I died once. It wasn't pretty. There wasn't any beauty in it either. There was no heart-wrenching scene. I wasn't surrounded by my loved ones. One moment I was here, in unbelievable agony. And the next moment I was gone. I'll spare you the gory details, but it was a violent death. The weather was shit that day too. Nothing ever worked out well for me. And that's why I'm here.
My name is Death. Well, actually, I'm a Death, not the Death. I have my own name, but we're not supposed to use them. I guess it's not as terrifying when a 'Roger' or "Eduardo' or 'Stephanie' knock at your door.
My job is to collect souls and usher them to the underworld. I don't decide where anyone goes; ya know, whether their soul continues or is destroyed forever. I'm like the fucking butler, directing people around from place to place. A trained monkey could probably do my job. There is one cool thing about my job, though. I get to decide whether healthy people like you live or die. Yeah. That's right. I'm there, walking around amongst you, invisible to the living world.
What's that? It sounds lonely? Nah. It's not lonely. I talk to thousands of different people every day. Some are scared of me. Some are dicks about dying. And then some can be pretty funny. God, grandpas usually have the best jokes. And I can do anything I want. For one, I can jaywalk without getting turned to slush on the road. And PSA here, folks, please, I implore you, use the damn crosswalk. It is not pretty turning into soup beneath a semi's tires.
All in all, my afterlife is a thousand times better than my actual life was. I don't have any complaints, well, except one. You see, I fucked up. I'm the first to admit it. Everyone at work knows. I even got a write up my first year on the job. My friend, Mongolian Death, says that after a hundred years the other Deaths won't remember. He'd better be right; I don't want to go down as the only Death in history to lose to a mortal. What happened? Well… It all started 10 years ago, right after I died.
The boy sat alone in his bed. The other children in the ward ran around the room playing. They were noisy, and despite their illnesses, they were full of life. Death paid the other children no mind; he was here for only one. He watched the boy with interest but no matter how long he stood there, the boy never saw him.
Finally, it was lights out. All the children were tucked into bed. The nurses made their rounds, the last for the next few hours. The boy pulled his blankets up under his chin, his grey eyes staring at the ceiling.
"I've come…" Death drawled, lifting a finger in the boy's direction. There was no response. The boy simply lay in bed.
Death pulled out his heavy, leather-bound book, searching through his exceptionally long list of names. He found it, Trafalgar D Water Law. He examined the clipboard beside the bed. The names matched. There was no reason the child shouldn't be able to hear him or see him.
"I've come!" Death repeated, louder this time. "It is time to come with me, Law…" The boy coughed into his hand, blood spraying his tiny palm. He heaved weakly, but still, gave no sign that he'd seen or heard Death. "Your time has come," Death insisted, doing his best to draw out the words in a chilling way.
"Why the fuck isn't this working?" Death demanded, shoving his book back inside his billowing black cloak. He considered his options, each more embarrassing than the previous. Finally he decided to come back later. Perhaps this boy's name was added to the list prematurely.
The next day the boy was in even worse shape. The nurses kept their voices low and when the other children became concerned, the boy was moved to another room. Death stood watch all day, there wasn't a visitor beside the hospital staff.
Again, that night, the boy couldn't hear him. He crept closer in a menacing way, hoping to spook the boy, but there was no reaction. This kid couldn't see him yet. He came back the next day and the day after, but it was the same result each time.
Death returned for the seventh time. He refused to fail again. He floated through the room like fog, his icy aura frosting the windows. The boy shuddered, tugging the blankets up under his chin. Those grey eyes suddenly focused on Death. It surprised him and Death ended up walking straight into the crash cart in the corner of the room.
Death tried to right himself and ended up wrapped in the curtains, popping the metal hooks off one by one. Death struggled for a moment, his arms flailing at his side before falling to the floor, a pile of doom and hideous, floral curtains.
The boy laughed. Oh and he did laugh. He laughed loudly, the sound clear and strong. He held his stomach, his grey eyes watering at the corners. "You're an idiot."
"You… You can see me?" Death asked, throwing the torn curtains off of him.
"You've been standing there all day…" the boy replied, rolling his eyes. "All week, actually. It would be impossible not to notice."
Death was speechless.
"Whatever you want, sorry, I just don't feel like going anywhere right now." The boy continued, dropping the blankets around his waist. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"But you have to come." Death replied, climbing to his feet. "You don't have a choice."
The boy shrugged, "Why should I believe you?"
"B-because I'm Death!" Death declared.
"Why me?" The boy pressed. "There're tons of people here. It's a hospital, after all."
"You're in my book." Death explained, pulling the massive tome out from his cloak once more. He opened the book, placing it at the foot of the child's bed. He paged through, finding the boy's name, nearly a hundred pages back. "See. Right there you are."
"Oh. I see." The boy murmured, trailing his finger over his own printed name.
"It's time to come with me," Death continued, pointing a finger at the boy threateningly.
"No." the boy refused flatly.
"No?" Death repeated the word unsurely. "What do you mean 'no'?"
"It says right here, 'Trafalgar D Water Law, dies from disease, 10th of August, aged 8 years, 10 months.'" The boy read.
"Yeah," Death growled, growing frustrated. "And?"
"Well, today is the 17th." The boy said with finality, slamming the book shut. "You missed your deadline. I won't be going."
Imagine explaining that situation to your boss. It wasn't fun. I wish I could say that I went into work, explained everything and my boss went and finished the little brat off. But he didn't. Apparently, the kid had found a loophole. Who knew you could argue with Death? It gets worse. That little punk actually got better. He left the hospital a few months after we met.
I never imagined I'd run into him again. I was minding my own business, walking the streets of downtown Cork, when something caught my attention. There was a group of boys, scraggly thin youths with pock-marked chins and greasy hair. They gathered together in the alley, passing around a joint. And there in the center of them all was that grey-eyed boy.
He was older now, that usually awkward space in-between being a child and man. I remembered being alive at that age, I looked the part, but this kid, he looked handsome. Lucky bastard. His grey eyes swept over me and I knew in that instant that it was truly him. Again. That fucker.
Law handed off the joint, exhaling slowly. He stood, pushing off from the wall. He muttered to his friends, "I'll see you later."
"Sure." One of the others responded.
Law shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the alley, further and further away from the busy street. Death followed silently. Law disappeared around the corner and Death hurried after him, falling into the boy's trap. Law had stuck his foot out, catching Death off guard. Death stumbled forward, over Law's leg, and into the opposite wall.
"What do you want?" Law demanded, those grey eyes narrowing harshly.
"What are you doing?!" Death shouted, climbing back to his feet indignantly.
Law's eyes roamed up and up, fully appreciating Death's size for the first time. "Were you always so large?"
"Why are you attacking me?" Death demanded, removing his cloak from his face.
Alright. So I may have fucked up more than once. I'd never been dead before and it took some adjustments on my part. I never expected to be attacked by a human. That was something that only American Death dealt with, getting shot at all the time. It was a running joke at work, she had it rough.
"That's what you look like?" Law gaped, his eyes roaming over Death's face. "I see why you wear that disguise. You're so normal looking…"
"Of course I'm normal looking!" Death snapped.
"Well how should I know?" Law retorted.
"I was a human once too."
"Like during the Viking Invasions or before that?" Law asked.
"What? No. I'm… I'm not that old…" Death corrected. "I'm… Do I look that old?"
Law stammered, "N-no. But you're dead."
"Why did you attack me?" Death repeated impatiently.
"You were following me." Law replied with a shrug.
"I thought you walked away to talk to me!" Death groaned.
"What's it this time?" Law asked, chewing on his bottom lip. "Asthma attack? Choking on pretzels? Traffic collision? How?"
That was when I realized, I could finally kill him. You see, when someone is sick or injured they have an expiration date. I can't mess with that. But what I can do is take a healthy person and give them an expiration date. It's simple. Someone pisses me off inadvertently and boom! They suddenly take a tumble down the stairs or run a red light… The options are endless really.
Death nodded, "I hate to do this, but what's right is right." He ran a hand through his blonde hair before grabbing his book and a pen. He wrote Law's name neatly in the empty space on the last page of his book.
"Trafalgar D Water Law," Death announced. "Dies from broken neck, on this day, aged 13 years and 3 months."
Law tensed, his grey eyes scanning the back alley unsurely. After a moment he shrugged, turning away from Death. His shoe landed in a bit of oil and his legs slipped out from under him. He crashed to the ground, his head rushing toward a chunk of broken concrete.
Law cried out, throwing his arm out to catch himself. His arm crumpled from the force and fractured against the rock, but he managed to protect his head from damage, and therefore avoided snapping his own neck. Law's grey eyes were wide with fright and it took a moment before he sat up.
He examined himself, checking to see if he was really, truly alright. He clicked his tongue in discomfort, "You broke my fecking arm."
Death was silent, watching carefully as Law stood up. Law cradled his broken arm against his chest and began walking back toward the street. Death followed behind, waiting patiently for the moment that Law's life would be extinguished.
Law began to run, trying to put as much distance between himself and Death as possible. He made it to the street and stepped out, his eyes still locked on Death. There was a loud horn and tires squealed. The bumper tapped Law, tossing him up onto the front of the car. Law slid over the hood and off the edge, falling into the street before he could right himself.
Law stood, amazed at somehow still being alive. He gave a wild cheer, flicking his middle finger at Death defiantly. The driver of the car threw open his door and began chewing Law out. Law dropped his fractured arm, it flopped down grotesquely and the man instantly stopped yelling, his voice now full of concern and pity.
"The night's young, Law." Death called after him. "And that's a two way street."
I wish I could report that Law took a step backward and was creamed by oncoming traffic, but it didn't happen that way. It was almost as if a Greek God was watching over him. I spent the next four hours trying to break a single teenager's neck. No good came of it and I was back in front of my boss, having to explain why my collection was off from the book.
I should've left it alone. I'd failed, twice already. But now I'd decided that I had to prove a point. You couldn't fuck with Death and get away with it. Oh no. There would be consequences.
I tried two more times that same year. I nearly got him with cheese stuffed crust pizza. I tried four times the year after that. The closest I got was an antibiotic resistant strain of meningitis. He was hospitalized for over a month. I was an overachiever the third year, I wrote his name down 12 times, but each fucking time some miraculous thing would end up saving him. The fourth year he nearly died from heat stroke during P.E. The fifth year he stepped on a rusty nail and nearly succumbed to lockjaw.
Which brings us to now. As I sit here, I'm thinking over all that I've done. I've been a good Death. I've been fair and patient. Aside from one single person, I've never failed to do my job. I'm still pretty new here. I have lots to learn. And I know I can do better. I just need another chance…
"Hey," Law murmured, chewing on his fingernails.
Death sighed, sitting down beside the young man, now an adult. He had changed so much since they first met. "What's up?"
"'What's up?' That's kinda a weird thing to ask, innit?" Law asked, his lips twitching upward in amusement.
"You're just sitting here." Death explained. "Anything could happen, ya know. You could get stung by a bee or blue ice could fall from the sky… Anything, really."
"Are you here for me?" Law asked, his grey eyes settling on Death's cloaked face.
"Not today." Death answered.
"What about tomorrow?" Law pressed, pushing against his knees into a standing position.
"Well…" Death trailed off unsurely.
"Or the day after? What about next week?" Law demanded.
"It's nothing personal," Death insisted. "You were supposed to die ten years ago."
"I don't care. Do what you need to do." Law decided, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But can you take the next two weeks off?"
"Oh, uh, sure." Death agreed. "But why?"
"I've got a date." Law announced. "And I'd prefer you not show up."
"A date!" Death breathed out. While he was living he'd gone on very few of those. He was a career driven human and hadn't taken the time to settle down. "I guess it's that time, innit?"
"So, you won't come around then?" Law questioned.
Death hesitated, "I never know where my work will take me, Law."
Law made a face, exhaling impatiently, "Leave me be… please…"
Not once had Law asked for Death to leave him alone, he'd certainly refused his requests, but he'd never called for a ceasefire. The way he said please was enough to make Death quickly respond, "You won't see hide or hair."
"Thanks." Law said, relieved. "I appreciate it. Depending on how things go, maybe you can try to kill me later…"
"Oh, come now," Death murmured. "I'm sure it'll go great. You won't want me killing you for years…"
Law laughed, his hands fidgeting together nervously, "Yeah, maybe."
"What's wrong?" Death asked, watching Law hovering in place.
"I might be a bit touched in the head, but I believe you," Law admitted.
Death shrugged, "I don't have a reason to lie to you. I'm Death."
Law nodded, "But you weren't always…"
I shouldn't have answered, but something in his eyes made me want to.
"No. I was human like you." Death spoke quietly.
"What's your name?" Law pressed.
Death laughed, "My name is Death."
"No… I mean your real name." Law clarified, his hands wringing together in front of him. "From when you were alive."
I have no excuse. I fucked up.
"Rosinante Donquixote." Death rattled.
I really fucked up.
"How'd you die, Rosinante?" Law wondered. "How'd you end up here?" Death smiled, dropping his hood down from over his face. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his cloak and lit one. "Lung cancer?"
Death narrowed his eyes, "Please…"
"I was being serious." Law replied. "How'd you die then?"
"Painfully." Was all Death said.
"How old were you?" Law pressed curiously.
"26." Death answered. "Why are you so curious all of a sudden?"
Law looked away, his tan skin flushing with color, "No reason."
"So, I answer your questions but you still can't answer mine?" Death accused, shaking his head.
"My parents are dead." Law explained. "I wanted to know if you were the one who…"
It was Death's turn to turn red. His pale skin turned pink as he stammered his reply, "Uh, oh, well, you see, I'm new to the job, really…"
"So it was someone else?"
"Yeah."
"Were they nice like you?" Law asked.
For some reason Law's words touched Death. "I never met them, but I'm sure they were very professional."
"Where'd they go? Did they die or something?" Law pressed.
Death shrugged, "Retired."
"How ridiculous." Law muttered.
"Hey, where are you going?" Death called after him, extinguishing his cigarette against the concrete staircase.
"I'll see ya around." Law replied, waving farewell.
I wish I could say that I didn't see Law for a very long time. I wish I could say that he was an old man, a lifetime of accomplishments under his belt, when I next appeared. But I was turning out to be pretty unlucky in the afterlife as well.
"Ireland," English Death said, nodding his head in greeting. "Top o' the mornin' to ya."
Death stared at English Death in pure disgust, his lips turned downward in an exaggerated grimace, "Are you quite right in the head?"
"I'm just being cheeky." English Death dismissed, waving his hand as if to clear the air.
"Don't mind him," Brazilian Death murmured behind a cup of black coffee. He yawned openly before rubbing his eyes. "He's been on a roll this morning."
"Where's Mongolia?" Death asked, looking around the office.
"Who knows?" English Death replied.
"Oh," Brazilian Death interjected between sips of coffee. "They're all in HR. Apparently, they want America to start going by something else…"
"What?" Death and English Death asked at the same time.
Brazilian Death sighed, "I'm American. Argentina's American, Canada's American… America's American… Do you see the problem?"
"What would we call her then? U.S.A, Oo-sa-uh?" Death wondered.
"Don't know, don't care." Brazilian Death answered. "I didn't want to go so they took Mongolia along to bolster the numbers."
"Well, works for me." English Death decided. "Less people in line means I get out quicker."
Death nodded, following behind England and Brazil into the queue. England was right; it took much less time with almost all of the Americas missing. He felt a bit sorry for Mongolia. He would be swamped the rest of the day because he was too nice to say no.
"Sign here." The registrar barked, pointing a bony finger to the space beside his name. "You're responsible for three hundred and two souls today." Death nodded, signing an 'X' beside his assigned name and taking the new book the registrar offered. "Remember to turn your books in tomorrow morning for audit. NEXT!"
"How's it look?" England asked.
Death opened his book and skimmed the first couple pages of his list. He had two tourists today, right off the bat. He hated taking tourists. It felt like an asshole move to 'kill' someone on vacation, but he didn't make the rules. He scanned the index and groaned, "I've got a hard case."
"Sorry, mate."
"Adieu," Brazil mumbled, stepping up to the registrar's window as Death stepped away. "See ya tomorrow."
Yeah. I'm back. I think I've explained everything. Any questions about what I do? Oh, well… Time is different for Death. We have longer days here in the afterlife. We wouldn't very well have time to drink coffee and socialize in the office if we had the same 24 hours as you mortals. There's a certain amount of magic involved in our day, but I wouldn't say that we defy nature so much as we are nature. You just fight it. That's not our problem.
I've met all sorts of dead people. Some are confused, others are sad, some get so angry, and yet others are relieved. There's no wrong way to die, we've seen it all.
That said, even as Death there are some deaths that we have absolutely no will to take part in. The death of a child, for example, is what we call a 'hard case', or a murder. A murder is a hard case. In most countries, suicides are a hard case. Some countries don't mind them all that much.
I saw that I had a hard case that day, but I didn't pay it much mind. I had my list and I went down it in order, as I was intended to do. There'd be chaos if I just decided to complete my work willy-nilly with no sequence. There'd be souls roaming around all over the place!
I was dragging my feet that day. The hard case was on my mind the closer I got. I decided I didn't want the details. I would just show up, reap the soul and move on. So when it came time for my final collection of the day, I simply touched the book and appeared in the preordained place.
Death found himself in a library. He peered around, searching for his victim. He floated down the rows of books, his hands trailing along the shelves. There was no one in the office, no one at the computers, no one in sitting in the big, comfy chairs near the front.
Death groaned, stopping to pull his book out from his cloak. He flipped the book open, searching for the last name on the list. He found it.
And I swear something inside me went cold.
Death found Law a moment later, along with another man, both hidden behind the circular check-out desk. He was kneeling on the floor, between the other man's bent legs. The man's pants were unzipped and pulled down just low enough to expose himself. Law's hands were touching him and he licked his lips before asking, "May I?"
The other man's face reddened even more. Death decided he wasn't nearly attractive enough to be touched by Law. Was this the guy Law was dating? Death would be having a chat … Death faltered, the book still clutched in his hands. "Yeah."
Law took the other man's cock into his mouth. Death looked away, bringing the book back into view. He read it over and over until the lines all blurred together. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't supposed to happen.
The man finished quickly, almost embarrassingly so, in Death's opinion. Law wiped his hands and face on a tissue, spitting into it. He handed a clean tissue to his partner and moved to stand. The other man grabbed him, yanking him back down to the floor.
"Listen, Trafalgar…" the man breathed out nervously. "Not a word of this to anyone…"
"What?" Law chuckled, doing his best to pull his arm free while still being polite.
"I mean it, arsehole." The man warned, his fingers digging into Law's arm painfully.
"You need to relax." Law returned. "That hurts."
"Say it!" the man shouted suddenly, his ruddy face darkening. "Say you won't say a word!"
"Okay," Law agreed, finally yanking his arm from the other man's grasp. "You're really nothing to write home about anyway."
The man lunged forward, pinning Law against the lower shelves of the desk. Several books fell, landing on his head before sliding to the floor. The man slammed his hand against the shelf, inches from Law's head, "I'll kill you."
But that was when he saw me. I thought he might get mad. I thought he might demand to know why I was there. I thought he'd be angry. But he wasn't. He was scared.
"You…" Law murmured, and Death wasn't sure who he was talking to.
"You're gonna be quiet." The man instructed, pressing his finger against Law's lips.
"Of course," Law agreed.
"Law," Death interjected. "Get out." Law's grey eyes met Death's. He smiled, almost reassuringly. "You're in danger!"
"Good." The man breathed out. He leaned more heavily over Law, his wet lips crashing against Law's.
"Law!" Death snapped in panic.
Once Law realized what the man intended to do, he started to struggle. He kicked the man in the stomach roughly, sending him crashing back against the other side of the desk. Law took the opportunity to jump over the desk, sliding across the surface to the other side.
He bolted toward the front doors and hit them at nearly full speed. The glass doors and windows quaked but remained in place. Law shook the locked doors forcefully, cursing loudly. He looked toward the back door but Death shook his head, "Just break the fucking glass, Law."
Law hesitated before kicking the doors. The glass fractured with the first kick, splintering from top to bottom but staying in place. Law kicked again, his foot going through the sheet of glass and sticking.
You are not an active participant in death. You are an impartial observer. You are Death and everyone is equal in your eyes.
The man grabbed Law, dragging him backward and away from the breaking door. Law cried out, his foot sliding from his shoe, the sneaker still lodged in the glass. Law struggled mightily, hitting and punching any part of the man he could reach. Blood spurted from the man's cheek and it only further enraged him.
He punched Law in the face, dragging him along the floor by the hood of his jacket. He knocked over most of the stuff on the desk, finally grabbing a beautiful, smooth purple stone. It was heavy, a bookend used by the head librarian. He raised it high above his head, bringing it down on Law's face.
It hit Law's cheek, there was a grotesque pop. Blood poured from Law's mouth. He cried out, his hands clawing against his captor.
"You've got to fight!" Death shouted.
And I swear to God, my heart was pounding in my chest.
"Law! Law!" Death yelled, pacing back and forth anxiously.
"I-I'm t-trying…" Law choked out, the top of his jacket restricting his throat. Blood foamed between his teeth and down his chin.
"I'm sorry…" the man murmured, lifting the heavy stone again.
"Damn it, Law!" Death growled, slamming his book down on the floor, his pen rolling across the carpet.
The man jumped in surprise, the noise of the book catching him by surprise. His blue eyes widened in horror, he lowered the stone, his hand releasing his hold on Law's hoodie. "Who the hell are you?"
Death stood to his full, impressive height, "I am Death."
"What the feck am I lookin' at?" The man blurted, his hands shaking.
"W-what's going on?" Law asked, scrambling away as fast as he could.
"I am here to collect your soul, Liam Dunne." Death rasped, pointing at the man ominously. "You must come with me."
Liam gasped, his hand clutching his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head and his skin blanched. He collapsed to the floor, twitching and grunting uncontrollably. Death stood in silence, watching the young man's life extinguish before his eyes.
"Is… is he dead?" Law asked, his cell phone held between his quivering hands.
Death walked over to Liam's prone body. He placed his foot on the man's chest. He nodded, "He's dead."
"I… I thought…" Law began, his gravelly voice trembling. "You were here for me."
"I was." Death answered simply, nodding toward the open book.
Law crawled forward. He turned the book around, reading the page over and over again. He read his own name several times before it could really sink in. "He was going to murder me. That motherfucking cunt was going to murder me?!"
Death walked toward Law, plucking his book from the floor. He closed it and turned away. "I've got work to do."
"You saved me." Law realized. "Why?"
I didn't have an answer. I still don't.
Death opened his mouth to reply when Law suddenly fainted. Death groaned loudly in complaint. He turned to Liam's lifeless body and barked, "Wait here for a minute."
Death carefully plucked Law's cell from his hands. He dialed emergency services and dropped the phone back to the ground. He heard an operator answer but had no way to communicate with them. The battery died a moment later anyway, another disadvantage of being Death.
"Well fuck." Death snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. He collected his forgotten pen from the floor and, with one final sweep of the room, left without Law's soul once again.
There isn't a prison for Death; which is good because I'd probably be there right now if there was. They've actually thought of something worse though. HR has me going through 'Butterfly Effect Training'. 1000 hours of required classes. This week, alongside my regular duties, I'm expected to write up an alternative future for Liam Dunne, had I not killed him. I've decided to go with a realistic future. I plan on discussing his prison sentence for homicide. I'm sure they'll love it. I know, I know. I brought this all on myself, but I can't help but think that they picked the wrong guy. I never asked for this job.
"Mr. Trafalgar…"
Law forced a tight smile. He knew they were all surprised to see him back so soon, "Good morning."
"How're ya feelin'?" the librarian asked.
Law's stitches itched, but he ignored it, "Fine."
"We weren't expecting ya today," the librarian admitted. "You should be at home."
"Actually, I didn't come to work," Law explained. "I'm researching something."
"Oh?" followed quickly by, "What might that be?"
"Don't mind it," Law replied dismissively. "I know my way around."
And he did. Before long he was hunkered down in one of the unused meeting rooms with a projector and several boxes of slides from all the local newspapers. He went through box after box without any luck.
Law opened the last box he'd pulled down, marked 2005-2010. He blew the top layer of dust off the slides and pulled out a new reel. It wasn't until the third reel that he paid much attention. He paused the slide, studying the obituary that was projected onto the wall. He recognized the man in the photo, recognized that long and stuffy sounding name, Rosinante Donquixote.
'Rosinante 'Corazon' Donquixote, age 26, of Dublin, passed away the early morning of Saturday, March 18, 2008 at St. James's Hospital. Donquixote was preceded in death by both parents, Mr. and Mrs. Homing Donquixote of Kilkenny. Donquixote was a proud member of An Garda Síochána. He will be dearly missed by his fellow peace officers.
In Lieu of Flowers, please make all donations to the CORAZON Foundation.'
Law stared at the photo for a long while before turning off the projector. He grabbed his phone and googled the Corazon Foundation. It was a charity run through the Ireland National Police, some sort of youth outreach program started by Rosinante Donquixote. Law clicked his tongue. What sort of world took a guy like that at 26?
Law was curious, and the obituary hadn't mentioned, how did Rosinante die? He googled the name and within seconds he had nearly a dozen high profile results. He clicked on the top news story; a different picture of Donquixote stared at him. This time with large, black letters bolded beneath his photo, Murdered.
"That solves that," Law murmured to himself. "That sucks."
I have to agree with him. It sucks.
What? I didn't know that he was looking me up, not at the time. He'd already spoken to a couple of my old department buddies before I realized he was reading up on me. I'm Death. I can't just follow one kid around all day, every day…
"I was starting to think I wouldn't see you again," Law said, looking up from his textbook.
I guess it had been a while. He had grown his facial hair into a goatee and much of his skin was tattooed now. I tried to figure how long it'd been, but I gave up. Time doesn't really mean much to Death.
"What is this?" Death asked, sitting down across from Law.
"Schoolwork." Law explained lazily.
"You're still in university then?" Death questioned.
Law nodded, "Medical school."
Death dropped his hood, his reddish eyes focused on Law, "Medical school? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"What?" Law murmured, shrugging. "Everyone else is impressed when I tell 'em."
"You're doing, like, the opposite of what I do…" Death reasoned. "Unbelievable. You've got some nerve."
Law smiled, "I didn't think it'd offend you, Corazon."
Death froze.
I really did.
"What did you call me?" Death rasped.
"Corazon," Law repeated. "Isn't that what everyone called you?"
"You can't," Death insisted. "You really shouldn't call me that."
"Why not?" Law asked, leaning forward as he spoke. "Will it make me immortal or something?"
"Immortal!" Death snapped. "You! You're trying to get me banished to hell or something, aren't ya?"
"No." Law shrugged. "Why are you in some sort of trouble?"
Death made a face, "You're making fun of me now."
"I'm not." Law maintained, his grey eyes glittering.
"I won't hear any more of it." Death declared, standing up.
"That's fine," Law murmured. "See you next time, Corazon."
In his surprise, Death knocked over the chair, tried to right himself, hopped forward and yelled, tripping over his cloak and sprawling out across the floor. Law turned his head to the side and smiled rather mischievously, "You okay?"
"Don't talk to me." Death snarled from the floor.
I don't know why I ever went back to see him.
"Corazon," Law chattered excitedly, looking up from his homework.
It was just as bad the next time…
"Hey, Corazon," Law called out, poking out from the behind the shower curtain.
And the next…
Law removed the spleen from the cadaver. A pocket of blood spurted out from the corpse and the two other students beside him fainted. He looked up and smiled behind the mask, "Heya, Corazon…"
"What's that?" The supervising doctor asked.
Law shook his head, "Nothing, Doctor. I was just commenting on the abnormal size of the organ."
Death leaned forward to examine the cadaver, "Oooh, I remember him."
I must be an idiot. I couldn't stay away.
"Is that you, Corazon?" Law called out, peering around his dark flat. "Hello?" There was no answer. Law dropped his messenger bag in the hallway and walked into his living room. "Hey? Is someone there?"
Death was sitting on the couch, his feet tossed over the arm. Law walked in and sat down on the floor. He watched Death's unmoving face for a stretch of time before speaking again, "Hey, are you asleep or something?"
"No." Death finally spoke. "Dead."
Law groaned, folding his legs underneath him. "Was that a joke?"
"Nope." Death replied. "That's reality. I'm dead."
"Put your hood down." Law requested.
"Why?"
"You're not so scary without your hood." Law reasoned.
Death laughed, "That's why I wear it."
"I'm not scared of you." Law insisted.
Death sighed, "I know. That's why I'm such a bad Death. Can't even kill one little Irishman."
"I've worked hard," Law said suddenly. "To live a life worth saving."
Death hesitated, this sort of thing wasn't in the employee handbook. "I don't think that's a compliment where I come from."
"What? Dublin?" Law teased.
"If you're not careful they'll send in someone else to do it." Death warned. "Someone proper."
"You mean there's more of you?" Law questioned.
"Oh, yes. There's thousands of us." Death explained. "Each country gets one Death. Then big countries get assistants. And there are some who only work during a crisis or natural disaster. Everyone wants that job."
"When I die," Law said slowly. "Will I be like you?"
"No." Death sighed. "Becoming Death isn't so easy."
The job isn't easy either. Thanks to you.
"How come you never married, Corazon?" Law asked, scooting closer to the couch.
Death covered his hooded face with his arm. "I was married to my work."
"How old would you be now?" Law questioned.
Death clicked his tongue thoughtfully before answering, "Eww, about 40."
"So you're not too old for me," Law decided. "I'm 24."
"That's…" Death couldn't finish the thought. "Beyond the obvious, I still think that's a bit off…"
"Fine, then." Law shrugged. "How old should I be? I'm 24, physically you're 26. I think that's pretty evenly matched."
"What are you thinking?" Death shouted. "Are you thick?"
I didn't wait for his answer. I was already gone.