Disclaimer: see chapter one
Chapter 2
This is not a story of death.
Well, it is a story of Death, but not a story of death.
That would be depressing.
This is not a story of life.
That would be predictable.
This is a story of friends, meeting and meeting again, until they meet for the final time.
Contrary to popular belief, I didn't actually visit the eldest of them first.
I know, a bit out of order, but what is Death if you can't shake things up a bit?
He was the youngest at the time.
It should have been my first collection. Hey, we all had first days on the job, and he was mine. I was instructed to wait there, wait until a conclusive result had been established.
A traumatic birth, with the umbilical cord noosed around his neck.
A face as blank as a slate. No weathered in features, no distinctive scars, nothing,
I don't know much about the beginnings of life – it sort of goes against everything I stand for – but I do know that babies aren't meant to be born bluey-purple, a sharp contrast to the fine dusting of red hair he had. I do know that they're meant to make quite the ear-splitting racket when they're born. But he was quiet. He wasn't flailing his legs and arms like a drying out octopus. He was still, like a marble statue.
Over the years, I've learnt not to think so much about it, I've learnt to get on with the job, but on my first day, it came as a shock. I didn't expect this to be quite so… blunt, bare, brutal.
The Angels de la Muerte waged war on his fragile body, compressing down on his pleural cavity, blowing air through a straw to mimic breathing. I hovered in the background, ever present, watching the scene unfold. I disregard the parents; they're irrelevant. This is between him, the Angels and me. It's two against one, but it's still a fair fight. I'm a much stronger opponent than they are.
He flatlined, and I moved forward. I reached him, held one tiny finger in my hand, and paused, just for a second. I could have spirited him away, should have spirited him away, but I didn't.
Such a young thing, going to such a waste.
Such is Death.
And in that instant, I sensed a challenge in him. He twitched, and I could feel him slipping away from me. I looked down, and his eyes had opened slightly. They were almond shaped, a unique colour. Sometimes they glinted green, but at other times, they seemed almost amber.
They had the spark of life.