Clarke's Limbo

         Clarke had no idea where he was, but the long road he’d been lying in, for god only knows how long, looked so familiar. It was an old asphalt road and had houses dotted on its barriers. He didn’t know what time of day it was, but it was dark. No…grey. The sky was grey. The buildings were grey. Everything was. It was as if everything around him was coated in a thin layer of ash. He got up looked around and was startled by a thin and whispering voice.
         “What did you say? Err… who’s there?” he said as he began to move backwards towards what looked like a bus shelter. He saw a shadow appear in the mist and out walked a man shrouded in a tattered black cloth and blankets. No part of his skin was showing; his head shaded by a roof of cloth and his hands were hidden under layers of the tattered material. He was holding a book of some sorts and had his right hand clasped around a pole, at the top of which, a skull had been wedged on. He continued to walk towards Clarke until he stood in front of him
         “I said, it was your fault!” Said a gravely voice now much clearer and quite rude.
         “Oh…” Responded Clarke quite calmly. “Wait, what do you mean?” The darkness within the hood seemed to stare at him.
         “You don’t remember? Fuck, that punk sure did pack a punch didn’t he?” Clarke just looked blankly at the bundles of cloth that stood in front of him. “Look, you got punched in the face and fell down a mound of earth onto the highway. Luckily, no cars got you. But the ambulance didn’t arrive in time. Approximately thirty-two seconds earlier and you could be snuggled up in bed and comforting Charlotte.”
         “Hey! How do you know about Charlotte, you sick bitch. Is this some kind of game? Who the fuck are you?” The clouds around darkened to an almost black and the orange sun crept trough.
         “Your Dead, Dumbass! Welcome to Limbo!”
         The silence shattered the clouds and Clarke fell to his knees. A look of deep thought riddled his face and he remembered. “I was… I was at a party.”
         “Yup. Now it all comes back, after all the shouting. Its always the way…”
         “Wait, that’s all I remember… You seem to know more than I do… What happened, man?” Clarke began to cry.
         The shadowy figure sighed. “Look, Your best friend, Charlie I think his name was… He… uh… He slept with Charlotte, your wife. You found out and lashed out. Funny thing is, he hits harder. And you end up dead.”
         Clarke dried his tears. “So, how was it my fault?”
         “Jesus fucking christ… exactly how much do you remember? You were hitting on his girl and that’s what provoked him to tell you! As far as I’m concerned, you don’t really deserve Charlotte.”
         “Don’t say that, man.” Clarke’s eyes began to swell up.
         “Ah, your right… sorry. I’m Elan, by the way. You may know me as Death.” A black skeletal hand trust from inside the shreds of cloth. Clarke shook his hand with little enthusiasm.
         “Pleased to meet you…” He began to walk away from Elan until he realised. “What the FUCK? You’re Death? THE Death?
         “That took you fifteen seconds to process. You sure you don’t have brain damage as well?” They both laughed for a while. Despite having just lost his girlfriend - or the other way round, if you like - Clarke was feeling great. He just accepted that he was dead and living it… well, you know.
         “You know, Clarke… I like you. You’re just a regular guy. Here in Limbo, you mostly get old people, depressed suicidal maniacs and confused wrecks. Just last week, I picked up a murderer that fell on his own knife. He woke up here in Limbo, tried to kill me, then he tried to kill himself again. That’s not how it works.” Clarke laughed.
         “You’re not really what I expected. The people where I lived seem to think of you as scary and mean.”
         “That’s just the history books. Don’t listen to them. I’m more normal than half the ‘deads’ here. C’mon, pal, I’ll buy you a drink.