Life in Death

         

I smelled death. It wasn’t an overly bad stench, I have to say. More like that lingering odor of a tuna sandwich left out for too long.

I strolled down the hallway, heading for the school cafeteria. I could see pale gray mist weeping from its double doors, and a steady crackling of static filled the air; the two signs of souls ripe for the taking. Besides for that, it was completely silent. Most of the students were waiting, breathless, behind their locked classroom doors. Most of them.

I reached the cafeteria. Lying before the double doors was a slumped figure wearing a tired, olive-green jacket. Perhaps it wasn’t the latest fashion, but neither was the bullet-shaped hole in his forehead. The man’s handgun lay a foot away. I stared down for a moment, disgust roiling inside me. I hadn’t been created for this kind of end. All the same, I knelt beside him. Cupping my cold hands around his mouth, I sucked in a long, rattling breath.

My vision flickered as thousands of images swept through my mind, taking control and turning me into him. Warmth enveloped me as my family drew close over a game of Monopoly. Then shame as I was shoved against a locker - pride as I received a high school diploma - pain as hands tore it from me and ripped it to shreds. Fear of letting down my parents, frustration at losing the job, confusion over a bottle of spirits. Sorrow turned to rage turned to grief until – agony.

I stumbled back, clutching a flickering light to my chest. At my feet, the shooter lay as empty as a rotted-out tree. It was the worst part, having to bear their memories. To take on their lives as my own.

I entered the cafeteria, wrinkling my noise at the spoiled tuna smell. Pain was already there, sitting beside a fourteen-year-old boy who was clutching his side and gasping for air.

“You’re late,” Pain said.

My head snapped toward him. “Do you presume to tell me when death is due?”

He lowered his head, silent.

There were five others in the room, spread among the long tables and benches. They’d been the unlucky ones who couldn’t run or hide. I stooped beside the first, a senior wearing a white sports jersey that was now an unhealthy shade of red. Minutes later, I straightened from the side of a girl who had dreamed of becoming a scientist. Too late, my dear.

My arms full of glimmering lights, I made my way over to the last victim. The young boy was still semi-conscious, his fingers grasping at his side. Beside him, Pain was filling in digits on a sudoku chart. I regarded him with mild contempt.

“The least you could do is share in his discomfort.”

Pain glanced at me before jotting another number down. “Does the jailor sit behind bars with his prisoner?”

I knelt beside the boy, who turned his head towards me, as if he could sense my presence. The panic and fear in his eyes were unmistakable. I placed my hand around his mouth, leaned in, … then sat back.

“The foolishness of humans,” I whispered.

Pain closed his sudoku book. “How ironic,” he said. “Death taking pity on the dying.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Who else but me? You certainly have no mercy on them.”

“No. This is the way of the world. You shirk your duty, Death.”

I pursed my lips. “Perhaps. But I cannot condone this senseless killing.”

From the hallway came the sudden sound of pounding feet and echoing shouts.

“Police are here,” Pain murmured. “Time to go.” He stood and looked down at me. “It is not your right to choose,” he said sternly. Then he was gone. A moment later, a dozen officers and medics came pouring into the room, shouting orders and brandishing useless guns. They didn’t notice me. I stood and looked down at the boy once more.

“No,” I said softly. “It is not my right. But I choose it all the same.” Then I, too, vanished from the bloody cafeteria.

I reappeared in the closest hospital, Delaware’s Christiana Hospital. Taking care of the flickering lights gathered in my arms, I strode down a large, brightly-lit hallway in the maternity ward. I found Life a few rooms down, standing in a doorway and writing something on a clipboard. She looked up as I approached.

“One soul short,” she noted, eyeing the lights in my arms. I grimaced. Of course she knew what I’d done. Life eyed me for a moment with narrowed green eyes. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

I dumped the souls unceremoniously into her arms. “No.”

She opened her mouth, probably to issue a biting remark, when a sudden wail sounded from the room behind Life. She whirled and rushed through the door. I followed, passing through the medical staff as if they were smoke. The scene was so different from what I’d just come from, the very atmosphere bright and alive. And I couldn’t ignore how the blood of life looked so different from death’s. I leaned against the far wall with my arms crossed, watching as Life swooped in and gently placed one of the glowing souls against the newborn’s lips. It slipped inside like a book sliding into place. The baby’s crying eased.

I stared at the newborn, wondering. Did it have to see the soul’s memories like I did? Did it have to feel all the gladness, all that pain? Perhaps it did, but only for a moment. I lived with the memories forever.

Life looked up and met my eyes. Her face softened, and she jerked her head at the door. We stood together in the hallway, watching people pass. Life didn’t say anything, just looked at me with those piercing green eyes. I stuffed my chilly hands into my pockets, then spoke.

“I’m tired, Life. Every day, I must live a thousand lives and die a thousand deaths. I’m tired of carrying these -” I gestured at the souls she carried – “So you can keep life going. I see Pain and Grief every day, swooping in on those left behind … and I can do nothing but continue to take.”

I took a deep breath, let it out, then repeated, “I’m tired.”

We stood in silence for a few moments, and then Life said, “There is an old man waiting for you on the fourth floor. You’d best not be late.” Then she turned and walked away.

“You can keep your lemons,” I muttered, scowling after her. Then, sighing, I decided I’d better do as she said. Ignoring Life never ended well. I made my way to the fourth floor and followed the crackling of static.

When I reached the room, there was a group of six or seven people inside. Although gray mist swirled thickly around their legs, they laughed and spoke cheerfully amongst each other. Lying on the hospital bed was a thin man. His long fingers lay intertwined on his lap, and his bushy white eyebrows hung over tired brown eyes. Those eyes lifted to meet mine, and my heart stilled.

He was looking at me. At me.

“I know you,” I whispered.

He smiled. “It’s been a long time, friend.” His voice was so soft the others in the room took no notice. I opened my mouth to question him, but then my own memory surfaced amidst the hundreds I’d collected that day.

“1962,” I said. “The Red Maiden’s Motel. You’d just been beaten by a gang you wanted to join.”

“Yes. I was dying, and I felt you grab for my soul.”

“And you fought back,” I said quietly. “As only a few ever have.”

The man gave a weak shrug. “Perhaps I was too cowardly to die. Perhaps I was too stubborn to let go. I’m not sure. What I do know, Death, is that you’re the reason for all this.” He gestured at the family members surrounding us. “You gave me the knowledge that my time would end, and I needed to act now.” The man barked out a laugh. “And so, in the end, I think it was you, Death, who gave me my life. And a fine one it has been.” He nodded solemnly.

I stared at him, digesting his words. From behind me a man’s voice said, “Your friend here yet, Dad?”
“Yes, Charlie,” the man whispered. “It’s time.”

Immediately the man’s family members gathered around, clutching the man’s hands and asking for final blessings. The old man kept his gaze fixed on me and nodded once more.

A minute later, I quietly left the room, leaving Grief to tend to the family. I gazed down at the light cupped in my hands, let out a long breath. Then, smiling slightly, I turned and walked away.