck." i said out loud. "YOU DID" a nearby voice said. Siting up i started to rub the sleep form my eyes. then stopped just now seeing where i was. "Did i go to party at the hospital last night?" I said looking around "and pass out in the operating room?"
"NO BUT IF IT HELPS YOU WHERE COMPLETELY HAMMERED LAST NIGHT."
"well that expanses the headache" I said levering myself off of the table and wandering to the counter.
"NO **THAT** WAS THE TRUCK"
I turned to the cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room and was just about to demand an explanation when I saw what was on the table.
It was me.
without noticing the shock the figure had upon seeing my face i rushed to the operating table
"MY LORD?"
"no!" I screamed "I can't be be dead!"
"MY LORD IT IS SUCH AN HONOR TO SEE YOU ONCE MORE. DOES THIS MEAN YOUR BACK FROM "
"What are you talking about?" i bellowed at the figure
"MY LORD DON"T YOU RECOGNIZE ME, THE REAPER OF MEN?, YOU'RE THE REAPER OF ALL. ANY OF THIS RINGING A BELL?" The figure grinned at me. Not that he could do much else. "NO? THAT VACATION OF YOURS MUST OF TAKEN A LOT FROM YOU SIR. LOOK AT YOUR HAND AND WITH LUCK YOU WILL REMEMBER "
I glanced down at my hands and saw, for once in my life the truth of what lay there. bones. bones blacker then black. no, not just black this, this was the epitome of blackness. the blackness that black just aspires to be. and with that realization it came back. eons of memories and with it the knowledge of who, no what i was.
" MY LORD?"
"*YES DEATH.*"
"WELCOME BACK. WE HAVE WORK TO DO." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | Ow. i thought to myself, putting a hand to my head."what happened last night feels like i got run over by a truck." i said out loud. "YOU DID" a nearby voice said. Siting up i started to rub the sleep form my eyes. then stopped just now seeing where i was. "Did i go to party at the hospital last night?" I said looking around "and pass out in the operating room?"
"NO BUT IF IT HELPS YOU WHERE COMPLETELY HAMMERED LAST NIGHT."
"well that expanses the headache" I said levering myself off of the table and wandering to the counter.
"NO **THAT** WAS THE TRUCK"
I turned to the cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room and was just about to demand an explanation when I saw what was on the table.
It was me.
without noticing the shock the figure had upon seeing my face i rushed to the operating table
"MY LORD?"
"no!" I screamed "I can't be be dead!"
"MY LORD IT IS SUCH AN HONOR TO SEE YOU ONCE MORE. DOES THIS MEAN YOUR BACK FROM "
"What are you talking about?" i bellowed at the figure
"MY LORD DON"T YOU RECOGNIZE ME, THE REAPER OF MEN?, YOU'RE THE REAPER OF ALL. ANY OF THIS RINGING A BELL?" The figure grinned at me. Not that he could do much else. "NO? THAT VACATION OF YOURS MUST OF TAKEN A LOT FROM YOU SIR. LOOK AT YOUR HAND AND WITH LUCK YOU WILL REMEMBER "
I glanced down at my hands and saw, for once in my life the truth of what lay there. bones. bones blacker then black. no, not just black this, this was the epitome of blackness. the blackness that black just aspires to be. and with that realization it came back. eons of memories and with it the knowledge of who, no what i was.
" MY LORD?"
"*YES DEATH.*"
"WELCOME BACK. WE HAVE WORK TO DO." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | He's lying in a bed, It's not his, he know that much, but the rest is becoming more and more fuzzy. There are people around him, his family, maybe. Darkness begins to grow as his eyelids become heavier. Breathing is hard. The darkness takes shape as the people and the room fade almost away.
"what's this? Who are you?"
SIR
"Ah, yes, I remember you. It all seems... A bit far away now. You are death."
YES SIR. I AM.
"Which means... Im dead?"
The man felt strangely okay with this.
"you seem... Familiar, did, did I create you?"
YES SIR. THE ANTHROPIC PRINCIPAL, MILLIONS OF READERS BELIEF AND HOPE.
"ah, I thought I was just telling a story."
NO.
"then... Is the rat coming?"
HE WAS AFRAID.
"Afraid?"
YES.
"Of, me? Because I created him?"
YES. YOU CREATE, IT IS WHAT YOU ARE. THE ANTITHESIS OF US. LIFE WITHOUT DEATH. WORSE, YOU ARE NO LONGER CHAINED BY THE RULES.
His thoughts had grown sharper, more clear than they been in years and his now nimble mind kept to the obvious conclusion.
"you don't need to worry death, I was rather looking forward to this, near the end. And now, now, I can create whole new worlds, whole new lives."
YES
And a long, long way from his old home, a turtle with five elephants and an odd disk on its back suddenly sprang into being. A little while later one fell off and landed on the disk. Later still,
**it was a warm spring night when a fist knocked at the door so hard that the hinges bent**
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | He's lying in a bed, It's not his, he know that much, but the rest is becoming more and more fuzzy. There are people around him, his family, maybe. Darkness begins to grow as his eyelids become heavier. Breathing is hard. The darkness takes shape as the people and the room fade almost away.
"what's this? Who are you?"
SIR
"Ah, yes, I remember you. It all seems... A bit far away now. You are death."
YES SIR. I AM.
"Which means... Im dead?"
The man felt strangely okay with this.
"you seem... Familiar, did, did I create you?"
YES SIR. THE ANTHROPIC PRINCIPAL, MILLIONS OF READERS BELIEF AND HOPE.
"ah, I thought I was just telling a story."
NO.
"then... Is the rat coming?"
HE WAS AFRAID.
"Afraid?"
YES.
"Of, me? Because I created him?"
YES. YOU CREATE, IT IS WHAT YOU ARE. THE ANTITHESIS OF US. LIFE WITHOUT DEATH. WORSE, YOU ARE NO LONGER CHAINED BY THE RULES.
His thoughts had grown sharper, more clear than they been in years and his now nimble mind kept to the obvious conclusion.
"you don't need to worry death, I was rather looking forward to this, near the end. And now, now, I can create whole new worlds, whole new lives."
YES
And a long, long way from his old home, a turtle with five elephants and an odd disk on its back suddenly sprang into being. A little while later one fell off and landed on the disk. Later still,
**it was a warm spring night when a fist knocked at the door so hard that the hinges bent**
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| He's lying in a bed, It's not his, he know that much, but the rest is becoming more and more fuzzy. There are people around him, his family, maybe. Darkness begins to grow as his eyelids become heavier. Breathing is hard. The darkness takes shape as the people and the room fade almost away.
"what's this? Who are you?"
SIR
"Ah, yes, I remember you. It all seems... A bit far away now. You are death."
YES SIR. I AM.
"Which means... Im dead?"
The man felt strangely okay with this.
"you seem... Familiar, did, did I create you?"
YES SIR. THE ANTHROPIC PRINCIPAL, MILLIONS OF READERS BELIEF AND HOPE.
"ah, I thought I was just telling a story."
NO.
"then... Is the rat coming?"
HE WAS AFRAID.
"Afraid?"
YES.
"Of, me? Because I created him?"
YES. YOU CREATE, IT IS WHAT YOU ARE. THE ANTITHESIS OF US. LIFE WITHOUT DEATH. WORSE, YOU ARE NO LONGER CHAINED BY THE RULES.
His thoughts had grown sharper, more clear than they been in years and his now nimble mind kept to the obvious conclusion.
"you don't need to worry death, I was rather looking forward to this, near the end. And now, now, I can create whole new worlds, whole new lives."
YES
And a long, long way from his old home, a turtle with five elephants and an odd disk on its back suddenly sprang into being. A little while later one fell off and landed on the disk. Later still,
**it was a warm spring night when a fist knocked at the door so hard that the hinges bent**
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | He's lying in a bed, It's not his, he know that much, but the rest is becoming more and more fuzzy. There are people around him, his family, maybe. Darkness begins to grow as his eyelids become heavier. Breathing is hard. The darkness takes shape as the people and the room fade almost away.
"what's this? Who are you?"
SIR
"Ah, yes, I remember you. It all seems... A bit far away now. You are death."
YES SIR. I AM.
"Which means... Im dead?"
The man felt strangely okay with this.
"you seem... Familiar, did, did I create you?"
YES SIR. THE ANTHROPIC PRINCIPAL, MILLIONS OF READERS BELIEF AND HOPE.
"ah, I thought I was just telling a story."
NO.
"then... Is the rat coming?"
HE WAS AFRAID.
"Afraid?"
YES.
"Of, me? Because I created him?"
YES. YOU CREATE, IT IS WHAT YOU ARE. THE ANTITHESIS OF US. LIFE WITHOUT DEATH. WORSE, YOU ARE NO LONGER CHAINED BY THE RULES.
His thoughts had grown sharper, more clear than they been in years and his now nimble mind kept to the obvious conclusion.
"you don't need to worry death, I was rather looking forward to this, near the end. And now, now, I can create whole new worlds, whole new lives."
YES
And a long, long way from his old home, a turtle with five elephants and an odd disk on its back suddenly sprang into being. A little while later one fell off and landed on the disk. Later still,
**it was a warm spring night when a fist knocked at the door so hard that the hinges bent**
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | "What did I do?" I asked.
"Nothing." he said, "That's the point. You didn't do anything. Your lack of contribution to either the good or evil side of things has placed you in the worst of predicaments. I fear for what will become of you. I fear the powers that are coming for you."
This probably should have scared me, but it didn't. Instead, I laughed.
"Powers? Good and evil? You can't be serious."
The strange man turned to look at me. He pulled back his hood. It was the first time I had seen his face. I wished I hadn't.
His eyes were like fire. They weren't literally like fire. They didn't blaze or shine or anything like that, but they were fiery. I had never seen a gaze that seemed so...alive. It was if the very essence of life was contained behind those golden orbs.
"This is exactly what I mean." he said. Or so I thought. It was to my horror that I realized he wasn't moving his lips: "You don't believe in us. As I said, this places you in a very precarious position. There are all kinds in this universe who have their own uses for you. I have to get you to where you belong before they all come crashing down on us. Dealing with the powers of deep heaven is not something that most find favorable." he paused and squinted at me. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"
I said nothing. I was trying to wake myself up from what appeared to be a very vivid dream.
He sighed and rolled his eyes: "So disinterested that you have not even studied myths and legends. What did you do with your life?"
"I'm an accountant." I said. "I keep people's books in order."
The man peered at me in silence. "This isn't a dream," he said, "It's very real. You're not an accountant anymore. From henceforward you are the most sought after and valuable commodity in the whole of deep heaven--save for Maleldil himself." the man pulled his hood back over his head. "Come," he said, "We've a long journey ahead of us." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | The room is quiet. I'm weeping softly on my bed in the corner. It's fatigue more than fear I think. I'm not really afraid to die now. It's funny, I never really took the time to imagine what death would be like. I never thought much about it but when I did I never thought it would be like this though. I never thought it would be so lonely. I had a family but I outlived them all. I had children but when they died in the accident I knew they would never be the ones to see me off. Brothers died years ago. She died too. That was hard. I wish I hadn't had to watch her go. Not like that. Not in that kind of pain. She died and I cursed death in my weakness. I cursed it to hell. I always lived a quiet life and never rocked the boat. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had made more mistakes I would have left this earth sooner and less alone.
I can barely remember how old I am. It's over a hundred for sure, I know that because people seem to marvel at my age. Their eyes get wide like saucers and then they talk to me like I'm a child. They talk to me like living this long is not only some sort of accomplishment but has also served to dull my wits. My body moves slow, my brain, my brain is sharp still. It's sharp enough to know just how alone I am. I know he's coming now though. Death, he's coming. I'll meet him and I'll ask him all the questions I have. Why so long? Why did you make me wait so long? I would have come with you years ago had you just pitied me enough. He'll be here soon.
I close my eyes for the last time, or so I think. Moments pass, maybe a minute. Then from inside myself I'm shocked awake, heart thumping. I'm not alone anymore. I have to find the strength to open my eyes. The lids are so thin I can already see the dark outline in the corner without even opening them all the way. There he is. Real excitement.
You imagine death would be a large dark figure, perhaps like the ghost of Christmas future in that novel. He is not. He is small and slight from what I can make out.
When you get to this age moving is a huge endeavour. You need to will yourself to every twitch of the muscles. You need to work at it, it takes time. Surely death would have sympathy enough to come to me as I lie here a not make me walk to him. Do I even have the strength? Yes, for this last freedom I can make myself young enough to walk again.
My feet lightly touch the floor. It's strange how strong I feel. My legs, they can hold my body. They're listening to me. I can stand, my lungs are not as dry and sore as they were, I can breathe a full breath. Two, three, four, five, six full breaths. My gums don't hurt and my eyes are no longer dry. I have the strength to get to him, to get to death to let him take me.
Walking across the floor I can feel the cold. My feet long since numb from age have feeling again, as though every step I wind back the years. I can hear! I can hear a soft weeping. A soft low weeping from the dark.
A few more steps and I see death, I see him and before I can open my mouth to thank him for giving me the strength to walk once more like a man and meet my fate with dignity. I see him clearly. I see me clearly. I'm weeping in the corner. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | *I fear you,* Death said.
*I do not want you,* Hell declared.
*I do not wish to see you,* Heaven sang.
So he remained a ghost inside his home,
Waiting to understand.
*I wish you wouldn't come to me,* Death said.
*Please stop knocking,* Hell replied.
*I am crowded. Full. Go back.* Heaven refused him entrance yet again.
Why fear him?
What had he done?
Death survives on bitter regret, begging.
Tyler did not beg when he died. He did not care if he lived or died. He just wanted peace.
Hell needed anger to fan the flames. Tyler did not blame death for his problems. He did not hate those who hurt him. He had seen what hatred did to a man. He loved, with such an uncanny power Hell could not look upon him.
And heaven? Heaven needed a soul with little strength. It needed a perfect balance of sin and sadness. Tyler did not need heaven. He was content. He believed in love and lived by love.
So on earth he remained, humming in his old chair, as his world turned to dust. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | (apologies for quality, written on my phone)
The day I die the rain pounds broken, crumbling, sidewalks, almost if it is attempting to wash away the atrocities routinely committed. Even the moon hides from death, leaving the night as dark as it was the day Earth was born. I don’t mind, the night and I have long become acquainted. In fact, I almost find it comforting as the blood drips off the side of my neck, adding to the growing pool beneath me.
I use some of my rapidly fading energy to shift my gaze to my murderer, he’s going through my purse again, presumably hoping to find something of value. He’s out of luck. I don’t carry currency on me. He cuts a rather striking figure in the feeble wavering streetlight, all defined muscles and mysterious cheekbones; nothing like Adam.
I shift my gaze back to the empty hole where the moon should be, I prefer to die looking at something transcending human belief.
It takes a moment, but eventually, I am standing above my corpse. Standing being a relative term. I glance at the male leaning on the wall behind me. He’s an angel, that much I instinctively know. Though he doesn’t quite look the part. Two day old stubble lines his jaw, and that trench should have been retired years ago, his refusal to look up doesn’t help much either.
With a sigh he pushes himself on the wall, he’s rather gaunt for a young adult male. His chest expands as he prepares to speak.
“I’m Death, the big D, blah blah blah, you’re dead I’m here to-”
He stops, abruptly as he finally looks at me. Terror crosses his face- I now realize he’s barely a teenager, this accounts for the thin frame and downcast demeanor. Still, he is rather handsome. I don’t know this one, which is strange.
“What *are* you?!”
Fear tinges his tone, this much I am used too. Still, an Angel, I must have been good this life. I remember it being rather quiet, it passed quickly. Unfortunate, I prefer interesting lives. I step forward, adjusting my dress, the mugger would pay for what he did to it. My tone rings out, clear and precise as bells, I’m glad. I haven’t spoken to Angel’s in a while.
“I am something far older than you and your God, Angel,”
I’m merely biding my time at this point. It won’t be long until I’m viciously yanked back into this empire’s downward spiraling idiocy. Empire’s rise and fall, and while this one is the most technologically advanced, it is, by far, the stupidest.
The angel stares at me with wide eyes and an expression of bewilderment that is so satisfying to see on the face of someone who presumes to know everything.
“I’ve had many names throughout the years Angel,”
He was neutral, as were all angels of death, When shit came to a head, they couldn’t decide, and as punishment, are forced to the mortal plane for eternity… Or until their God is overthrown.
“I believe in your texts I am called Lilith.”
I could feel it now. The snap back to this hellish existence was coming. I allow a slight smile to cross my features, though, as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the Angel’s startlingly clear oceanic eyes, it doesn’t look to fool anyone.
“I was cursed by the Original, a creature, or perhaps a god, far older than yours. Death cannot take me, and I cannot bear life.”
I call out, choking as I’m snapped back to existence by an unknown force. As I stand, I look to where the Angel stood. I flash him a glimpse of the canine-esque teeth sliding over my own before leaping on my murderer. | it seemed funny to him. All his life he was taught that death was something you should be scared of. Death was the end of everything. Yet standing before him was the Grim Reaper in the flesh.
"Am I dead?" he had ask
"yes" the figure replied in voice that was barely audible but at the same time rang in his ear.
"well I guess you better get on with it then," he said taking a step forward. Something was wrong though. The reaper seemed reluctant, even a bit scared to act. "what's wrong? don't you want my soul?"
"...I cannot take you," it hesitated as if unsure of what it was saying.
John burrowed his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean you can't take me? You're the Grim Reaper, the harvester of souls aren't you?"
"It is not in my power to collect your soul. You are a being beyond my capabilities."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" John cried out. "Wait here on this plane that is neither living nor death until my soul rots? Is there no one who can lead me to the afterlife?"
"I know of no such being. The after life is not your fate." with that being said the shrouded figure of Death began to fade away. But before it completely disappeared, Death gave John a slight bow and said, "In the days to come, remember it was I who first greeted you Lord." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| it seemed funny to him. All his life he was taught that death was something you should be scared of. Death was the end of everything. Yet standing before him was the Grim Reaper in the flesh.
"Am I dead?" he had ask
"yes" the figure replied in voice that was barely audible but at the same time rang in his ear.
"well I guess you better get on with it then," he said taking a step forward. Something was wrong though. The reaper seemed reluctant, even a bit scared to act. "what's wrong? don't you want my soul?"
"...I cannot take you," it hesitated as if unsure of what it was saying.
John burrowed his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean you can't take me? You're the Grim Reaper, the harvester of souls aren't you?"
"It is not in my power to collect your soul. You are a being beyond my capabilities."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" John cried out. "Wait here on this plane that is neither living nor death until my soul rots? Is there no one who can lead me to the afterlife?"
"I know of no such being. The after life is not your fate." with that being said the shrouded figure of Death began to fade away. But before it completely disappeared, Death gave John a slight bow and said, "In the days to come, remember it was I who first greeted you Lord." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | "Stay back!"
"What? Why? Wait, what's going on."
"I'm death, you're dead, just please stay away from me."
"Why?"
"You are the harbinger, the star extinguisher, the ravager of souls, the great blight. The end of all things. Don't touch me."
"Hold on-"
"I'VE GOT A SCYTHE! I'LL USE IT"
"Please, relax, I'm not a destroyer or a ravager or anything nasty, I'm just an ordinary guy, I'm not here to hurt you."
"You promise?"
"Promise."
"Then let us proceed."
------
"Why do you do that Azrael? Debase yourself before them?"
"Invariably troughout the eons I have found the endeavor to be mired in cowardice and panic regardless of my attempts of reassurance. It is understandable. I empathise, and the process goes smoother if they do as well." | it seemed funny to him. All his life he was taught that death was something you should be scared of. Death was the end of everything. Yet standing before him was the Grim Reaper in the flesh.
"Am I dead?" he had ask
"yes" the figure replied in voice that was barely audible but at the same time rang in his ear.
"well I guess you better get on with it then," he said taking a step forward. Something was wrong though. The reaper seemed reluctant, even a bit scared to act. "what's wrong? don't you want my soul?"
"...I cannot take you," it hesitated as if unsure of what it was saying.
John burrowed his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean you can't take me? You're the Grim Reaper, the harvester of souls aren't you?"
"It is not in my power to collect your soul. You are a being beyond my capabilities."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" John cried out. "Wait here on this plane that is neither living nor death until my soul rots? Is there no one who can lead me to the afterlife?"
"I know of no such being. The after life is not your fate." with that being said the shrouded figure of Death began to fade away. But before it completely disappeared, Death gave John a slight bow and said, "In the days to come, remember it was I who first greeted you Lord." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | it seemed funny to him. All his life he was taught that death was something you should be scared of. Death was the end of everything. Yet standing before him was the Grim Reaper in the flesh.
"Am I dead?" he had ask
"yes" the figure replied in voice that was barely audible but at the same time rang in his ear.
"well I guess you better get on with it then," he said taking a step forward. Something was wrong though. The reaper seemed reluctant, even a bit scared to act. "what's wrong? don't you want my soul?"
"...I cannot take you," it hesitated as if unsure of what it was saying.
John burrowed his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean you can't take me? You're the Grim Reaper, the harvester of souls aren't you?"
"It is not in my power to collect your soul. You are a being beyond my capabilities."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" John cried out. "Wait here on this plane that is neither living nor death until my soul rots? Is there no one who can lead me to the afterlife?"
"I know of no such being. The after life is not your fate." with that being said the shrouded figure of Death began to fade away. But before it completely disappeared, Death gave John a slight bow and said, "In the days to come, remember it was I who first greeted you Lord." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| (apologies for quality, written on my phone)
The day I die the rain pounds broken, crumbling, sidewalks, almost if it is attempting to wash away the atrocities routinely committed. Even the moon hides from death, leaving the night as dark as it was the day Earth was born. I don’t mind, the night and I have long become acquainted. In fact, I almost find it comforting as the blood drips off the side of my neck, adding to the growing pool beneath me.
I use some of my rapidly fading energy to shift my gaze to my murderer, he’s going through my purse again, presumably hoping to find something of value. He’s out of luck. I don’t carry currency on me. He cuts a rather striking figure in the feeble wavering streetlight, all defined muscles and mysterious cheekbones; nothing like Adam.
I shift my gaze back to the empty hole where the moon should be, I prefer to die looking at something transcending human belief.
It takes a moment, but eventually, I am standing above my corpse. Standing being a relative term. I glance at the male leaning on the wall behind me. He’s an angel, that much I instinctively know. Though he doesn’t quite look the part. Two day old stubble lines his jaw, and that trench should have been retired years ago, his refusal to look up doesn’t help much either.
With a sigh he pushes himself on the wall, he’s rather gaunt for a young adult male. His chest expands as he prepares to speak.
“I’m Death, the big D, blah blah blah, you’re dead I’m here to-”
He stops, abruptly as he finally looks at me. Terror crosses his face- I now realize he’s barely a teenager, this accounts for the thin frame and downcast demeanor. Still, he is rather handsome. I don’t know this one, which is strange.
“What *are* you?!”
Fear tinges his tone, this much I am used too. Still, an Angel, I must have been good this life. I remember it being rather quiet, it passed quickly. Unfortunate, I prefer interesting lives. I step forward, adjusting my dress, the mugger would pay for what he did to it. My tone rings out, clear and precise as bells, I’m glad. I haven’t spoken to Angel’s in a while.
“I am something far older than you and your God, Angel,”
I’m merely biding my time at this point. It won’t be long until I’m viciously yanked back into this empire’s downward spiraling idiocy. Empire’s rise and fall, and while this one is the most technologically advanced, it is, by far, the stupidest.
The angel stares at me with wide eyes and an expression of bewilderment that is so satisfying to see on the face of someone who presumes to know everything.
“I’ve had many names throughout the years Angel,”
He was neutral, as were all angels of death, When shit came to a head, they couldn’t decide, and as punishment, are forced to the mortal plane for eternity… Or until their God is overthrown.
“I believe in your texts I am called Lilith.”
I could feel it now. The snap back to this hellish existence was coming. I allow a slight smile to cross my features, though, as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the Angel’s startlingly clear oceanic eyes, it doesn’t look to fool anyone.
“I was cursed by the Original, a creature, or perhaps a god, far older than yours. Death cannot take me, and I cannot bear life.”
I call out, choking as I’m snapped back to existence by an unknown force. As I stand, I look to where the Angel stood. I flash him a glimpse of the canine-esque teeth sliding over my own before leaping on my murderer. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | "Stay back!"
"What? Why? Wait, what's going on."
"I'm death, you're dead, just please stay away from me."
"Why?"
"You are the harbinger, the star extinguisher, the ravager of souls, the great blight. The end of all things. Don't touch me."
"Hold on-"
"I'VE GOT A SCYTHE! I'LL USE IT"
"Please, relax, I'm not a destroyer or a ravager or anything nasty, I'm just an ordinary guy, I'm not here to hurt you."
"You promise?"
"Promise."
"Then let us proceed."
------
"Why do you do that Azrael? Debase yourself before them?"
"Invariably troughout the eons I have found the endeavor to be mired in cowardice and panic regardless of my attempts of reassurance. It is understandable. I empathise, and the process goes smoother if they do as well." | (apologies for quality, written on my phone)
The day I die the rain pounds broken, crumbling, sidewalks, almost if it is attempting to wash away the atrocities routinely committed. Even the moon hides from death, leaving the night as dark as it was the day Earth was born. I don’t mind, the night and I have long become acquainted. In fact, I almost find it comforting as the blood drips off the side of my neck, adding to the growing pool beneath me.
I use some of my rapidly fading energy to shift my gaze to my murderer, he’s going through my purse again, presumably hoping to find something of value. He’s out of luck. I don’t carry currency on me. He cuts a rather striking figure in the feeble wavering streetlight, all defined muscles and mysterious cheekbones; nothing like Adam.
I shift my gaze back to the empty hole where the moon should be, I prefer to die looking at something transcending human belief.
It takes a moment, but eventually, I am standing above my corpse. Standing being a relative term. I glance at the male leaning on the wall behind me. He’s an angel, that much I instinctively know. Though he doesn’t quite look the part. Two day old stubble lines his jaw, and that trench should have been retired years ago, his refusal to look up doesn’t help much either.
With a sigh he pushes himself on the wall, he’s rather gaunt for a young adult male. His chest expands as he prepares to speak.
“I’m Death, the big D, blah blah blah, you’re dead I’m here to-”
He stops, abruptly as he finally looks at me. Terror crosses his face- I now realize he’s barely a teenager, this accounts for the thin frame and downcast demeanor. Still, he is rather handsome. I don’t know this one, which is strange.
“What *are* you?!”
Fear tinges his tone, this much I am used too. Still, an Angel, I must have been good this life. I remember it being rather quiet, it passed quickly. Unfortunate, I prefer interesting lives. I step forward, adjusting my dress, the mugger would pay for what he did to it. My tone rings out, clear and precise as bells, I’m glad. I haven’t spoken to Angel’s in a while.
“I am something far older than you and your God, Angel,”
I’m merely biding my time at this point. It won’t be long until I’m viciously yanked back into this empire’s downward spiraling idiocy. Empire’s rise and fall, and while this one is the most technologically advanced, it is, by far, the stupidest.
The angel stares at me with wide eyes and an expression of bewilderment that is so satisfying to see on the face of someone who presumes to know everything.
“I’ve had many names throughout the years Angel,”
He was neutral, as were all angels of death, When shit came to a head, they couldn’t decide, and as punishment, are forced to the mortal plane for eternity… Or until their God is overthrown.
“I believe in your texts I am called Lilith.”
I could feel it now. The snap back to this hellish existence was coming. I allow a slight smile to cross my features, though, as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the Angel’s startlingly clear oceanic eyes, it doesn’t look to fool anyone.
“I was cursed by the Original, a creature, or perhaps a god, far older than yours. Death cannot take me, and I cannot bear life.”
I call out, choking as I’m snapped back to existence by an unknown force. As I stand, I look to where the Angel stood. I flash him a glimpse of the canine-esque teeth sliding over my own before leaping on my murderer. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | (apologies for quality, written on my phone)
The day I die the rain pounds broken, crumbling, sidewalks, almost if it is attempting to wash away the atrocities routinely committed. Even the moon hides from death, leaving the night as dark as it was the day Earth was born. I don’t mind, the night and I have long become acquainted. In fact, I almost find it comforting as the blood drips off the side of my neck, adding to the growing pool beneath me.
I use some of my rapidly fading energy to shift my gaze to my murderer, he’s going through my purse again, presumably hoping to find something of value. He’s out of luck. I don’t carry currency on me. He cuts a rather striking figure in the feeble wavering streetlight, all defined muscles and mysterious cheekbones; nothing like Adam.
I shift my gaze back to the empty hole where the moon should be, I prefer to die looking at something transcending human belief.
It takes a moment, but eventually, I am standing above my corpse. Standing being a relative term. I glance at the male leaning on the wall behind me. He’s an angel, that much I instinctively know. Though he doesn’t quite look the part. Two day old stubble lines his jaw, and that trench should have been retired years ago, his refusal to look up doesn’t help much either.
With a sigh he pushes himself on the wall, he’s rather gaunt for a young adult male. His chest expands as he prepares to speak.
“I’m Death, the big D, blah blah blah, you’re dead I’m here to-”
He stops, abruptly as he finally looks at me. Terror crosses his face- I now realize he’s barely a teenager, this accounts for the thin frame and downcast demeanor. Still, he is rather handsome. I don’t know this one, which is strange.
“What *are* you?!”
Fear tinges his tone, this much I am used too. Still, an Angel, I must have been good this life. I remember it being rather quiet, it passed quickly. Unfortunate, I prefer interesting lives. I step forward, adjusting my dress, the mugger would pay for what he did to it. My tone rings out, clear and precise as bells, I’m glad. I haven’t spoken to Angel’s in a while.
“I am something far older than you and your God, Angel,”
I’m merely biding my time at this point. It won’t be long until I’m viciously yanked back into this empire’s downward spiraling idiocy. Empire’s rise and fall, and while this one is the most technologically advanced, it is, by far, the stupidest.
The angel stares at me with wide eyes and an expression of bewilderment that is so satisfying to see on the face of someone who presumes to know everything.
“I’ve had many names throughout the years Angel,”
He was neutral, as were all angels of death, When shit came to a head, they couldn’t decide, and as punishment, are forced to the mortal plane for eternity… Or until their God is overthrown.
“I believe in your texts I am called Lilith.”
I could feel it now. The snap back to this hellish existence was coming. I allow a slight smile to cross my features, though, as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the Angel’s startlingly clear oceanic eyes, it doesn’t look to fool anyone.
“I was cursed by the Original, a creature, or perhaps a god, far older than yours. Death cannot take me, and I cannot bear life.”
I call out, choking as I’m snapped back to existence by an unknown force. As I stand, I look to where the Angel stood. I flash him a glimpse of the canine-esque teeth sliding over my own before leaping on my murderer. | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | ***O***n April 11th, I had a sudden brain aneurysm and died at home on the couch. I was watching late night re-runs of Columbo when it happened. I blacked out just as Peter Falk looked into the camera and said “Oh, just one more thing.”
When I woke up an hour later, I didn’t realize I was dead. I didn’t realize that my soul refused to pass on, as all souls should, and that I was now a stick in the universe’s cosmic craw.
My soul was tethered, trapped inside a prison that I had cultivated over sixty five years through discipline, exercise and good diet. I had long prided myself on being fitter, faster, and stronger than men half my age. I had abstained from every conceivable vice, be it booze, drugs, or loose women. Now I couldn’t even reach the remote, let alone wiggle one toe. I lay there, staring at the ceiling through unblinking eyes, unable to look left or right. I mistook it for some form of paralysis - a pinched or severed nerve in my spine.
I tried to maintain composure and slow my breathing. But then I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. Panic set in. I screamed with an inaudible voice. I pleaded for God to deliver me from whatever this was.
As the hours crept by, I made deal after deal with the divine. First God, then the devil, before moving on to Allah, Buddha, Krishna and any other deity I could think of or had seen on TV. My prayers, like all prayers, went unanswered.
Night gave way to morning and my grown daughter, who indulged her old man with a visit every other Saturday, was the one to find me - what was left of me.
“Oh Dad, you know this is bad for your back,” she said, pulling back the blanket. “Dad?”
She turned my body over and peered into my face.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I shouted, but my words couldn’t reach her.
I watched her eyes water as her face flushed red.
“Dad?” In that moment, she wasn’t a thirty three year old mother of two. She was seven again. “Daddy?”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m here.” I told my arms to rise up, to hold her. To cradle her. They didn’t.
She disappeared from my vision. There was a thump on the floor beside me as her sobs filled the room.
“Chrissy, listen to daddy, Chrissy.” If I had a voice, it would have been hoarse from all the screaming. “This is hell. I’m in hell.”
She got on the phone and called her brothers. They came over and I went through it again with the both of them. I cursed God, asked for forgiveness, and cursed him again. It made no difference.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When funeral came around, I was myself again. Still dead, but doing better. I had been through an autopsy and an embalming. I had felt every incision, every prodding instrument, every burning chemical. What was left to fear? Or feel, for that matter?
Family and friends paid respects to my open casket. A few were too willing to speak ill of the dead, right to the dead’s face. But it was just as well. If this same hell awaited them, then punishment would come in due time.
My daughter came up to the podium and gave me a proper eulogy.
Then it was quiet for a long time.
A man in a black baseball cap and hoodie appeared over my casket. I didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting nervously.
I studied his gaunt features and pale skin. “Could he be one of Jake’s friends? Or a nephew I had forgotten?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Black Cap corrected me.
“You can hear me?” My emotions welled up.
“Fuckin aye,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, how did this happen?”
I was dazed. “How did this happen?”
“You a fucking parrot, friend? HOW. ARE. YOU. HERE?!”
“I don’t know.”
Black Cap covered his face with his fingers and let out a long sigh. He had hands like a stage 4 cancer patient. “Is this a cult thing?” He finally asked. “You mixed up with Bapho?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You know, goat-lookin’ fellow, pentagrams and what not.”
“I’m a Catholic,” I responded indignantly.
Black Cap scoffed. “Catholic? When’s the last time you been to church?”
“Christmas.”
He shot me a look. “You couldn’t make it to Easter?”
“Christmas ten years ago. I’m non-practicing.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to be here, friend.” He pulled out something like a machete and brought the edge against my eyes. The blade didn’t look like metal though. It was flesh. Pitch black, swirling, shifting human flesh. “I’m going to cut you out of there. Cut you out and sort this out. Or they’ll be trouble.”
He brought the blade down and a pain, beyond the autopsy, beyond the embalming, beyond all the emotional anguish, radiated through me. All I saw and felt was red. When I regained myself, I was looking down at my own corpse in the casket. My daughter was still on stage and the pews were still filled. My funeral was on pause.
“Up here.” Black Cap spun me round to face him. His face was as big as Mount Rushmore. “Got you in a little jar on my necklace. Wouldn’t want to lose you, friend.”
“One prison for another, huh?” I looked over at my children, knowing I would never hold them again.
“You’re a real sourpuss.” Black Cap turned and headed for the door. With each step, the crowd began to move again. “If you ask me, you looked like you were dying to get out of there.”
“Well, I was kind of attached to it.”
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | "Stay back!"
"What? Why? Wait, what's going on."
"I'm death, you're dead, just please stay away from me."
"Why?"
"You are the harbinger, the star extinguisher, the ravager of souls, the great blight. The end of all things. Don't touch me."
"Hold on-"
"I'VE GOT A SCYTHE! I'LL USE IT"
"Please, relax, I'm not a destroyer or a ravager or anything nasty, I'm just an ordinary guy, I'm not here to hurt you."
"You promise?"
"Promise."
"Then let us proceed."
------
"Why do you do that Azrael? Debase yourself before them?"
"Invariably troughout the eons I have found the endeavor to be mired in cowardice and panic regardless of my attempts of reassurance. It is understandable. I empathise, and the process goes smoother if they do as well." | "Er, Hi.. I'm, um, 'Death.' You... probably think that's a corny name..."
"Are you *the* death? Come to collect my soul?"
"Yes, I... I guess you could say that. Heh..."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem afraid of me."
"WELL TOTELLYOUTHETRUTH... um... maybe I am, a little..."
"Buy why? I've lived a quiet life."
"I just don't know how to talk to girls..."
THE END JUST PRETEND SHE'S YOUR SISTER | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | **I** could feel the hot asphalt begin to cook the flesh of my back. My blood painted on the street, cooking, stinking, darkening into a gelatinous pie. A pie in the shape of a bus's tire tracks. A crowd cluttered around the scene, including news teams, emergency personnel, and nosy civilians. The EMT's felt my wrist, then my chest. They pronounced me dead.
Except, the EMT's weren't the ones to pronounce me dead. That was the job of another. I saw him too among the crowd, standing off to the side. No one else seemed to notice him, although they formed ring of space to avoid him. Perhaps they could sense his presence. A hooded figure, not approaching, no, he just stood and watched.
*Take me,* I thought. *I'm finished.* He did not respond. Not even his robe swayed in the wind.
I gazed past the shade of his hood and saw his eyes, or his holes, rather. There was something in those holes. I looked into them and saw through the emptiness. I saw something... afraid.
How could Death be afraid? Death is soulless, empty. Except, somehow I could see something in there. Something I could almost reach in and snatch.
He knew I could see him. Not just that I could see him. After all, anyone could see him here at the end. No, I could *really* see him, and he knew that. I didn't know what this meant at first.
*Take me now,* I said.
*I cannot,* he replied. *You are above me.*
In a blink, he was gone. He fled. Vanished into thin air. Actually, the air was rather thick. It was a humid day.
I emerged from the hot street, leaving my rotting body behind. Death is a skeleton for humans because a skeleton is deep inside, something that nobody can see. Over time, Death decays the human until the skeleton can be seen by all. What is deep inside Death? What am I? A soul, an intangible spirit, shrouded by darkness.
| "Er, Hi.. I'm, um, 'Death.' You... probably think that's a corny name..."
"Are you *the* death? Come to collect my soul?"
"Yes, I... I guess you could say that. Heh..."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem afraid of me."
"WELL TOTELLYOUTHETRUTH... um... maybe I am, a little..."
"Buy why? I've lived a quiet life."
"I just don't know how to talk to girls..."
THE END JUST PRETEND SHE'S YOUR SISTER | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | **T**he rain pelted against the window like a soft lullaby, causing the light from the city to distort as it entered the hospital room window. Despite the late hour, she stared out the window contentedly, listening to the muted sounds of traffic and the rain. She had always enjoyed listening to the sounds of life, observing something greater than herself in constant motion. The chaos brought her a sense of tranquility. She liked to view human history as an immense story spanning generations. Each person contributed their own chapter, woven and interconnected to everyone else’s. Separate, they were special, but in the entire book, they transcended their own story to become something else entirely. She couldn’t put a name to it. It simply was. While she was finishing her chapter, new chapters would begin. Such was life.
A cool breeze swept into the room and she sighed. She propped herself up in her bed and smiled into the darkest corner of the hospital room.
“I know you’re there,” she said with some amusement. “You can come out.”
There was silence for a moment, but she raised her eyebrow, coaxing her visitor to react.
“Why do they always know?” a voice asked. Though it wasn’t a voice. It was many voices, speaking as one. They sounded weary, like they had walked the Earth for more lifetimes than a soul could bear to withstand, but the woman in the bed knew this visitor was quite unique.
“You just feel it,” she said. “Now come out. Sulking in the darkness is no way to have a conversation.”
The darkness shifted, and the shadows in the room swirled until a hooded figure stood stooped in the corner. The woman patted her bedside, and Death began walking over to her, but stopped halfway. He shook his head.
The woman frowned. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” the voices mumbled. Instead of being harmonious, the voices trailed into whispers. They whispers almost sounded terrified of coming closer to her, warning Death to stay far back.
“Don’t lie,” she said. “I can see you’re bothered. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Death said again. “You did everything right.”
Her wrinkles furrowed in slight confusion. “Right? I’ve made mistakes. Too many to count.”
Death shook his head. “No…you’re special. You’re one of them.”
“One of who?”
“The ones that are ready to move on,” he said. “and none of them have been like you. They weren’t aged.”
“Everyone dies. I’m just like anyone else.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You understand. You *know*. You see the world, God, everything for the way they are. You aren’t afraid of me. You’ve attained a sense of peace, of knowledge… that I’ll never know. You are beyond this now. I envy you. Your soul is…incomprehensible to me.”
She mulled over his words. “Well you don’t have to shrink away into a corner. How many people have been ready?”
“Thirty-three. Everyone else stays. I help them find new lives to live, but now you get to move on.”
“Where?” she asked, but she had a feeling she knew what his answer would be.
“I…don’t know,” the voices echoed again.
She smiled at Death. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to him. The IVs disappeared and her age melted away.
“Then let’s go find out together, shall we?” she asked amiably, holding out her hand to him. Tentatively, Death reached out and she gently grasped his hand, flooding him with her warmth. Together, they left behind the hospital room, the rain, and the murmur of the city, and ventured into the unknown.
| "Er, Hi.. I'm, um, 'Death.' You... probably think that's a corny name..."
"Are you *the* death? Come to collect my soul?"
"Yes, I... I guess you could say that. Heh..."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem afraid of me."
"WELL TOTELLYOUTHETRUTH... um... maybe I am, a little..."
"Buy why? I've lived a quiet life."
"I just don't know how to talk to girls..."
THE END JUST PRETEND SHE'S YOUR SISTER | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | "Er, Hi.. I'm, um, 'Death.' You... probably think that's a corny name..."
"Are you *the* death? Come to collect my soul?"
"Yes, I... I guess you could say that. Heh..."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem afraid of me."
"WELL TOTELLYOUTHETRUTH... um... maybe I am, a little..."
"Buy why? I've lived a quiet life."
"I just don't know how to talk to girls..."
THE END JUST PRETEND SHE'S YOUR SISTER | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | "Stay back!"
"What? Why? Wait, what's going on."
"I'm death, you're dead, just please stay away from me."
"Why?"
"You are the harbinger, the star extinguisher, the ravager of souls, the great blight. The end of all things. Don't touch me."
"Hold on-"
"I'VE GOT A SCYTHE! I'LL USE IT"
"Please, relax, I'm not a destroyer or a ravager or anything nasty, I'm just an ordinary guy, I'm not here to hurt you."
"You promise?"
"Promise."
"Then let us proceed."
------
"Why do you do that Azrael? Debase yourself before them?"
"Invariably troughout the eons I have found the endeavor to be mired in cowardice and panic regardless of my attempts of reassurance. It is understandable. I empathise, and the process goes smoother if they do as well." | |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | **I** could feel the hot asphalt begin to cook the flesh of my back. My blood painted on the street, cooking, stinking, darkening into a gelatinous pie. A pie in the shape of a bus's tire tracks. A crowd cluttered around the scene, including news teams, emergency personnel, and nosy civilians. The EMT's felt my wrist, then my chest. They pronounced me dead.
Except, the EMT's weren't the ones to pronounce me dead. That was the job of another. I saw him too among the crowd, standing off to the side. No one else seemed to notice him, although they formed ring of space to avoid him. Perhaps they could sense his presence. A hooded figure, not approaching, no, he just stood and watched.
*Take me,* I thought. *I'm finished.* He did not respond. Not even his robe swayed in the wind.
I gazed past the shade of his hood and saw his eyes, or his holes, rather. There was something in those holes. I looked into them and saw through the emptiness. I saw something... afraid.
How could Death be afraid? Death is soulless, empty. Except, somehow I could see something in there. Something I could almost reach in and snatch.
He knew I could see him. Not just that I could see him. After all, anyone could see him here at the end. No, I could *really* see him, and he knew that. I didn't know what this meant at first.
*Take me now,* I said.
*I cannot,* he replied. *You are above me.*
In a blink, he was gone. He fled. Vanished into thin air. Actually, the air was rather thick. It was a humid day.
I emerged from the hot street, leaving my rotting body behind. Death is a skeleton for humans because a skeleton is deep inside, something that nobody can see. Over time, Death decays the human until the skeleton can be seen by all. What is deep inside Death? What am I? A soul, an intangible spirit, shrouded by darkness.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | **T**he rain pelted against the window like a soft lullaby, causing the light from the city to distort as it entered the hospital room window. Despite the late hour, she stared out the window contentedly, listening to the muted sounds of traffic and the rain. She had always enjoyed listening to the sounds of life, observing something greater than herself in constant motion. The chaos brought her a sense of tranquility. She liked to view human history as an immense story spanning generations. Each person contributed their own chapter, woven and interconnected to everyone else’s. Separate, they were special, but in the entire book, they transcended their own story to become something else entirely. She couldn’t put a name to it. It simply was. While she was finishing her chapter, new chapters would begin. Such was life.
A cool breeze swept into the room and she sighed. She propped herself up in her bed and smiled into the darkest corner of the hospital room.
“I know you’re there,” she said with some amusement. “You can come out.”
There was silence for a moment, but she raised her eyebrow, coaxing her visitor to react.
“Why do they always know?” a voice asked. Though it wasn’t a voice. It was many voices, speaking as one. They sounded weary, like they had walked the Earth for more lifetimes than a soul could bear to withstand, but the woman in the bed knew this visitor was quite unique.
“You just feel it,” she said. “Now come out. Sulking in the darkness is no way to have a conversation.”
The darkness shifted, and the shadows in the room swirled until a hooded figure stood stooped in the corner. The woman patted her bedside, and Death began walking over to her, but stopped halfway. He shook his head.
The woman frowned. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” the voices mumbled. Instead of being harmonious, the voices trailed into whispers. They whispers almost sounded terrified of coming closer to her, warning Death to stay far back.
“Don’t lie,” she said. “I can see you’re bothered. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Death said again. “You did everything right.”
Her wrinkles furrowed in slight confusion. “Right? I’ve made mistakes. Too many to count.”
Death shook his head. “No…you’re special. You’re one of them.”
“One of who?”
“The ones that are ready to move on,” he said. “and none of them have been like you. They weren’t aged.”
“Everyone dies. I’m just like anyone else.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You understand. You *know*. You see the world, God, everything for the way they are. You aren’t afraid of me. You’ve attained a sense of peace, of knowledge… that I’ll never know. You are beyond this now. I envy you. Your soul is…incomprehensible to me.”
She mulled over his words. “Well you don’t have to shrink away into a corner. How many people have been ready?”
“Thirty-three. Everyone else stays. I help them find new lives to live, but now you get to move on.”
“Where?” she asked, but she had a feeling she knew what his answer would be.
“I…don’t know,” the voices echoed again.
She smiled at Death. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked over to him. The IVs disappeared and her age melted away.
“Then let’s go find out together, shall we?” she asked amiably, holding out her hand to him. Tentatively, Death reached out and she gently grasped his hand, flooding him with her warmth. Together, they left behind the hospital room, the rain, and the murmur of the city, and ventured into the unknown.
| |
[WP] You lived a quiet life, and in passing Death comes to collect your soul, but Death seems afraid of you. | Susan nervously grasped the door handle and turned it ever so slowly. Halfway through her arm began to shake with anxiety. A cold sweat swept over her as she completed the turn. She could have just appeared inside the quaint little house but she did not dare be so direct and impolite. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and stepped inside.
The morning sun illuminated the tidy interior of the home. The shoes and boots were neatly arranged by the door and a leather coat with a fresh mud stain hung on the coat rack. Susan closed the door behind her and leaned her scythe on it. She took off her boots and placed them by the others making sure to arrange them neatly as well. As she approached the coat rack to hang her robes she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see this house. Perhaps someday the children would return and claim it. Susan made a mental note to maintain the house should they do so.
Susan picked up her scythe and softly made her way upstairs. The warm carpet felt so good beneath her bare feet. The black handle of her scythe seemed to get heavier the more she thought about it. The silvery blade shined with an intense fury as it seemed to suck in all other light near it. This was Susan's most powerful scythe. It was designed to reap only one person and today would be the only day she would use it. She forged it so long ago that even in her infinite memory she forgot when that was. She took another deep breath when she approached the closed door of the study.
Susan knocked once and heard a voice from within: "Come in Susan!"
She entered the room and looked around. The room was illuminated by the warm yellow glow of an old-style incandescent desk lamp. The walls had shelves overfilling with books and there were even piles of books on the floor. A single window at the far end of the room provided some light but was overpowered by the desk lamp. In front of the window was a desk that faced a coffee table where the lamp was positioned. On the other side of the coffee table was a very comfortable looking leather sofa. An old man wearing a sweater vest and reading glasses lay in it, eyes transfixed on the final pages of a book he was reading.
"Anything i can get you? Tea? Coffee? Coke?" The man asked.
For the first time in all of time Susan had no appetite. "I'm fine George. Are you alright?"
"Just let me finish this last page." George instructed still looking at his book.
Susan silently made her way to the sofa and sat on the arm. For an extremely tense few moments she waited for him to finish. Susan remained perfectly still not daring to distract him. Finally, with a deep breath and a chuckle he closed the book and took off his reading glasses.
"That was a good story." He exclaimed and tossed the book onto a neatly stacked pile on the couch.
"You sure you don't want your children here?" Susan asked.
George paused for a moment before smiling. "No, we've already said our goodbyes and everything else that needed saying. They know i love them and we all understand each other now."
George sat up from his sofa and opened a photo album that was on the coffee table. He flipped through and passed by the big bang, stars, planets, worms, dinosaurs, birds, cavemen, people, cyborgs, beings of light and finally came upon entities of pure thought and will.
"I'm so proud of them, it took so long but they made it. I couldn't be happier when they graduated and set out on their own." George said with a tear in his eye.
"They're making their own universes now." Susan reported.
George smiled. "Soon, they're going to outdo me. They don't need me around anymore."
"But they'll always love you."
"I know, they sent me a cake this morning." George nodded to a cake on the desk that had a slice taken out of it. He turned to Susan, "Take a piece, it'll probably be the only time they ever make it quite like that one."
Not one to pass up cake, Susan momentarily forgot her anxiety and rushed over to cut herself a piece. In the first bite Susan could feel the infinity of several universes condensed just to make the frosting. The taste was beyond divine.
"They really went all out. You're right, i don't think they'll ever make something like this again." Susan exclaimed between bites.
George smiled proudly, "Maybe, if you ask very politely, they'll make another one for you." George look down at his photo album again. "You'll watch out for them won't you?"
Susan abruptly stopped eating and put the cake down. She swallowed hard and gripped her scythe.
"Of course, I love them too." She replied.
George closed the photo album. "I have no last words that i haven't already said to them. Make sure they get my things, even if they don't want them." George stood up and readjusted his sweater. "Okay, i'm ready Death, it's time for me to go."
Susan stood in front of him and smiled one last time for him, tears streaming down her face. In one swift stroke of her scythe he dissolved into nothingness. Her scythe, now having completed it's one true purpose, also dissolved into nothingness a moment later. Susan stood alone in the room. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around. She took the photo album and carefully placed it on the desk, ready for the day when his children would come to claim it. Glancing at the unfinished cake she let out a small laugh, she realized it was his final gift to her. She picked it up and regarded the room one final time.
Making her way toward the door she passed by the desk lamp and reached out for the switch. Before turning it off she whispered: "Goodbye, God." | **J**ack looked Death in the eye. It had none, but Jack couldn't tell because the Grim Reaper was wearing sunglasses along with an Aloha t-shirt.
"So, you ready?" asked Death. He looked tired, Jack thought to himself and decided to faint on the spot, falling backwards like a tree being cut down.
When he woke up, Death was sitting in the room's corner, glancing at a clock impatiently. Seeing Jack open his eyes, the Reaper attempted to do something that resembled a smile. The results were terrifying, and Jack contemplated the thought of fainting once again, this time falling face first.
"Well, come on, I haven't got all day", muttered Death, visibly annoyed and somewhat nervous. He glanced at the watch again, and then moved closer towards Jack.
"Stay away from me, you... you... please, just don't, don't touch me!", pleaded Jack, shaking in fear. Death stepped away, making what it thought to be a disappointed but courteous face. Instead, it came out as a skull. Jack didn't like the skull much and started screaming.
"Well, come on, come on, don't do that, don't be a baby...", slowly started Death, extending what was once a hand towards Jack in a gesture that in any other circumstances would mean encouragement and support. Jack's screams rose in pitch and intensity.
"Why me? Why me? I did nothing wrong, why do you come for me? Why? Why? Why? Just get away from me, just don't touch me... please." The last word came out as a whisper.
Death looked at the clock again, nervous.
"Dude, come on, please, just calm down. I've got places to be, things to do, planes to catch..."
"What?" Jack was still shaking, but looked at the skull without screaming this time.
"Planes to catch. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this? Dominican doesn't just happen to me that often... Beaches, palm trees, rum..."
Death was clearly thinking about rum while Jack started moving across the room, trying to hide behind a chair.
"I can still see you, you know. So come on, let's not make this any harder. You are dead, blah blah blah, I hereby declare the procedure of transportation of the soul started on the 2nd of April in the year 6765 at 7:21, blah blah..."
"Wait..."
"Come on, let's go, forget about the procedures", repeated Death, now moving even closer towards Jack. "The plane's taking off in an hour, I have to be at the register already, don't you understand?"
"I... I want my lawyer... You can't do this to me... Yeah, my lawyer, that's right!" repeated Jack, seeing the horror on Death's skull.
Death stepped outside the room and phoned Gabriel. It was going to be a long day, he concluded grimly, as he watched a plane fly across the sky.
| |
[WP] Today is the big day! Mom and Dad said we finally get to go to the shelter and adopt a human! | Mom and dad had promised, and as we all know, promises are absolute. I closed my eyes again and replayed the Recall for what must have been the hundredth time. 5 years, 15 days, 2 hours, 25 minutes and two seconds had passed since that moment. “SWEETHEART, YOURE NOT DEVELOPED ENOUGH TO HAVE A HUMAN, YOUR MOM AND I WILL END UP MAINTAINING IT” my father bellowed.
“BUT…DAD…WHEN WILL I BE DEVELOPED ENOUGH?? I WANT A HUMAN NOW,” I whined as I began flailing my appendages. I started to shift my facial features around and forced my coloration into a deep green, imitating human children I had observed in Recall. “FINE, YOU CAN HAVE A HUMAN WHEN YOU GET TO 10, if you stop that THIS INSTANT!” My father bellowed. He hated when I acted out acquired memories, especially those of humans.
That was all I needed. Recall was a brilliant thing, really, being able to replay any and all memories at any moment. Today marked my 10th liveyear. It was time!
I thought about humans. So simple their minds were, irrational with “emotions”. No surprise the shelters were overwhelmed with them. They announced yet another culling movement just last week. Another major flaw with these humans, they can’t control reproduction. Their primitive behaviors were just so fascinating.
Mom, dad and I traveled to the shelter without a word. With Recall, there was no reason for what humans refer to as “conflict” anymore. All memories were preserved exactly as they had been for all of time, and accessible instantaneously by all. There were no wars or violence, just peace. I had done my research though, accessing the Recall of my great, great, great, great grandmother, who was alive for the last human war. I wanted my human to feel comfortable, after all!
We entered the shelter and the attendant welcomed us warmly. She warned us not to get too close to the cages, as apparently they have had some issues with humans using their teeth to try to inflict injury on patrons. Obviously they didn’t realize our skin was impenetrable, so they ended up breaking their own teeth, causing quite the hassle for staff during feeding time. As Mom, Dad, and I approached the wall of enclosures, I heard a slight, pathetic whimper toward my left. One of my eyes snapped toward the culprit: a small, white colored male human child with orange hair looked at me with an emotion that Recall identified as “fear”. How cute!
I was momentarily drawn to a commotion in one of the larger cages. Apparently some were kept together for something called “socialization”, it was really probably due to overpopulation. I looked on with amusement as two large males faced off over a piece of meat. In seconds, the slightly larger one had snapped the neck of the other, and he slumped to the ground. I wanted MY human to play well with the others in the neighborhood, so I returned to the initial small orange human. Salty water was now streaming down his face, Recall provided a word for this, “tears”. I had made my choice.
I felt the temperature of my core begin to rise; something Recall had taught me was somewhat similar to the human emotion of “excitement”. I looked at this tiny orange human, “Buddy” I would call him, as humans assigned value to being called something concrete. Such fascinating creatures, really and I finally had one of my own! I wondered which of its’ favorite games it would want to play first, War, Famine or Disease?
|
Today is the best day ever! My mother told me that today we get to go to the animal shelter and get us a human.
I was actually surprised by this because for the past 10 years I have been begging Mom and Dad for one. They told me that I was not responsible enough for a human so I could get a dog. I told them I didn't want a doggy and I wanted a human.
This morning my Mom said I could get a human because since I turned 11 I am now responsible enough for one.
We hopped in the hover car to go the Human shelter. Once we arrived we were greeted by this nice old secretary who asked us what we were there for. We told her that we were here to adopt a human.
She told us that she just got a new batch from down south and we were free to go look. Inside there were lots of sad looking humans in these small crates. I looked around and saw mostly young male and females as well as a few adults. I turned to my Dad and asked if I could get a baby human.
He asked, "Ya know that the children are harder to care for?"
I told him, "I know! But you said I'm not a responsible person so I want to show you I am!"
I looked around and decided on a young redheaded girl about age 6. As I pointed her out to the staff, the girl broke into tears. One of the staff told me it was crying because its hard for them to leave their family. I laughed at this because of how silly that was. Humans know they are born to be pets, but they are too simple to understand
We dragged her away screaming to the car. She wasn't that expensive really, only about 2000 Credit.
As we drove home, we thought about what we should name our human. We asked the thing what its name was, and it responded with Mary. My Mom and Dad laughed at this and told me that that name was too common and human. After thinking about it, we decided to name it Xin, the goddess of fire. My Mom said that it was a good name since the Humans fur was red.
We turned to the human as it cried, accepting its fate.
(Note: this is my first submission to this subreddit. I am also bad at writing stories so constructive criticism would be great. :)) | |
[WP] Today is the big day! Mom and Dad said we finally get to go to the shelter and adopt a human! | Thessa poked a finger through the cage and dropped in a pellet of cheese. "Rudee? Dinner. Come and get it."
This side of the facility--the side that faced the customers--was well-lit. But the cages rolled back to the other side, where the humans had more privacy. Humans were very private, especially this Rudee, who often only came out when no one had noticed. Or when there was a Selection pending, as there was today. *Come on,* Thessa thought. *You have to be playful today, Rudee. You have to get chosen. It's your twentieth week here.*
She'd seen him do it before. At first he'd always had a smile on those thin lips of his. But over time the drugery of the cage had made him wary of adopters.
Thessa tapped a finger against the cage. "Come on, Rudee." Then she went to the next cage, Elza's house. Elza was a beautiful human, female, 20 years old with long blonde hair and wide hips. Elza made that funny sound humans make, which sounds like *ENGISH,* as the humans will tell you. Thessa smiled and dropped in the cheese. There were four more humans to visit, each of varying beauty and gender, including a great bearded one called Torr that most customers loved to look at but most were too afraid to choose.
Then the door buzzed.
*A new Selection,* Thessa knew when she saw them. The last customers of the day.
Not all customers bought a human on days of Selection. Most simply browsed. But when Thessa eyed the mom, dad, and child, she knew right away they would be bringing one home.
"Mom and dad said we finally get to go to the shelter and adopt a human!" the child told Thessa.
"That's great," she smiled. "We have many different types here." She eyed the mother. "Would you like to see?"
The mother nodded her approval, and Thessa took them around the clerk's counter to see the entries to the human cages. The child *oo'd* when she saw Torr, but when Torr rushed the cage, he scared the child away.
"Ha, ha, ha," Torr laughed.
The child looked near in tears, so Thessa interjected. "Torr's more playful than he looks. He knows he's scary, so he pretends to be a monster. He's really quite gentle."
"Another one, please," said the mother.
They went down the line. Next up was Sra, a beautiful female human--at least she would have been so, if her age wasn't plain on her face. She extended a wrinkled hand to the child and made kind human sounds.
"Do you like her?" the mother asked.
The child shrugged. "She's pretty. But she's old." The old woman frowned, and went to the back of the cage.
Thankfully, Elza wasn't in the front of the cage, so Thessa skipped ahead to the next one--Rudee's. "Rudee," Thessa called. "Some people are here, and they might adopt you."
Rudee walked out slowly. He had grown fur all over his face since he'd been caged in, and he was always wary of adopters. But despite the fear in his eyes--or maybe because of it--the child took to him immediately.
"Aw," said the child. "He looks scared. I want to hold him."
"He's young enough," the mother said. She looked at Thessa. "Healthy?"
"He's had all of his vaccinations," Thessa said. "He's shy at first, but you'll find no one more loyal or kind."
"Oh, mom, can we keep *him*?" the girl cried. "I'll shave that ugly face, but I want to keep him. He has puppy dog eyes and I want to make him smile."
The girl's father had stayed one cage behind. Suddenly, he said "come here, look at this one."
*No,* thought Thessa. *Not Elza. Adopt Rudee.*
Elza came forward, her long blond hair like a pyramid down to her waist. Adopters loved that kind of hair.
So did the child. "Oh, her hair is so soft! I want this one instead, she's so pretty."
The mother was hesitant. "But the male--he was kind to you. Don't you want one that you can care for and protect?"
"He's ugly. I want the pretty one. Speak!" commanded the child.
Elza made some human sounds, beautiful and sing-songy. *No, no, no,* Thessa thought. The soft flute in Elza's voice had won the family over. *It's not Elza that needs to be adopted, it's Rudee.*
"I should tell you that Rudee's time here is nearly expired--"
"No!" said the child. "No, no, no! Elza!"
"We'll take Elza," the mother said flatly.
After Thessa led Elza out via leash and into the waiting arms of the child, after the paperwork was done, after the child enthusiastically jumped after her human, Thessa hoped more adopters would come before five o'clock. But it was nearly five.
Thessa called her boss.
"Do I have to?" she asked, when she had the courage to ask it.
"You know the regulations. We can't keep them for more time, and they can't be out on the streets. They're dangerous."
Before locking up, Thessa tapped on Rudee's cage. He came forward then, a faint sign of that thin-lipped smile she'd once known still on his lips. He only came out at night, when it was just him and Thessa, because she was the only one he trusted. He said something to her, something reassuring, and it broke her heart. *I'm so sorry,* Thessa thought.
"I have a vaccination for you," Thessa said. "I know they're painful, but just give me a few minutes and it will all be over."
*The adopters always go for the pretty ones,* she thought to herself. *But Elza would have been adopted in time no matter what. Why couldn't someone take Rudee, just once?*
The look in Rudee's glassy eyes said that he understood. He lifted a sleeve and pressed his arm against the opening of the cage. Thessa gave him the injection, and soon after, Rudee went to sleep. Torr seemed to sense something; he started growling something odd in human language, and rattling his cage. But he couldn't see, luckily, or else he would have seen Rudee go limp, the thin smile disappearing from his lips--nor the bag Thessa zipped around his body. |
Today is the best day ever! My mother told me that today we get to go to the animal shelter and get us a human.
I was actually surprised by this because for the past 10 years I have been begging Mom and Dad for one. They told me that I was not responsible enough for a human so I could get a dog. I told them I didn't want a doggy and I wanted a human.
This morning my Mom said I could get a human because since I turned 11 I am now responsible enough for one.
We hopped in the hover car to go the Human shelter. Once we arrived we were greeted by this nice old secretary who asked us what we were there for. We told her that we were here to adopt a human.
She told us that she just got a new batch from down south and we were free to go look. Inside there were lots of sad looking humans in these small crates. I looked around and saw mostly young male and females as well as a few adults. I turned to my Dad and asked if I could get a baby human.
He asked, "Ya know that the children are harder to care for?"
I told him, "I know! But you said I'm not a responsible person so I want to show you I am!"
I looked around and decided on a young redheaded girl about age 6. As I pointed her out to the staff, the girl broke into tears. One of the staff told me it was crying because its hard for them to leave their family. I laughed at this because of how silly that was. Humans know they are born to be pets, but they are too simple to understand
We dragged her away screaming to the car. She wasn't that expensive really, only about 2000 Credit.
As we drove home, we thought about what we should name our human. We asked the thing what its name was, and it responded with Mary. My Mom and Dad laughed at this and told me that that name was too common and human. After thinking about it, we decided to name it Xin, the goddess of fire. My Mom said that it was a good name since the Humans fur was red.
We turned to the human as it cried, accepting its fate.
(Note: this is my first submission to this subreddit. I am also bad at writing stories so constructive criticism would be great. :)) | |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | *It looks like me...*
That was my first thought when I finally caught up to my charge. What was more interesting was the fact that my charge *was carrying a daemon.* That is, a greater demon. Those things aren't supposed to be allowed to walk the earth.
*Hmph. No use in waiting* "What are you doing here, daemon?" I called "This is **my** charge. Begone, foul beast."
It quirked a wing at me. "Excuse me!? I was protecting my charge! I need him for a plan that'll take about thirty years to foment." Oddly, there was no sulfurous smell in the air, which I had been taught was the default state for all demons. It chuffed smoke and flame, raising an eyebrow in expectation.
"Well, this is my charge, too. John Smith, born in Cedars Sinai on the 6th April 1992. I have to save him from the end of the world in 2032." *Ugh. Now I have to fill out paperwork with Argus again. Curse him!* "I need your name for the Divine Bureaucracy. Again."
The daemon stared at me for a few seconds. I tensed, waiting for an attack.
It didn't come. The daemon shrugged. "You really don't know- Oh by the Merciful *Gods*, that's just precious!" the daemon cackled, the laugh not at all clawing its way along my wings.
...I didn't twitch. Something just tickled me, is all.
The daemon's laughter died down. "Well, most of those who know call me Sven, for short."
The name struck me like the gongs at the Pearly Gates. *Oh,* DIO*. That one.*
Well, if I wasn't in trouble before, I most certainly am *now.* | Branciel gave a yawn, stuck on guardian duty again. David wasn't a bad guy to be stuck with. Righteous, yeah, but not arrogant or smug about it. The perfect guy to look out for. On his way to give a speech at a fundraiser for a charity to help war orphans.
Suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of anger, hatred and bitterness. Branciel was shocked. Never had he felt such strong emotions from a human before. Attuned to his charge, he wondered how anyone can feel so poorly for David, then he realized his error. This hatred was not directed at David. This was the taint of a demon. Focusing his senses past the demon taint he saw it. Desperation. Jealousy. A human with dark thoughts toward David. Some mugger in the alley. But a mugger with a guardian demon apparently. He had heard rumors of this. A soul so twisted that it gets a demon assigned to protect it much like his assignment to protect David.
Branciel drew his sword and quickened his steps up to David, who turned at the sound. "Run," he ordered his charge. "There is danger here, and you are needed."
David, confused, obeyed. There was a strength and urgency in Branciel's voice that is not easily denied. A familiarity in his face and demeanor made David feel a sense of trust to this sword wielding man.
Branciel stepped into the alley. Sword at the ready but unlit. Flaming swords are a bit flashy, and demons hardly fear fire anyway. He heard him before seeing him. A sickening gurgle and the mugger is dying in a pool of his own blood. Branciel stopped, shocked. He expected the demon to be powerful and imposing. Instead it was small, like a six year old girl. The demon wiped its blade on the would be muggers' shirt.
"EEEEEK!" It squealed, charging toward Branciel. A quick slash blocked the leaping monstrosity's blade, sending it careening into a dumpster with a loud crash. The demon quickly clambered out of the trash and fled to the street, its weapon forgotten. The angel stared dumbfounded, marvelling at the cowardice of demons.
A heartbeat later Branciel came tearing out of the alley, sword raised. 'Idiot!' He berated himself. 'The conniving creature got between you and your charge!' He spotted the demon, supernaturally quick it was almost upon David as the man turned around. Branciel's breath caught in his throat as David, sweet trusting soul that he is, drops to a knee and opens his arms, completely unaware of the threat. 'I may not be able protect you, David. But I will avenge you,' the angel swore to himself.
"Help!" The demon cried in David's arms. "He's going to kill me!" | |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | **H**e could tell something had been off for a while, that's what he hated the most about his job: something's going to happen, soon, at any given moment and there's absolutely no way of telling when, what or who. It put your senses on high alert, sight and hearing became clearer, smells and odors were sharper and easily identifiable and, if you focused enough, you could almost feel the subtle changes in the air caused by movements. It was infuriating. Being a Guardian was hard enough without your nervous system going into overdrive. This time, however, had seemed different; which only made his senses even stronger, of course.
The Guardian had had a simple enough time with his latest charge, Andrea; she was 24 and had initially moved to the big city for college. He'd been proud, of course, you invest your time to the care and protection of someone and you feel their achievements are your own. He'd been told that feeling would never quite disappear, and he was glad. Being fairly young for a Guardian, Andrea being his second charge, he was still getting used to everything. Guardians are born and live relatively normal lives among the humans, although they live longer, when they turn about 25 they basically stop aging. Obviously, not all humans have a Guardian and not all Guardians are keen to take on the role, but they are drawn to certain people and the instinct to help guide and protect them is strong. Andrea had always shown to be respectful of her rules and limitations with made her a relatively easy charge, this made his feelings of alarm even more worrisome.
This morning she had taken to her usual routine, out of the apartment early for her jog and had now stopped at the corner diner for her breakfast. She had finished and had started walking back to her apartment and he, of course, followed. It was when he exited the diner that his alarm went on full alert. It didn't take much to know why, just a quick glance of the scene. There, in the cafe across the street, he saw the demon sitting at a table near the window, a single cup in his table, staring intently at Andrea. He was, of course, gorgeous, as all powerful demons where. The Guardian had no trouble making this note, living as long as a you do you tend to appreciate the beauty and pleasure in everyone, regardless of gender. Demons were different, especially this one, his physique was on the slimmer side, though athletic, his face however, was somewhat rugged, as if his features had been sculpted out of stone.
With growing fear he watched as the Demon left the cafe and took to the sidewalk. The Guardian quickened his pace, trying to close the gap between himself and his charge. He looked over to the Demon in time to see him cross the street, making a beeline for Andrea, who was absentmindedly talking on the phone. The Guardian tried to reach her without anyone taking notice, but the Demon had been faster and his stomach sank as he saw the Demon taking the last strides towards Andrea. The Guardian did not expect what happened after. He watched as the Demon walked past Andrea, sidestepping her with an unintentional, gentle bump. She had barely noticed. In a series of graceful and swift movements, the Demon strode ahead of the Guardian's charge, grabbed a man that was walking in the opposite direction, towards Andrea, by his shoulders and shoved him into the left-hand alleyway. His movements were so quick and fluid they almost seemed commonplace even to the Guardian.
The Guardian was almost running as he dodged the busy-looking people, including Andrea, that were between himself and the alley. Once there, he flinched at the site before him. The man the Demon had intercepted lay sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood splattered on the floor and walls, the demon in front with his back turned to the entrance, panting. Once the initial shock had gone, his sharpened eyesight caught a glimpse of something glowing. With amazement he saw the blood in the scene shimmer gold and realized it was ichor, the golden blood of Celestial beings like himself. In the man's hands, he was clutching an intricate looking knife and a picture of Andrea. For the first time, he looked at the Demon in the alley, he was turning around to face the Guardian and he saw how his needle-like claws and teeth retracted back to normal. With his forearm, revealing a bloody hand, the Demon wiped some of the golden blood from his mouth. He looked directly into the eyes of the Guardian and between his panting said:
"You and I need to talk." | Branciel gave a yawn, stuck on guardian duty again. David wasn't a bad guy to be stuck with. Righteous, yeah, but not arrogant or smug about it. The perfect guy to look out for. On his way to give a speech at a fundraiser for a charity to help war orphans.
Suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of anger, hatred and bitterness. Branciel was shocked. Never had he felt such strong emotions from a human before. Attuned to his charge, he wondered how anyone can feel so poorly for David, then he realized his error. This hatred was not directed at David. This was the taint of a demon. Focusing his senses past the demon taint he saw it. Desperation. Jealousy. A human with dark thoughts toward David. Some mugger in the alley. But a mugger with a guardian demon apparently. He had heard rumors of this. A soul so twisted that it gets a demon assigned to protect it much like his assignment to protect David.
Branciel drew his sword and quickened his steps up to David, who turned at the sound. "Run," he ordered his charge. "There is danger here, and you are needed."
David, confused, obeyed. There was a strength and urgency in Branciel's voice that is not easily denied. A familiarity in his face and demeanor made David feel a sense of trust to this sword wielding man.
Branciel stepped into the alley. Sword at the ready but unlit. Flaming swords are a bit flashy, and demons hardly fear fire anyway. He heard him before seeing him. A sickening gurgle and the mugger is dying in a pool of his own blood. Branciel stopped, shocked. He expected the demon to be powerful and imposing. Instead it was small, like a six year old girl. The demon wiped its blade on the would be muggers' shirt.
"EEEEEK!" It squealed, charging toward Branciel. A quick slash blocked the leaping monstrosity's blade, sending it careening into a dumpster with a loud crash. The demon quickly clambered out of the trash and fled to the street, its weapon forgotten. The angel stared dumbfounded, marvelling at the cowardice of demons.
A heartbeat later Branciel came tearing out of the alley, sword raised. 'Idiot!' He berated himself. 'The conniving creature got between you and your charge!' He spotted the demon, supernaturally quick it was almost upon David as the man turned around. Branciel's breath caught in his throat as David, sweet trusting soul that he is, drops to a knee and opens his arms, completely unaware of the threat. 'I may not be able protect you, David. But I will avenge you,' the angel swore to himself.
"Help!" The demon cried in David's arms. "He's going to kill me!" | |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | *It looks like me...*
That was my first thought when I finally caught up to my charge. What was more interesting was the fact that my charge *was carrying a daemon.* That is, a greater demon. Those things aren't supposed to be allowed to walk the earth.
*Hmph. No use in waiting* "What are you doing here, daemon?" I called "This is **my** charge. Begone, foul beast."
It quirked a wing at me. "Excuse me!? I was protecting my charge! I need him for a plan that'll take about thirty years to foment." Oddly, there was no sulfurous smell in the air, which I had been taught was the default state for all demons. It chuffed smoke and flame, raising an eyebrow in expectation.
"Well, this is my charge, too. John Smith, born in Cedars Sinai on the 6th April 1992. I have to save him from the end of the world in 2032." *Ugh. Now I have to fill out paperwork with Argus again. Curse him!* "I need your name for the Divine Bureaucracy. Again."
The daemon stared at me for a few seconds. I tensed, waiting for an attack.
It didn't come. The daemon shrugged. "You really don't know- Oh by the Merciful *Gods*, that's just precious!" the daemon cackled, the laugh not at all clawing its way along my wings.
...I didn't twitch. Something just tickled me, is all.
The daemon's laughter died down. "Well, most of those who know call me Sven, for short."
The name struck me like the gongs at the Pearly Gates. *Oh,* DIO*. That one.*
Well, if I wasn't in trouble before, I most certainly am *now.* | It was the night before Christmas. A light snow fell, just enough that it coated the sidewalks and trees, but not too windy or chilly to enjoy the beauty of such a night. Under the soft glow of streetlights a child walked alone, staring in awe at the way the snowflakes swirled and drifted in the gentle breeze, completely unaware of the angel gliding above her or the man that had been following for several blocks.
The angel knew.
Ice accumulated behind them at the angels will, the touch of a feather making the sidewalks treacherous for the man trailing behind them, but he nevertheless crept along in the shadows. The angel was waiting, unwilling to stray too far from his charge he preferred less direct methods of deterrence. As the man crept closer, the angels’ wings stirred enough to send an icy wind at him, but it did nothing to slow his pace. His hood was pulled over his face, which was gaunt and hollowed from years of drugs and fights. His eyes, sunken and purpled, knew death, knew its withered hands as his own. If he succeeded in his intent, this would not be his first.
As the streetlights grew farther apart the child gradually became more aware of the soft footfalls of the man, her pace quickening. The angel stirred as much snow as he could to shield them, but in vain. The man had caught up and was only a few steps behind them. As the angel turned to confront him, a hot gust of air blasted from an alleyway and blew the man over. The angel watched in complete shock as a demon clutched at the man’s chest, sending tremors through his body not unlike a seizure. As the angel watched the demon turned to him, motioning to the child, who was fleeing almost halfway down the block.
“Go” the demon rasped, in a voice like steam rising from asphalt, “I will take him”.
The angel watched only a moment longer and flew to the child, who had collapsed a block down in a stone archway, nearly in tears and shaking in fear. As he stood over her in comfort, he watched as the demon pulled the man’s soul from his body, casting it down to the center of hell, deep below. As it stood, the snow evaporating around it, it looked to the sky, as if in hope for repentance of long forgotten sins. Its wings stretched, broken and torn, singed nearly to the bone, and the demon faded away in a hiss of flame and smoke.
In all of his many years, he had never seen this. The angel looked to the sky, and the snow ceased to fall.
| |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | **H**e could tell something had been off for a while, that's what he hated the most about his job: something's going to happen, soon, at any given moment and there's absolutely no way of telling when, what or who. It put your senses on high alert, sight and hearing became clearer, smells and odors were sharper and easily identifiable and, if you focused enough, you could almost feel the subtle changes in the air caused by movements. It was infuriating. Being a Guardian was hard enough without your nervous system going into overdrive. This time, however, had seemed different; which only made his senses even stronger, of course.
The Guardian had had a simple enough time with his latest charge, Andrea; she was 24 and had initially moved to the big city for college. He'd been proud, of course, you invest your time to the care and protection of someone and you feel their achievements are your own. He'd been told that feeling would never quite disappear, and he was glad. Being fairly young for a Guardian, Andrea being his second charge, he was still getting used to everything. Guardians are born and live relatively normal lives among the humans, although they live longer, when they turn about 25 they basically stop aging. Obviously, not all humans have a Guardian and not all Guardians are keen to take on the role, but they are drawn to certain people and the instinct to help guide and protect them is strong. Andrea had always shown to be respectful of her rules and limitations with made her a relatively easy charge, this made his feelings of alarm even more worrisome.
This morning she had taken to her usual routine, out of the apartment early for her jog and had now stopped at the corner diner for her breakfast. She had finished and had started walking back to her apartment and he, of course, followed. It was when he exited the diner that his alarm went on full alert. It didn't take much to know why, just a quick glance of the scene. There, in the cafe across the street, he saw the demon sitting at a table near the window, a single cup in his table, staring intently at Andrea. He was, of course, gorgeous, as all powerful demons where. The Guardian had no trouble making this note, living as long as a you do you tend to appreciate the beauty and pleasure in everyone, regardless of gender. Demons were different, especially this one, his physique was on the slimmer side, though athletic, his face however, was somewhat rugged, as if his features had been sculpted out of stone.
With growing fear he watched as the Demon left the cafe and took to the sidewalk. The Guardian quickened his pace, trying to close the gap between himself and his charge. He looked over to the Demon in time to see him cross the street, making a beeline for Andrea, who was absentmindedly talking on the phone. The Guardian tried to reach her without anyone taking notice, but the Demon had been faster and his stomach sank as he saw the Demon taking the last strides towards Andrea. The Guardian did not expect what happened after. He watched as the Demon walked past Andrea, sidestepping her with an unintentional, gentle bump. She had barely noticed. In a series of graceful and swift movements, the Demon strode ahead of the Guardian's charge, grabbed a man that was walking in the opposite direction, towards Andrea, by his shoulders and shoved him into the left-hand alleyway. His movements were so quick and fluid they almost seemed commonplace even to the Guardian.
The Guardian was almost running as he dodged the busy-looking people, including Andrea, that were between himself and the alley. Once there, he flinched at the site before him. The man the Demon had intercepted lay sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood splattered on the floor and walls, the demon in front with his back turned to the entrance, panting. Once the initial shock had gone, his sharpened eyesight caught a glimpse of something glowing. With amazement he saw the blood in the scene shimmer gold and realized it was ichor, the golden blood of Celestial beings like himself. In the man's hands, he was clutching an intricate looking knife and a picture of Andrea. For the first time, he looked at the Demon in the alley, he was turning around to face the Guardian and he saw how his needle-like claws and teeth retracted back to normal. With his forearm, revealing a bloody hand, the Demon wiped some of the golden blood from his mouth. He looked directly into the eyes of the Guardian and between his panting said:
"You and I need to talk." | Johnny's knife sang as its blade pierced the rapist's gut. Blood spurted onto Johnny's cerulean mohawk and pierced face as Katherine, her shirt in tatters, watched on.
Above the three mortals, invisible to all of them, were three beasts. The first was a blood-red hellhound. fire burned in its six eyes and it lashed its twin tails as rows of serrated teeth tore furiously into the rapist's guardian. Floating above the Rapist was a black Ram; its coiled horns twisting gruesomely into the hellhound's fiery skin. Its hooves kicked and writhed as the dog's flaming claw slashed open the demon's belly and eviscerated its entrails. Standing next to and consoling katherine was a lamb. Ascalon's Three eyes peered worriedly at her charge as she whispered prayers.
Johnny's knife stabbed its last as the hound tore the Ram's head off. With a heavy sigh, both possessed and demon fell back into the underworld. Johnny dropped the knife and stumbled back into the alley wall, his legs buckling beneath him as he trembled under the weight of his justice. Katherine crawled over, leaning against the wall next to her good samaritan.
When the two caught their breath they talked. Thanks, forgiveness, tears, names, life, even God was mentioned. Ascalon eyed the Hellhound suspiciously. It was licking its wounds above Johnny when three of its eyes drifted down to the lamb. All six widened in shock.
"Ascalon?"
Demon voices don't change. Their appearance does; It fluctuates with their power and sin, but an angel's voice never wavers. So it was that after 600 aeons Ascalon recognized her old friend.
"U...Uriel?"
"It's been a long time."
Ascalon's third eye slammed shut as her remaining two glowed with rage.
"I never thought I'd see you again." Uriel continued.
"Don't talk to me, Blasphemer! You betrayed HIM! You betrayed me!"
"Ascalon you know why I did it. I explained it to you but you were so deep in that tyrant's pocket you wouldn't listen."
"You dare to call HIM a tyrant? You, who worship The morning star?!"
"He's lied to you, Ascalon. Or at least he would, if he didn't rewrite the truth every time he needed to. Hell is nothing like that. I joined Lucifer for my own reasons. How conceited Jehovah is! To actually think that separation from him was a punishment! What do you think we were fighting for?
"DON'T YOU DARE TAKE HIS NAME IN VAIN!"
"Ascalon, calm down. I understand that you're-
"You understand?! How could you possibly?! You betrayed me. I saw Michael himself cut you down at the battle of Jupiter!"
"Ascalon that-"
"You're despicable. how could you be so selfish? I thought I knew you. I thought-"
"DO YOU THINK I ENJOYED IT?"
"...What?"
"I saw you too. Do you think I took pleasure in your anguish? Did you think I reveled in throwing aeons of joy away?"
"Of course! Only a demon-"
"I may be a demon, Ascalon, but I never stopped being Uriel. I don't know how you deal with it. How can you call it free will if he makes all the choices for you?"
"Freedom is the liberty to do what you were meant to."
"I envy you, Ascalon. I'm glad that you can live with a given meaning, but that's just not enough for me. It never was."
"How can't it be? HE's infinite! You could come back with me. Please, HE'll forgive you. HE'll solve your problems with a snap of the fingers. Things can be like they were..."
"Isn't the demon supposed to tempt you? I appreciate it. I love you, And I almost love him, but his existence is simply too constricting on mine."
"...I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too."
The flames consuming the lamb and the hound died, as the two looked at their charges. Katherine and Johnny were calmer now. Sirens wailed in the distance as the two spoke of life.
"Mass every Sunday, volunteers, cares for others..." Uriel said, "She's a fine Christian woman."
"Yes." Ascalon responded. "I'm very proud of her."
"Johnny ain't that bad either. He's a rebel, and he can be a little shit sometimes, but he knows what he believes in."
"He killed a man at 17. He'll carry that for the rest of his life."
"I know. But don't underestimate the strength of sinners. They carry burdens the saints couldn't dream of."
"The best saints were the worst sinners, you know."
"Yeah, but then they got help from the man upstairs. Sinners like me and Johnny have to carry it alone."
"Why?"
"Because it's the only way we know how."
Police arrived. Katherine was given a blanket and hot cocoa, while Johnny was slammed into the hood of the cruiser and cuffed. Katherine threw the cup away and started beating on the officer.
"Oh no, KATHERINE! STOP!"
"You know Ascalon, maybe you should let her."
"But she's sinning!"
"For another person? Did you ever think that maybe Grace is a more meaningful sacrifice than a life?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Hey, I'm just saying. Maybe if Jesus had given his perfection instead of his life, he could understand these humans."
"HE understands them more than you or I ever could."
"But can he do it without cheating?"
Ascalon was silent.
"Hey Ascalon?"
"Yeah?"
"I know we disagree about Jehovah's methods, but I still consider you my friend."
"Hate the sin, love the sinner."
"In Hell we say, 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,' but same thing really."
the lamb laid down with the lion as Katherine was pushed, smiling, into the police cruiser with Johnny. Uriel sat down next to his friend, both tails wagging. Ascalon's third eye opened.
"I love you, Uriel."
"I love you too, Ascalon."
"We should probably follow them. They'll need our guidance."
"I've got dibs on her left shoulder. You can sit on the right."
All three of Ascalon's eyes rolled, just like they had 600 aeons ago.
| |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | Ariphale hovered above his person feeling, as so often he did, disappointed. As a guardian angel, he was required to keep him out of danger. But this proved to be impossible; this one put himself in harm's way constantly, and seemed pretty oblivious to it.
At this moment the danger he was putting himself in involved it being dark, and there being a street corner, and on that corner being a man with a not-insignificant amount of cocaine, which Ariphale's person had always wanted to try. He had gotten the contact through a one of the seedier of the several work-friends that Ariphale did not approve of.
Ariphale watched as a small, filthy-looking man came out of an alleyway behind his person with a knife. The angel began a rapid descent to try to influence events somehow, maybe knock the blade away and give his person time to run (it wasn't like the old days, when he could just bring out a sword of flame and remove the assailant's head, sadly) when from the same alley emerged what Ariphale immediately recognized as a demon of Hell.
Before Ariphale could act the demon sprung onto the assailant with its grasshopper legs and pinned him. The man screamed obscenities (which hurt Ariphale's angel ears) and received three punches to the face, one each from the demon's right fists. The creature then sunk his enormous tusks into the man's chest and devoured him.
"AAAAAAH FUCKING SHIT! JESUS WAAAAUGH" yelled Ariphale's client before bolting down the street.
"Demon of the Pit!" Ariphale demanded of the beast. "Explain yourself!"
The demon focused it's 17 eyes on the angel. "Gorespit, if you please."
Ariphale rolled his eyes. Demon's names were so stupid. "Why did you eat this mortal, Gorespit? You look to be of the Lower Places of Hell, why are you even on this plane?
Gorespit gaped in surprise. "Are we the first you have seen? Hell has become a sparse place for souls, angel, just as has Heaven. We starve for their sustenance in our dank abyss. We opened the gates a fortnight ago, and my kind took to the mortal streets and have been claiming our own."
Ariphale clasped both hands over his mouth. "What! You're literally stalking and killing people?" He felt extremely silly asking the next question, but it left his mouth the instant it entered his brain. "Does... does He know?"
Gorespit waved his enormous lobster claw dismissively. "Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. He told our lord we were allowed, as long as it was only in protecting those who were not ours."
The color drained from the angel's face, or would have, if angels had blood. "So... He... He made you guardian angels."
Gorespit's three mouths laughed raucously. "Why yes, angel, I suppose he did!"
Ariphale glowered. "Why? Why are you able to affect them? Why do you have so much power here?"
The demon smirked nastily. "Because they are afraid of us. Their fear is stronger than anything they ever invented to dissuade it. They will always believe in us, angel, or something like us. They try to talk themselves out of it, but we go too deep. You lot though... well..."
And with that Gorespit sprung to a nearby building, grabbed on with his tentacles, and climbed out of view.
Ariphale stared after him, a sour taste in his mouth.
*Anything they ever invented...*
Demon logic. They held that the mortals created the Heavens and the Pit and the denizens therein, that their very idea that both must exist had made it so. And for some reason the idea always stuck in his mind like a splinter. He comforted himself with the idea that Hell is backwards, so of course they have it backwards.
After some minutes he flew into the air, and found his person. The night wasn't over. | That thick stink of blood hung in the air like a pair of pants hanging from the line in the mid west. She wasn't late, no, the young angle was right on time, arms still outstretched, white suit stained red as the black, twisted beast stood. Arms hanging well pasts it's knees, crooked and twisted bird like legs attached to hooves and a long muzzle not unlike a dog. Crimson tears dripped from it's claws as it turned to the young woman in pearl clothes and huffed. Breath so hot the air before the beasts nose flashed to steam with each huff. Eyes bright and yellow glowing in the darkness of the night just as the woman's golden hair and bright green hues did the same. The two stood, eyes locked, no more than a foot of space between the two. Slowly the woman's hands drifted down to her sides, her back slumping. Again, the demon snorted, sniffing the air around the angel before it smiled. "Things..." It's voice rumbled from behind a frozen mouth, "Things like this, they happen." He let out a small laugh. "The man you were sent to guard was a good man. The man laying on the floor now, was as well." And with the end of the demon's little speech, a dark aura of black and red tendrils surrounded him, slowly pulling him into the void, leaving the woman, the angel, alone with the stench of death floating in the air, like an almost deflated balloon. | |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | **H**e could tell something had been off for a while, that's what he hated the most about his job: something's going to happen, soon, at any given moment and there's absolutely no way of telling when, what or who. It put your senses on high alert, sight and hearing became clearer, smells and odors were sharper and easily identifiable and, if you focused enough, you could almost feel the subtle changes in the air caused by movements. It was infuriating. Being a Guardian was hard enough without your nervous system going into overdrive. This time, however, had seemed different; which only made his senses even stronger, of course.
The Guardian had had a simple enough time with his latest charge, Andrea; she was 24 and had initially moved to the big city for college. He'd been proud, of course, you invest your time to the care and protection of someone and you feel their achievements are your own. He'd been told that feeling would never quite disappear, and he was glad. Being fairly young for a Guardian, Andrea being his second charge, he was still getting used to everything. Guardians are born and live relatively normal lives among the humans, although they live longer, when they turn about 25 they basically stop aging. Obviously, not all humans have a Guardian and not all Guardians are keen to take on the role, but they are drawn to certain people and the instinct to help guide and protect them is strong. Andrea had always shown to be respectful of her rules and limitations with made her a relatively easy charge, this made his feelings of alarm even more worrisome.
This morning she had taken to her usual routine, out of the apartment early for her jog and had now stopped at the corner diner for her breakfast. She had finished and had started walking back to her apartment and he, of course, followed. It was when he exited the diner that his alarm went on full alert. It didn't take much to know why, just a quick glance of the scene. There, in the cafe across the street, he saw the demon sitting at a table near the window, a single cup in his table, staring intently at Andrea. He was, of course, gorgeous, as all powerful demons where. The Guardian had no trouble making this note, living as long as a you do you tend to appreciate the beauty and pleasure in everyone, regardless of gender. Demons were different, especially this one, his physique was on the slimmer side, though athletic, his face however, was somewhat rugged, as if his features had been sculpted out of stone.
With growing fear he watched as the Demon left the cafe and took to the sidewalk. The Guardian quickened his pace, trying to close the gap between himself and his charge. He looked over to the Demon in time to see him cross the street, making a beeline for Andrea, who was absentmindedly talking on the phone. The Guardian tried to reach her without anyone taking notice, but the Demon had been faster and his stomach sank as he saw the Demon taking the last strides towards Andrea. The Guardian did not expect what happened after. He watched as the Demon walked past Andrea, sidestepping her with an unintentional, gentle bump. She had barely noticed. In a series of graceful and swift movements, the Demon strode ahead of the Guardian's charge, grabbed a man that was walking in the opposite direction, towards Andrea, by his shoulders and shoved him into the left-hand alleyway. His movements were so quick and fluid they almost seemed commonplace even to the Guardian.
The Guardian was almost running as he dodged the busy-looking people, including Andrea, that were between himself and the alley. Once there, he flinched at the site before him. The man the Demon had intercepted lay sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood splattered on the floor and walls, the demon in front with his back turned to the entrance, panting. Once the initial shock had gone, his sharpened eyesight caught a glimpse of something glowing. With amazement he saw the blood in the scene shimmer gold and realized it was ichor, the golden blood of Celestial beings like himself. In the man's hands, he was clutching an intricate looking knife and a picture of Andrea. For the first time, he looked at the Demon in the alley, he was turning around to face the Guardian and he saw how his needle-like claws and teeth retracted back to normal. With his forearm, revealing a bloody hand, the Demon wiped some of the golden blood from his mouth. He looked directly into the eyes of the Guardian and between his panting said:
"You and I need to talk." | That thick stink of blood hung in the air like a pair of pants hanging from the line in the mid west. She wasn't late, no, the young angle was right on time, arms still outstretched, white suit stained red as the black, twisted beast stood. Arms hanging well pasts it's knees, crooked and twisted bird like legs attached to hooves and a long muzzle not unlike a dog. Crimson tears dripped from it's claws as it turned to the young woman in pearl clothes and huffed. Breath so hot the air before the beasts nose flashed to steam with each huff. Eyes bright and yellow glowing in the darkness of the night just as the woman's golden hair and bright green hues did the same. The two stood, eyes locked, no more than a foot of space between the two. Slowly the woman's hands drifted down to her sides, her back slumping. Again, the demon snorted, sniffing the air around the angel before it smiled. "Things..." It's voice rumbled from behind a frozen mouth, "Things like this, they happen." He let out a small laugh. "The man you were sent to guard was a good man. The man laying on the floor now, was as well." And with the end of the demon's little speech, a dark aura of black and red tendrils surrounded him, slowly pulling him into the void, leaving the woman, the angel, alone with the stench of death floating in the air, like an almost deflated balloon. | |
[WP] The guardian angel was thoroughly surprised when a demon mauled the assailant. | **H**e could tell something had been off for a while, that's what he hated the most about his job: something's going to happen, soon, at any given moment and there's absolutely no way of telling when, what or who. It put your senses on high alert, sight and hearing became clearer, smells and odors were sharper and easily identifiable and, if you focused enough, you could almost feel the subtle changes in the air caused by movements. It was infuriating. Being a Guardian was hard enough without your nervous system going into overdrive. This time, however, had seemed different; which only made his senses even stronger, of course.
The Guardian had had a simple enough time with his latest charge, Andrea; she was 24 and had initially moved to the big city for college. He'd been proud, of course, you invest your time to the care and protection of someone and you feel their achievements are your own. He'd been told that feeling would never quite disappear, and he was glad. Being fairly young for a Guardian, Andrea being his second charge, he was still getting used to everything. Guardians are born and live relatively normal lives among the humans, although they live longer, when they turn about 25 they basically stop aging. Obviously, not all humans have a Guardian and not all Guardians are keen to take on the role, but they are drawn to certain people and the instinct to help guide and protect them is strong. Andrea had always shown to be respectful of her rules and limitations with made her a relatively easy charge, this made his feelings of alarm even more worrisome.
This morning she had taken to her usual routine, out of the apartment early for her jog and had now stopped at the corner diner for her breakfast. She had finished and had started walking back to her apartment and he, of course, followed. It was when he exited the diner that his alarm went on full alert. It didn't take much to know why, just a quick glance of the scene. There, in the cafe across the street, he saw the demon sitting at a table near the window, a single cup in his table, staring intently at Andrea. He was, of course, gorgeous, as all powerful demons where. The Guardian had no trouble making this note, living as long as a you do you tend to appreciate the beauty and pleasure in everyone, regardless of gender. Demons were different, especially this one, his physique was on the slimmer side, though athletic, his face however, was somewhat rugged, as if his features had been sculpted out of stone.
With growing fear he watched as the Demon left the cafe and took to the sidewalk. The Guardian quickened his pace, trying to close the gap between himself and his charge. He looked over to the Demon in time to see him cross the street, making a beeline for Andrea, who was absentmindedly talking on the phone. The Guardian tried to reach her without anyone taking notice, but the Demon had been faster and his stomach sank as he saw the Demon taking the last strides towards Andrea. The Guardian did not expect what happened after. He watched as the Demon walked past Andrea, sidestepping her with an unintentional, gentle bump. She had barely noticed. In a series of graceful and swift movements, the Demon strode ahead of the Guardian's charge, grabbed a man that was walking in the opposite direction, towards Andrea, by his shoulders and shoved him into the left-hand alleyway. His movements were so quick and fluid they almost seemed commonplace even to the Guardian.
The Guardian was almost running as he dodged the busy-looking people, including Andrea, that were between himself and the alley. Once there, he flinched at the site before him. The man the Demon had intercepted lay sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood splattered on the floor and walls, the demon in front with his back turned to the entrance, panting. Once the initial shock had gone, his sharpened eyesight caught a glimpse of something glowing. With amazement he saw the blood in the scene shimmer gold and realized it was ichor, the golden blood of Celestial beings like himself. In the man's hands, he was clutching an intricate looking knife and a picture of Andrea. For the first time, he looked at the Demon in the alley, he was turning around to face the Guardian and he saw how his needle-like claws and teeth retracted back to normal. With his forearm, revealing a bloody hand, the Demon wiped some of the golden blood from his mouth. He looked directly into the eyes of the Guardian and between his panting said:
"You and I need to talk." | Ariphale hovered above his person feeling, as so often he did, disappointed. As a guardian angel, he was required to keep him out of danger. But this proved to be impossible; this one put himself in harm's way constantly, and seemed pretty oblivious to it.
At this moment the danger he was putting himself in involved it being dark, and there being a street corner, and on that corner being a man with a not-insignificant amount of cocaine, which Ariphale's person had always wanted to try. He had gotten the contact through a one of the seedier of the several work-friends that Ariphale did not approve of.
Ariphale watched as a small, filthy-looking man came out of an alleyway behind his person with a knife. The angel began a rapid descent to try to influence events somehow, maybe knock the blade away and give his person time to run (it wasn't like the old days, when he could just bring out a sword of flame and remove the assailant's head, sadly) when from the same alley emerged what Ariphale immediately recognized as a demon of Hell.
Before Ariphale could act the demon sprung onto the assailant with its grasshopper legs and pinned him. The man screamed obscenities (which hurt Ariphale's angel ears) and received three punches to the face, one each from the demon's right fists. The creature then sunk his enormous tusks into the man's chest and devoured him.
"AAAAAAH FUCKING SHIT! JESUS WAAAAUGH" yelled Ariphale's client before bolting down the street.
"Demon of the Pit!" Ariphale demanded of the beast. "Explain yourself!"
The demon focused it's 17 eyes on the angel. "Gorespit, if you please."
Ariphale rolled his eyes. Demon's names were so stupid. "Why did you eat this mortal, Gorespit? You look to be of the Lower Places of Hell, why are you even on this plane?
Gorespit gaped in surprise. "Are we the first you have seen? Hell has become a sparse place for souls, angel, just as has Heaven. We starve for their sustenance in our dank abyss. We opened the gates a fortnight ago, and my kind took to the mortal streets and have been claiming our own."
Ariphale clasped both hands over his mouth. "What! You're literally stalking and killing people?" He felt extremely silly asking the next question, but it left his mouth the instant it entered his brain. "Does... does He know?"
Gorespit waved his enormous lobster claw dismissively. "Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. He told our lord we were allowed, as long as it was only in protecting those who were not ours."
The color drained from the angel's face, or would have, if angels had blood. "So... He... He made you guardian angels."
Gorespit's three mouths laughed raucously. "Why yes, angel, I suppose he did!"
Ariphale glowered. "Why? Why are you able to affect them? Why do you have so much power here?"
The demon smirked nastily. "Because they are afraid of us. Their fear is stronger than anything they ever invented to dissuade it. They will always believe in us, angel, or something like us. They try to talk themselves out of it, but we go too deep. You lot though... well..."
And with that Gorespit sprung to a nearby building, grabbed on with his tentacles, and climbed out of view.
Ariphale stared after him, a sour taste in his mouth.
*Anything they ever invented...*
Demon logic. They held that the mortals created the Heavens and the Pit and the denizens therein, that their very idea that both must exist had made it so. And for some reason the idea always stuck in his mind like a splinter. He comforted himself with the idea that Hell is backwards, so of course they have it backwards.
After some minutes he flew into the air, and found his person. The night wasn't over. | |
[WP] You are a heroin addict. Today is the day that you decided to get sober. | The alarm sounds, loudly, waking me from my sleep. I am soaked from head to toe and as I left my head from the pillow, air hits my wet scalp and I shudder. I cover my face with my hands, trying to wipe the sleep away. As my fingers drop from my face, I notice my hands are wet, but not with sweat. They are sticky and smell of copper, not salt. My eyes adjust to the growing sunlight in the room and the alarm sounds louder now. The alarm buzzes and I look from my hands to my pillow. My eyes dart at what soaks, what stains, my bed. The alarm grows louder, more persistent and one heavy, red-covered hand slams down on it. Blackness.
The alarm sounds and my eyes creep open. Staring in to the fluorescent light overhead, I remember where I am. The persistent buzzing continues to bleat from speaker perfectly located almost right above me.
"Lock down, ladies," the short, grey-haired guard shouts above the cacophony of the buzzing alarm and inconvenienced women.
I remain perched safely in my top bunk. Raising my arm, toward the sickly yellow light, I can make out the prick of the needle from my last shot. The fading red dot, the target I should never have hit.
My eyes trail to my fingertips.
I used to always say, "What will it take to get me clean? What will it take to make me shape up and start being a mom to my kids? What will it take?"
Staring at my fingertips, that seem to be on the hands of someone else entirely, I see the last traces of blood that won't seem to wash away.
I now know what it took to get me clean. It took everything. | "'-Ma'am your going to have to stand back' is what the doctor tells my mom as the nurse shoves a tube down my throat. That's the last thing I remember - being butt naked on a hospital bed waiting for death to beat me into submission. Hell, Death wouldn't have to beat me, I'd probably give up instead. God damn...I wished I could take it all back, but I know I cant. "
"That's okay Marvin. That's why your here at this rehabilitation center, to make things better"
"You know what Joe? Fuck you! I couldn't care less about making shit better. All I want is my mom, and now she's gone from my life forever."
"Marvin, calm down I'm only trying to help you. The first step to overcoming your addiction is-"
"Admitting I have one? Meditating? Making amends? Forgiving myself? Yeah right, maybe if I wish it hard enough it'll go away, right Joe?"
"Hey Marvin if you cant help yourself then maybe that's why your mother disowned you"
I looked at Joe for a little bit and then slowly got up. I walked right passed him and straight towards the door behind him. Then I turned around and whipped the chair out from underneath him and proceeded to smash his skull into the wooden floor until his sobs cut out and the life left his eyes. I laughed, Joe always did say mood swings was one of the worst parts of an addiction. I drop his pathetic lifeless body from my fists, wipe my fingerprints off him and the chair, and make my way home.
I live five minutes from the Rehab center which is well within walking distance, but I much rather prefer to take a car. However, on this particular occasion I decided to walk. After about three minutes in I started thinking about Joe and how stupid he looked laying there in his pool of blood. Maybe this is why my mother didn't want me anymore? Maybe this is why everyone gave up on me...except Joe. Joe was probably the only one that gave a shit about me, and I just murdered him. The mood swing sets in again and all of a sudden I start shedding tears. I try to hide them, embarrassed other people would see a grown man crying by himself, but the sadness was soon overcome by sleepiness. In fact, I began to feel lethargic all over. My arms drooped and my legs dragged. My neck became soft and my eyes began to roll in my head. I lose my breath so I sit down on a bench and fight the sleep. Eventually I lose complete consciousness over my own awareness and slip off into a deep nap.
My eyes open again, except I'm in my house.
"What the fuck kind of dream was that?"
Its funny how I ask myself these kinds of stupid questions. I already know what kind of dream it is. Hell, I know these kinds more than anything. Its the one that makes you relax, until of course it blows out your spinal cord and you start convulsing and choking on your own throw up. Yup, with one glance I look down and see the needle stuck deep into my arm which began to bleed profusely due to the overused vein.
"Fuck, I just relapsed", was the last thing I said before I replaced the needle with a new one and went back to sleep. | |
No more "missed opportunities". We have evolved to hear a beep sound whenever we approach people who we find sexually attractive that are also sexually attracted to us. [Consider the implications for the dating scene, fidelity, etc...] | [WP] We have evolved to telepathically beep when we see someone mutually, sexually attractive | **"LGBT star reporter unveils: Pope is gay!"**
Bored out of my mind, I skim the headlines on my newspad. As always. It's sex and violence all over. Well ... mostly sex nowadays.
**"Alleged rapist defends: She bleeped me!"**
Not that anything really changed. Well, the theory of evolution got a huge update. Spontaneous concurrent mutations in just three generations. There were a couple hundred cases all over the world at roughly my age. It was already uncommon for my son not to have it, and my grandchildren all have that mutual bleep gene. Suck on it, Darwin.
**"Rock star decrypted: Jake Dax is an omnibleeper!"**
Most of this crap is just not amusing anymore. My wife had it, and she left me because of it. The bleep manifests at 15, but the first generation didn't know what it meant. But it didn't take long until the true meaning of the bleep was discovered. And of course, she found the one guy who is into mid-forties that likes boring vanilla sex with tremendously younger men. And humanity? Well, humanity goes on.
**"Brain scans show: Dogs bleep, too!"**
Oh, the scientists were having the time of their lives. And the televangelists. And the divorce lawyers. My best friend got married to a hermaphrodite midget he bleeped at the circus. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It never was, in my opinion. But nowadays ... even the religious right comes around to it.
**"93 old woman duped by false bleep-confession"**
The bleep is even heard if the other person does not have the gene. The explanation is a weird combination of hormone theory, pheromone correlation and esoteric technobabble. Some scientists say we're only a decade away from making mind reading possible. Others are less optimistic. They say it'll take 5 years, max.
**"Tragedy: I bleeped the woman the moment she jumped from the roof!"**
And nobody ever bleeped for me. Or they do not want to say it. I wouldn't know which would be sadder. I will die old and lonely. I'm okay with it. I don't like anybody anymore, really. I don't even miss my wife, at least not sexually. I always felt there was more. But this gene? Now it's sex, sex, sex.
**"First true AI created at MIT&G"**
Finally, an interesting article. I click it. *bleep* What the ...
| I don't understand.
Girls keep looking at me and smiling, are they laughing at me? Do I have something on my shirt? I frantically brush at my chest, trying to dislodge whatever might be there. I check my face again and again in the mirror, pale and wide-eyed from panic.
I've started to notice the other girls, the ones who aren't as pretty. They walk past me and seem to get angry, as if I've done something offensive to them, but I don't know what it is.
At lunch, I find Mark, he'll know what's going on. "Do I have something on my face?" I sign to him, "all the most attractive girls in the office keep laughing at me, are they talking behind my back?" |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | The world would end, he would never see her face again, and they would hate him, but for it all humanity was closer to surviving and he was grateful. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | She always wondered, not whether it was worth it, nor if it was okay, but rather whether someone else out there was a part of her story. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | She had forgotten her coat, and it was raining. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Finally, her conclusions abated slowly, until they stilled into one. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | And that, my old, weary knight, is the story of how I died. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | My legs dangled lazily over the edge of my balcony, and I looked down with a smile. Eight stories, concrete. No way to survive the impact. I lean forward. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | And that my friends, is why we never bring Grandma to Mordor. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | *They were wrong about the world*--my fingers tremble around the trigger--*it won't end with a whimper after all.* | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Just as he was about to pull the trigger he let out a sigh and turned away, and for a moment I honestly thought he had changed his mind. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | To be honest, I don't really know what the price of success is, but I do know I sure as hell over payed. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | In the end, the answers were only questions in disguise. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | For the first time in years the tavern was bustling and full of life, the air laden with sounds of merriment lacked but one thing, the bellowing laughter of those fools who called themselves "The Dragonslayers."
Edit: I can't into but one things | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Thus, it became clear to him, even beneath the overbearing glares of the half-naked girls he had just walked in on, that knocking is always an imperative, regardless of species or dimension. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | He never came home. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | I wept, knowing that neither of us would remember. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | "I am *never* doing that again," said the Universe as it collapsed into entropy. | "Fuck all of this." He muttered.
He thought his eyes would be closed when it all came to an end. Shane never even liked surprises. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | The world would end, he would never see her face again, and they would hate him, but for it all humanity was closer to surviving and he was grateful. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | She always wondered, not whether it was worth it, nor if it was okay, but rather whether someone else out there was a part of her story. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | She had forgotten her coat, and it was raining. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Finally, her conclusions abated slowly, until they stilled into one. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | And that, my old, weary knight, is the story of how I died. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | My legs dangled lazily over the edge of my balcony, and I looked down with a smile. Eight stories, concrete. No way to survive the impact. I lean forward. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | And that my friends, is why we never bring Grandma to Mordor. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | *They were wrong about the world*--my fingers tremble around the trigger--*it won't end with a whimper after all.* | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Just as he was about to pull the trigger he let out a sigh and turned away, and for a moment I honestly thought he had changed his mind. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | To be honest, I don't really know what the price of success is, but I do know I sure as hell over payed. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | In the end, the answers were only questions in disguise. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | For the first time in years the tavern was bustling and full of life, the air laden with sounds of merriment lacked but one thing, the bellowing laughter of those fools who called themselves "The Dragonslayers."
Edit: I can't into but one things | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Thus, it became clear to him, even beneath the overbearing glares of the half-naked girls he had just walked in on, that knocking is always an imperative, regardless of species or dimension. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | He never came home. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | I wept, knowing that neither of us would remember. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | "I am *never* doing that again," said the Universe as it collapsed into entropy. | As he was laying in the grass, he watched the cold starlit nightsky, and took is last breath. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | The world would end, he would never see her face again, and they would hate him, but for it all humanity was closer to surviving and he was grateful. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | She always wondered, not whether it was worth it, nor if it was okay, but rather whether someone else out there was a part of her story. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | She had forgotten her coat, and it was raining. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Finally, her conclusions abated slowly, until they stilled into one. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | And that, my old, weary knight, is the story of how I died. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | My legs dangled lazily over the edge of my balcony, and I looked down with a smile. Eight stories, concrete. No way to survive the impact. I lean forward. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | And that my friends, is why we never bring Grandma to Mordor. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | *They were wrong about the world*--my fingers tremble around the trigger--*it won't end with a whimper after all.* | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Just as he was about to pull the trigger he let out a sigh and turned away, and for a moment I honestly thought he had changed his mind. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | To be honest, I don't really know what the price of success is, but I do know I sure as hell over payed. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | In the end, the answers were only questions in disguise. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | For the first time in years the tavern was bustling and full of life, the air laden with sounds of merriment lacked but one thing, the bellowing laughter of those fools who called themselves "The Dragonslayers."
Edit: I can't into but one things | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. | |
[FF] The last sentence of your epic 1200-page novel. | Thus, it became clear to him, even beneath the overbearing glares of the half-naked girls he had just walked in on, that knocking is always an imperative, regardless of species or dimension. | The Priest read the Lord's Prayer as his wife dismembered their child's killer, praying not for the killers judgement to come swiftly, but rather for forgiveness, for what he had allowed his wife to do. |
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