Beginning to Live
“I’m sorry. I’m new to this,” the hooded figure says, as she begins flipping through some of the papers on her clipboard. I just stare, bewildered by what can only be an elaborate prank. There is an abnormally tall, black-robed, scythe grasping figure standing on my porch. And it isn’t even halloween.
“Um. That’s alright,” I mutter, more out of instinct than actual politeness. The hooded figure sighs.
“Do you mind if I take this hood off? My supervisor says we’re not supposed to, but it is so hot out here,” she pulls the hood back, and there is suddenly a head where there used to be only impenetrable void.
She’s pale, with short black hair. What I thought was some horrifying hell sound is proved to be only the smacking of her gum, which she chews far too loudly.
“You seem kind of young for this,” I try and make conversation as she continues flipping through papers, but my attempt sounds stupid after it leaves my mouth. Too young for what? I don’t even know what’s going on.
“Yeah. Some die young, y’know?” she suddenly stops on a page and begins running her finger down it. I peer at it and see what appears to be a spreadsheet containing a list of names, times, and addresses. Some of the address lines contain instead only vague locations. One says ‘in a tree’. Another just ‘Sahara desert’.
Her finger rests on a name finally.
“Are you Winston Frey?” she asks, looking back up at me.
“No,” I say slowly, mostly due to confusion.
“Shit,” she whispers under her breath. Then, when she sees the look of surprise on my face, “It’s alright. No one cares about swearing after you’re dead. Do you know Winston?”
“No.”
She sighs heavily, and rolls her eyes.
“Alright. Sorry to bother you sir. I’ll be on my way,” she mumbles. It seems as though this line is something she had been told to memorize. She begins walking away, and tosses the hood back up like hair.
“Wait!” I call out. She doesn’t turn, but I don’t stop talking, “What are you? What just happened here?”
She stops and stomps angrily back up to the door. Although I’ve seen her face, the void still seems endless and hungry. Her speed, despite her height and the robe, is equally terrifying.
“I’m Death. Well, one Death. When you die, you can apply for different jobs in the afterlife, like, to keep you busy, and one of them is collecting souls.”
“You applied? It doesn’t seem like you’re very interested.”
“My parents made me.”
“Oh.”
We stand for a minute in silence. She juts her hip out on one side and puts her hand on the other. I’m sure this stance with this robe should be hilarious, but something about the thing’s presence makes it hard to laugh.
“Any other questions?” she growls.
“What’s the deal with Winston?” I ask.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you that,” she says, but if there is anything I can say for sure about this thing, it is that she doesn’t care, “but it seems pretty obvious. Winston is supposed to be dead. I’m here to collect his soul.”
“Oh,” I mutter, thinking, “Good luck then.”
I can feel the eye roll, even through the void, as she begins walking away again. Shutting the door quietly, I turn to my body, which is laying at the bottom of the stairs it just fell down.
“Winston!” my wife shouts, “Are you coming to bed?”
“Um. That’s alright,” I mutter, more out of instinct than actual politeness. The hooded figure sighs.
“Do you mind if I take this hood off? My supervisor says we’re not supposed to, but it is so hot out here,” she pulls the hood back, and there is suddenly a head where there used to be only impenetrable void.
She’s pale, with short black hair. What I thought was some horrifying hell sound is proved to be only the smacking of her gum, which she chews far too loudly.
“You seem kind of young for this,” I try and make conversation as she continues flipping through papers, but my attempt sounds stupid after it leaves my mouth. Too young for what? I don’t even know what’s going on.
“Yeah. Some die young, y’know?” she suddenly stops on a page and begins running her finger down it. I peer at it and see what appears to be a spreadsheet containing a list of names, times, and addresses. Some of the address lines contain instead only vague locations. One says ‘in a tree’. Another just ‘Sahara desert’.
Her finger rests on a name finally.
“Are you Winston Frey?” she asks, looking back up at me.
“No,” I say slowly, mostly due to confusion.
“Shit,” she whispers under her breath. Then, when she sees the look of surprise on my face, “It’s alright. No one cares about swearing after you’re dead. Do you know Winston?”
“No.”
She sighs heavily, and rolls her eyes.
“Alright. Sorry to bother you sir. I’ll be on my way,” she mumbles. It seems as though this line is something she had been told to memorize. She begins walking away, and tosses the hood back up like hair.
“Wait!” I call out. She doesn’t turn, but I don’t stop talking, “What are you? What just happened here?”
She stops and stomps angrily back up to the door. Although I’ve seen her face, the void still seems endless and hungry. Her speed, despite her height and the robe, is equally terrifying.
“I’m Death. Well, one Death. When you die, you can apply for different jobs in the afterlife, like, to keep you busy, and one of them is collecting souls.”
“You applied? It doesn’t seem like you’re very interested.”
“My parents made me.”
“Oh.”
We stand for a minute in silence. She juts her hip out on one side and puts her hand on the other. I’m sure this stance with this robe should be hilarious, but something about the thing’s presence makes it hard to laugh.
“Any other questions?” she growls.
“What’s the deal with Winston?” I ask.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you that,” she says, but if there is anything I can say for sure about this thing, it is that she doesn’t care, “but it seems pretty obvious. Winston is supposed to be dead. I’m here to collect his soul.”
“Oh,” I mutter, thinking, “Good luck then.”
I can feel the eye roll, even through the void, as she begins walking away again. Shutting the door quietly, I turn to my body, which is laying at the bottom of the stairs it just fell down.
“Winston!” my wife shouts, “Are you coming to bed?”
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