Rain. It poured unimpeded from the heavens, pounding with untempered exuberance on the earth it struck, turning the land to a muddy quagmire, turning the streets into a river that temporarily washed away the ever spreading filth that always accompanied human existence.
Rain. It pattered down, cascading down the wall he lay slumped against, washing over him and washing away his blood to mingle with the rest of the scum to be cleansed by the storm.
He lay slumped against the damp stone wall of the shrouded alleyway. He held a hand clamped tightly to his side, trying unsuccessfully to prevent his life from leaking gradually but determinedly from the hole in his side to mingle with the tirade.
A perfectly miserable night to die.
For an hour that felt like a small eternity, he'd been convinced he wasn't going to die. He'd survived worse than this. He'd beaten back apocalypses for craps sake! Admittedly he was usually so terrified he couldn't remember anything afterwards – but he was sure he'd at least participated. Being impaled by a random demon when he'd just been looking for somewhere to eat seemed like too much of an anticlimax to accept.
Accepting it he was though. After an hour of agonized crawling, he'd concluded that no considerate savior was likely to choose this dark alleyway in the the foreseeable future. He seemed to be crawling exponentially slower, on current evidence it would be a tie between him reaching the end and the aged sun reaching its end.
He pulled himself up against the wall, made himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances – and waited patiently to die.
Laying down and dying seemed like a plan even he could achieve. Trust him to mess it up.
Xander blinked water from his eye and looked down again at the sizable hole in his side in bewilderment. He knew he should have died hours ago.
He considered. He was willing to acknowledge that the way his life went, it was possible that he could have died and risen as a vampire without noticing.
On the other hand, he'd observed a tendency not to spontaneously combust, nor to want to eat his friends, which tended to cast doubts on that theory. Also lacking inhuman strength, which he would have appreciated when the deceptively small demon had slammed him against the wall and then impaled him.
It wasn't fair, he'd only trod on one of its feet! How was he to know they were its reproductive organs?
He shuffled, trying to make himself comfortable. He'd never realised dieing would be so difficult.
I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY YOU KNOW.
Xander glanced at his companion, slouched fleshlessly next to him.
"Sorry, doing my best here." he said.
EVERYONE ELSE MANAGES WELL ENOUGH. I THINK YOU'RE JUST BEING DIFFICULT.
"Sorry." Xander shrugged, then grimaced in pain. "I don't mean to pry..."
DON'T THEN. His companion intoned.
"You're Death, right?" he said.
The seven foot cowled skeleton regarded him. YES.
"Erm..."
YES?
"Why aren't I dead yet?"
YOU ARE. Death replied ruefully, YOUR SPIRIT REFUSES TO LEAVE YOUR BODY. THIS IS MOST CHILDISH.
"Sorry."
I CAN WAIT. Death said tonelessly.
Xander lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
YOU HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION? Death prompted.
"How's your chess?" Xander tried hopefully.
BUGGER OFF.
"Ok. Erm, is Terry Pratchett going to sue me?"
NO. I'M JUST A FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION.
"Oh, good. So I'm not dead?"
NO.
"No, I'm dead, or no I'm not dead?" Xander said hopefully.
THE FIRST ONE. Death replied without pause.
"Ah. Shit." Xander pondered for a second, then gave up. "So, what am I?"
YOU'RE A ZOMBIE.
"I am? How do you know that?"
I AM DEATH. WORK IT OUT.
"I thought you said you're a figment of my imagination?"
YES.
"So, what do I do now?"
TRADITIONALLY, YOU WANDER THE EARTH FOR ALL ETERNITY, HOPELESSLY ALONE AND MISERABLE, MINDLESSLY DRIVEN ONLY BY YOUR INSATIABLE LUST FOR HUMAN FLESH.
"Ok then. What if I want a beer instead?" Xander clambered to his feet, ignoring his wound now he realised its redundancy.
THAT'S UP TO YOU. Deaths leaden tone betrayed a certain uncertainty.
"Like to join me for one?" Xander queried.
YEAH, OK.