InsaneJournal

So, thought Terrence as he glanced around, this is it. Death.

“No, I am Death.”

He spun around at that and stared at the cloaked figure standing behind him, staring with eyes that glowed with pale light from underneath a hood. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. You are very much dead.”

“That’s not what I was talking about!” exploded Terrence. “You’re…you’re really Death?”

The cloaked figure regarded itself curiously then nodded. “Last I checked, yes,” it replied.

“And…I’m dead?”

“Yes.”

“How?” Terrence looked down at his feet and blanched as he saw his own body lying there, staring wide-eyed at the rain engorged sky. The dagger embedded in his chest quickly answered his question. “Oh.”

Death cocked its head then sighed, sweeping back the hood. He blinked, stared, then gasped, “You’re…you’re…”

“A kid?” queried Death, who looked like he wasn’t much older than fifteen. He had mousy dark hair and a pale, round face with a ragged scar etched across it. His eyes…those were nearly all white, like those of a blind man. But there was something in them, something older than Humanity, and they fixed on Terrence with a surety blind eyes couldn’t. “No. I am not a child, Terrence William Guthrie.” There was something ancient in his voice as well, something that darkened it and made it a man’s voice in a child’s body.

“You…you know my name?”

“I know everyone’s name.”

This can’t be real, thought Terrence, his mind unable to comprehend just what was happening to him. I can’t be standing here talking to Death, who looks like a child!

“Appearances can be deceiving,” intoned Death as if reading his thoughts. He then pulled a scroll from within his robes and opened it, running thin fingers across it. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“It appears that you are meant to live, Terrence.”

“I…what?”

Death smiled and tucked the scroll away, saying, “You appear to have died before your time. But no worries, it happens frequently.”

Terrence blinked then gasped, “Really?”

“You would be surprised at how much.”

“Uh-huh,” managed the man, wishing he were back at home by his fireplace with a glass of brandy. He could really use a drink right now.

Death chuckled, a sound like rattling bones, and said, “You will be able to have a drink in a moment, Terrence. Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Terrence slowly stretched out his left hand, jumping as the cold, spidery one of Death clasped his. As they touched, he saw something appear around his wrist, a kind of…manacle. It was bone white and somehow he knew that if he looked closer it would really be made of bone. Dark carvings covered the whole of it and Death regarded it for a moment before turning his arm so the underside of it showed. Thin fingers touched the dark keyhole there and the manacle fell away, disappearing before it hit the ground.

“There,” intoned Death. “Give it but a moment.”

“For what?”

“For you to return to your body.”

Terrence blinked then nodded, asking, “So…when will I really die?”

Death stared at him, pale eyes filled with knowledge no human mind could comprehend, then smiled coldly. “No man truly wishes to know when he shall die, Terrence,” he said softly. “But when it comes, you will know.”

“But do not worry,” he continued, patting his hand as he released it. “You still have years to live. Do enjoy them.”

“A…alright,” said Terrence uncertainly. He then noticed he could see through his hand and gasped, “Wha…!”

“Its normal,” assured Death. He leaned on his scythe and smiled at Terrence as he continued to fade away. “Until we meet again.”

For a moment Death stood in the street, looking down at Terrence’s body then bent and pulled out the dagger just as the man heaved a fresh breath. Smiling to himself, he struck out down the street with the end of his scythe tapping against the cobblestones. There were other people to see after all.

Particularly the one just down the street that had met an untimely end on his own blade. Silly would-be thieves…

Terrence sat up with a gasp, staring around him in wide-eyed awe. Then he clasped a hand to his chest and felt the hole in his clothes were the dagger had been but his flesh was firm underneath. He was…alive.

Slowly getting up, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and looked around as if expecting to see Death. He then shrugged his coat further around him, tucking his arms inside it against a sudden chill.

Then he turned and walked towards home, mind set on his chair by the warm fire and the brandy that might allow him to forget this ever happened.

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