Death's Memoir
I was born long ago. Memories that might have once been clear to me have now faded and to me, the fog that now crowds my mind is cruel. It was once, back in a era, foreign to those of you who are alive today, that I was nothing but a strangled incarnation that struggled to make its way in the world. In fewer words, I was human. But, like everything, in this world and in the next, nothing stays the same for long. Things are constantly revolving with a world that is, needless to say, incredibly temperamental. Why G-d or whatever higher power there is up there made it this way is beyond my power to comprehend, but I wish I did understand it. I wish I could be able to remember my past clearly. It would explain so much about myself... but for some reason I can't remember. Well, at least I can't remember anything from when I was a human that was contented with my pathetic existence on a temperamental world. However, one part of my childhood has, to this day, remained in perfect condition with in my shattering memory. And for whatever reason, it is a memory that my mind forces me to live through again and again. It tortures me, it devastates me. It was my mistake and every time I look into the eyes of a person on the edge of eternity it is like watching a movie of it, I see exactly what I did wrong. I see it and I want to cry.
A Memory
I can't say for sure when it was exactly, age is slowly and gently eating my memory away. To date, all I know is that I am growing terribly old. Don't get me wrong, I am way older than a human, any human. Time runs differently for me, after all, I am a patriarch. The better part of my childhood has already fell prey to age, as I have said before, only one part stays to haunt me and that's the part I will disclose to you within my story.
Once upon a time, in a mystery kingdom, I lived as a human child. Something's are surprisingly clear to me about this particular night. The apparitions of two older people with dark gray hair were standing over me, or maybe their hair was brown? The things I cannot recall annoy me, but there seems to be nothing I can do. Anyway, one of them was a man and the other a woman. I have always figured those ghost people were my parents, but now that I think about it, they probably weren't. Things around me felt cold, I guess we were outside, but I don't recollect any aspect that would insinuate outside scenery. In fact, I remember being surrounded by blinding red and orange... and heat, I was sweating. However, my child mind didn't register the blaring heat. My mind remembers feeling cold; my mind remembers my body absolutely freezing. Was it under panic? Perhaps the reason for my odd interpretation of the temperature was due to the fact that I was under austere stress or possibly, because I was scared. Another question that I cannot answer, will the stream of questions ever dry up? I am in need of a vacation...or a drought. A drought would serve my purposes better; I want a drought as bad as a prisoner wants his freedom. But some things are not meant to be. I am stuck the way I am. Because of that night I am who I am and my questions will forever be apart of me.
I remember, through the freezing cold and the burning heat, recognizing the adults standing in front of me. They seemed so frighteningly huge towering over me as if I was an ant. The woman I think I can evoke from my mind the best. She ignored my pleads, but she smiled at me as they took me away. It wasn't a malicious smile either, it was a comforting one a warming one, like the sun. I was crying and begging them although my exact words elude me now. They had something to do with being sorry and confessing my sins. Who knows, maybe I was ex-communicated or accused of witch craft, although I, to this day, doubt it. The lady kept grimacing at the monstrous man; however it is perfectly plausible that her grimaces were because of my pitiless crying. It was evident that she longed to stop what she was doing, that's what I took from it at least, she appeared absolutely miserable. After a while I heard her whisper to the man and he replied in an agitated mumble, then I was gagged. Around me the room was brown and I was cold- mind you, this was before the heat and red and orange. I think we were underground somewhere and a strange humming noise was playing in the background. You know what's funny, within all of my intense panic and despair, some part of my over crowded mind registered the noise and wondered about it. Observation is a skill I have recently grown to acquire; many humans walk around blissfully ignorant. They have no clue what they are doing half the time. It is as if they are constantly running on a rush of caffeine and complete all their tasks with a dangerous blindness that sends them strait into my open arms. Some humans, not many but some, rectify their obliviousness when they are old enough to notice it, and that's a hard thing to accomplish, they often don't. Children, I've noticed, are generally aware of what is happening around them at all times, whether they register it or not they know. I knew. Even though I was sitting there, paralyzed with crippling fear, I knew that the room was empty except for us three. I saw that the air was thin and dieing quickly and that the man kept glancing at his watch, staring at it in earnest. I heard the humming noise and realized quickly that it was me who was producing it- the gag they had tied on me prevented my sobs from being able to be heard in full volume but not the sobs themselves. Most importantly, I knew that whatever happened here, it would result in my death.
In truth, the next few hours are hopelessly bleak. Such events are made to be questioned by people who have the ability to be compassionate. But to the type of people I was in the company of, compassion is a mere folly. Something not to be tooled around with, it is exceptionally perilous to their cause, and perhaps that is why the man slapped the smiling woman's face when she started to cry. Compassion is a prodigious quality in the hands of someone who is brave enough to implement the effects of it. The woman wasn't brave, and the man showed just as much compassion as a slug would, none, he was indifferent. After he slapped her he went to sleep.
In the early hours of the morning, the gray-haired man awoke. I had already been awake; there was no chance of me missing my last few hours of mortality. He conversed with the woman shortly after waking her up. They talked in the same suppressed voices they have had since my arrival here. When their conversation ended, he stared at me. It was a look that could chill a thousand suns. Fear strangled my body and I felt a noose tighten around my neck. Something was going to happen today, sometime soon. I was right. With a stealthy saunter he walked up to my designated resting area. The air in the brown room was quickly diminishing and I could tell he was trying to breathe shallowly to conserve his breaths. He then picked me up and threw me across his huge back as if I were a sack of potatoes. Then dropped me in the same rough manner in a small corner on the opposite side of the room and abruptly exited. I watched him go quietly, I saw the woman follow in a different style. A style that, in my opinion was crueler. She went up to me and kissed my forehead murmuring an apology, and then left without a word. Apparently saving me wasn't on her to do list.
I sat there a long time waiting for something to happen. I had nothing to do; my hands were tied up as were my feet. If something hadn't happened soon I would have died right there due to boredom. Now boredom is a peculiar syndrome to possess. Never once in the millions of years I have had being Death, have I ever seen a person die of boredom. I have always expected to and it's a curious thing that I haven't, having supposedly seen all possible ways a person can die. It shocks me that boredom was not among them. I wonder if it is possible. If it's not, then I certainly thought it was when I was sitting there.
The amount of time I was left sitting there seemed to be forever, but in fact; it was probably only a few minutes before the next unfortunate event occurred. Not much air was left, I was barley allowing myself to breath, but I had grown accustom to it. However, within the time I was sitting there, my air supply started to run empty, it dribbled out pathetically. I started battle with my bounds, I lost terribly. So, because of my loss, I gave in and just as I decided to let myself suffocate, I heard a door open somewhere and a slight flicker. I froze absolutely when I smelled the smoke for the first time. My insides turned in to ice and I started to shiver. Breathing in suddenly I noticed that the air level in the room heightened considerably. Instead of suffocating me they were going to burn me, honestly, I preferred suffocation.
I sat there and watched the expansion of flames. They fascinated me, they always have. Now, fire is an enemy of mine, but then it was a stranger. And I had no idea why a stranger would want to hurt me without even getting to know me. That idea upset me greatly, more so than my impending death. I wailed until my gag started to choke me and all of the sudden I couldn't breath. Smoke infiltrated my lungs burning them. There was no possible way to cough the way I needed to, my gag prevented it. Just then, I hated the smiling woman with perilous rage and I vowed to see her death personally. Obviously the smoke was getting in my brain, otherwise I would have known that never again would I see her because I was going to die, but I forgot about that completely. It was my self destructing fury that I became who I am.
The Death before me was old. He was tired. And in all honesty, he was a she. When my soul met Death, it was astounded. Never had it occurred to me that Death could be a girl. She was beautiful, her slightly skeletal face was wrapped in a soft pale skin, her eyes a misty gray. However, it was her hair that loved me the most. Her hair was a rich brown styled in curls, laying placidly down her back. When it was my time, she stared down at me as if I was something to be treasured. My soul relaxed from its agitated stance and to this day I claim I loved her right then and there. Alas, it was not meant to be. I was a vengeful soul and she was a self loathing Death. I stared at her, at first in awe. Then I saw a tear run down her cheek, my ghostly hand reached to wipe it away. I was entranced by the smoothness of her skin. So, being the child I was, I kept my hand there as she spirited us away.
She placed me on an edge of a cloud and looked at me in wonder. I only stared back, relishing the moments I had with her- don't blame me, I was young and fickle. Finally, her curious look got on my last nerve and I demanded to know what she was looking at.
"You weren't scared to die. You were furious at something. What was it?" I swear I drooled like a dog when she talked. Her voice was sweet and speckled with a heart rendering sad under tone that tugged my heart.
"My captors and killers, miss, I was angry at them. I have sworn to be their death," To this day I wonder how I was able to speak clearly to her; it must have been a miracle. She gave me a funny look. Then laughed at something, I have never known what it was.
"You might just be my favorite person in the whole world," she said to me causing me to raise my eyebrows in confusion and smile in delight. I was her favorite person in the world. What could get better then that? "What would you say if I said that it was a possibility for you to be their death? Would take me up on my offer? Would you free me of my bounds? You are human," She wrinkled her nose in distaste. I was offended, she said the word human with such blatant disgust. It was rude, but her offer was one that I couldn't refuse, I made a vow.
"Sure," I said eloquently, "How?" I asked after a few minutes. She laughed again making me cry with joy.
"Do you want to switch places?" She inquired. My eyes lit up like a light bulb and my mouth sped so fast I am surprise I didn't get pulled over. Within a few seconds, I was Death.
…
I laugh when I remember my first few days on the job. There are so many aspects about being Death that is amazing. The speed, the flying, feeling like the master of people, another factor that made my first day of being Death thrilling was the destruction. Humans love destruction; they adore it and worship it like a king. When I first became Death I was still mostly human. Destruction has always been the favorite pick for humans and I never have guessed why. It is because destruction is a beautiful thing. Terrible though it may be, it is alluring thing… why? I have no idea. Humans love it, and I tolerate it now, I have seen too much to find myself entranced by its beauty, after a while, it gets old.
When I first became death I had some fun. Then, what is now known of as the 'Ten Plagues' came about. I spent most of my time, that year in Egypt. Before I was Death, I was a child unaccustomed to hard labor. Boy, was I sweating. Constantly I had to take off the black cloak I had chosen to wear, and pretty soon I decided to retire it. You couldn't blame me; I had to travel to two different sides of the world rapidly. First I had to go to the Middle East for Egyptians and then all the way up north for the few remaining dinosaurs in Iceland. Do you know how heavy a dinosaur's soul is? Well, I'll tell you it isn't like a human's soul; it's weighty and irritating, always trying to bite your head off. I'm sure you can imagine.
However, when things calmed down a little, in between one person dying and the next, I raced up to the clouds and spent a few moments with the old Death who was now a soul. She was my girl friend, but I broke it off because I didn't have anytime to be with her.
The first year flew by in a heart beat as well my second year. But by my third year I was raving with annoyance. Something's take a little to long, death may be forever but patience is not. Patience eventually started to nag me. It started to go through the transformation to impatience. I wanted to see the man and the woman die. I lusted after the looks that would be on their faces when they saw me. Fear would be in their eyes like it was in mine, it would be so satisfying, the cherry on top.
Luckily for me, I wasn't forced to wait much longer. They died together, on a cold dirt floor in the middle of an empty field. The sky was yellow, happy. When I came for their souls they gaped at me, they saw me coming and I dealt them a death blow. The whole next year I went around with a triumphant smile. The souls were very confused, some were even offended. But I didn't care at all, I came out on top. Goodness, was I stupid. After that year I was working for nothing. What I hadn't realized before is that after they were dead I had no ambition, nothing to go on for except the souls.
Today I wish I knew what it would be like to be a soul up there in the clouds. I can't help but think that if I decided to stay a phantom my questions would be answered. I made a mistake the hard way; never do anything out of pure anger. Never will I be able to go back to that day and change my decision and I am stuck the way I am until a human offers to switch. I have come to peace with that now. But I can't help feeling a twinge of remorse when I drop a soul off in the sky.
- Death