Curtains

You find yourself in a dingy, candlelit space—you’re not sure if you can really call it a room since the “walls” consist of assorted dark, thickly draped curtains hung from the ceiling in a half-circle formation, but it serves to separate this tiny section of the world from all the others. You briefly wonder how long it took to set up.

You’re sitting in a shabby, amber-colored armchair that looks (and smells) like it has seen better days. You have to stop yourself from picking at all the frays. You shift your weight from the left arm to the right, trying not to breathe too deeply as another dose of the chair’s odor invades your nostrils. The scent is an unpleasant combination of musty and salty with just a hint of sour. You opt not to think about why that could be.

You decide to take inventory of the rest of the room, though there isn’t much to see—there are 6 candles on tall rusted floor holders spaced evenly apart to your left and right at the rounded fabric walls; the floor underneath your feet holds a Persian area rug, as worn as everything else. In front of where you’re seated is a large mahogany executive desk with its back to the flat wall. Behind the desk is a matching slat back chair with a thin gray cushion. You notice with some annoyance that one of the ties holding the cushion in place is loose, leaving it slightly askew. Your eyes travel slowly across the desk, taking in the scratches, grooves, and faded spots before settling on the only object on its surface—an unmarked manila folder.

What’s in there? You cross your ankle over your knee and shake your foot. You’re starting to get antsy. You didn’t come here for this, and you aren’t even sure why you’re sitting here right now. You think back to 3 hours ago when you were driving home from work, still undecided on what to do with your Friday night. You thought about going to see a movie, or better yet, ordering pizza and popping in an old classic at home. Yeah, that would have suited you just fine.

The mental list of pizza toppings was growing, as was your hunger when you pulled up in front of the mailbox. You rolled your window down and reached in to grab the standard pile of junk mail. Normally you would just toss it onto your passenger seat and not touch it again for weeks, but this time you noticed a half-folded neon pink flyer that was so bright you couldn’t ignore it. The bolded letters read:

HEADING WHO-KNOWS-WHERE?

FIND YOURSELF AT THE FAIR!

ONE NIGHT ONLY

Games, Prizes, Food, Fun, Shows & More!

We have it all!

YOU DO NOT WANT TO MISS IT!!!

            Huh. Usually these things were broadcast for weeks beforehand, but you had no idea about this one. Either their marketing was lax, or you were more out of touch than you realized. Probably the latter.

The date of the fair was today’s date, and it listed the location as the fairgrounds that were only a 20-minute drive from your house. It threw a wrench into your pizza plans, but it was more interesting than sitting home alone all night, so why not? Besides, you’d do anything for fried dough.

            Once the decision was made, you changed out of your work clothes, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hopped back in the car, and set off for this One Night Only Fair. An hour’s worth of games and a few too many fried Oreos later, you ended up here.

            The tent caught your eye at first because it was completely black. Everything else at the fair was brightly colored, neon-lit, begging for your attention; but at the end of the aisle sat this unremarkable black tent. There was no one shouting at you to come check it out, no offers of prizes for every play. Its sheer modesty made it stick out like a sore thumb. There was a sign outside the door that read:

“Free Your Memories, Find Yourself”

            You don’t remember how long you were staring at the sign before a soft voice directly behind you made you jump.

“Would you like to try?” It was a young girl, maybe 14 or 15. She was wearing a white blouse with a long brown skirt. She had soft features and waist-length blonde hair that was braided to one side.

“Try what?” you asked, caught off guard.

“Try to find yourself. Free your memories. Like the sign you’re reading says,” she motioned towards the sign, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“Oh. Right. What does it entail? How much does it cost?” you replied, somewhat defensively.

            She explained that someone named Helaren would help you enter a state of hypnosis that the human mind cannot reach on its own. While in this state, you were supposed to be able to discover any repressed memories and experience those memories again. This would reveal the secrets you keep from yourself, thus facilitating total healing of your mind and body and leaving your existence in perfect harmony.

You were skeptical, to say the least, and hoped it didn’t show on your face. It sounded like a load of crap; there was no way some random person in a fair tent could repair your entire life. But you were sort of intrigued nonetheless and wondered about the so-called hypnosis process. Would they hold a stopwatch in front of your face? Would you get verrryyyy sleeeeppyyyyy? You chuckled internally at the thought. Your curiosity ultimately won when the girl said the service was included with the price of admission to the fair. No money out of your pocket, what could be the harm in trying?

She led you through the tent to the dark curtained room and directed you to sit in this unfortunate chair and wait. You suddenly realize that you forgot to ask the girl’s name. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since she left you here, but you’ve waited longer than you wanted to and you’re contemplating just leaving. You stand up, ready to do exactly that when there’s a stir behind the desk.

An older woman pushes aside a panel of fabric and gracefully steps into the space, allowing the fabric to fall back in place behind her. Her face is wrinkled but holds a quality of strength. Her white hair is piled on top of her head in what looks like several braids; she’s wearing a flowy sky-blue dress and pale pink sandals. At least she brightens up the space. Her blue eyes meet yours, and you relax. Her presence has a calming effect.

“Hello, I’m Helaren,” she smiles at you gently.

“I’m—”

“I know who you are,” she cuts you off with a laugh and wave of her hand. “Please, have a seat... unless you were planning on leaving?” she asks pleasantly, still smiling.

Oh right, of course she “knows you.” You’re not surprised this is the route she took—it’s all part of the atmosphere. You decide to play along; you might as well get the most out of this experience. You sink back into your chair, feigning stunned silence. She takes 4 quick steps to the desk, pulls the chair out, and sits down in one fluid motion.

“Did Mina explain to you how this works?”

Ahh, so her name was Mina. You nod as reverently as you can manage.

“Excellent. There isn’t much to it now, all you have to do is follow my lead.”

She instructs you to lean back in your chair and get comfortable, which you do to the best of your abilities. She places her palms flat on top of the manila folder on the desk, cocks her head to the right, and gazes at you for a minute, her blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. You think this should make you uncomfortable (it would under normal circumstances) but instead you seem to be feeling more at ease. You don’t know who Helaren is, but you are beginning to like her.

Finally, she breaks off her gaze and opens the manila folder. You lean forward slightly to see what’s inside, but she’s quicker than you. She pulls out a piece of paper and holds it up for you to see. It’s one of those Rorschach images, and it looks totally random.

“I’m going to be showing you a number of these,” she tells you. “I’m going to hold each one up for as long as necessary. I don’t want you to tell me what you see; it’s important not to speak at all. The only thing I want you to do is think about what the image reminds you of.”

“That’s all?” you ask, puzzled. No stopwatch? Not even any speaking? This wasn’t what you expected.

“That’s all,” she confirms with a terse nod. “Shall we begin?”

“No time like the present,” you agree.

She shows you a second Rorschach image and continues displaying them one after another. Some are held for longer than others and you have no idea how she determines which are more important. You do your part in examining them, analyzing what they might make you think of, but you are drawing blanks. What should they be reminding you of? Will this end with her telling you the process doesn’t work on you and you wasted your time?

Wait, hold on... this one kind of reminds you of a lake. You grin in spite of yourself. You notice Helaran sees your moment of triumph and smiles encouragingly. The next image reminds you of a horse rearing up on its hind legs. Interesting. Following the horse, you see a bolt of lightning; a baby’s crib; a snake about to strike; and then you see an image that makes you think of whooshing air, as if someone was sticking their head out of a moving car, or perhaps falling...

Everything goes black.

You blink. It’s too sunny. Much too cheerful for the mood you’re in. You’re walking through a field, headed to your next assignment and you would rather be doing anything else. You reach the edge of a dense forest and sigh. You look at the time—right on schedule. Not that you need to check; you couldn’t be late if you tried.

You enter the forest and start searching for what you need. You get about a half-mile in before you spot a hole in the ground. You head over to the opening and peer in. Yep, there it is—an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. You reach in and carefully free the snake from its hiding spot. It doesn’t seem to take much notice; it’s content to remain curled up in your arms. You carry it 6 miles to a lightly used hiking trail, the ground thick with dead leaves. You go to the spot, push aside a pile of leaves, and dig out a small depression in the ground. You place your new acquaintance in the indentation and move the leaves back to where they were. You step back to take a look and almost can’t tell that anything was ever disturbed. It’ll do. You back far enough away to blend in with the trees while keeping the trail in your sight. It won’t be long now.

After a few minutes, you hear footsteps approaching. They belong to Ava Marie Harmon, age 19. Her best friend bailed on their hiking plans, and she decided to go it alone. Her mother would have killed her if she’d known, but she thought she could use the time to herself; these trails were peaceful and notoriously safe. She brought water and a packable raincoat in case the weather took a turn; the forecast predicted rain for the next 3 days.

You watch sadly as she gets closer. Everything goes according to plan: her right foot lands square on the snake, causing it to wake up with a vengeance. She barely has time to cry out in surprise before it strikes, teeth puncturing her black leggings and sinking deep into her calf. Her cries quickly become agonized as 450mg of venom enters her body. She falls backward on the ground and tries to kick the snake away, causing it to strike again, this time on the side of her abdomen. She finally manages to crawl away from it, and it takes off in the opposite direction.

She tries to go back the way she came, but her pain is intense. Soon she will have trouble breathing and will succumb to lightheadedness. Ava's body will be found under a tree a few yards off the trail in 3 days.

            You push down your gnawing guilt and go to your next assignment: Thomas (Tommy) Grey McGrath, age 5. You arrive at a lake, find a metal scrap from an old boat, and drop it in the water directly underneath a jutted-out cliff. When Tommy sneaks out alone to go play on the cliff and falls in the water, his pantleg snags on that scrap, trapping him in his underwater grave.

            On it goes. You drift through assignment after assignment, helplessly instigating death. Falls, poisons, electrocutions, car wrecks, the list goes on. And why not? You are Death; one of them, anyway. You are personally responsible for overseeing every accidental death in the continental United States. There are other Deaths—Suicide and Murder, for example—but you don’t really get along. They seem content with their lot and don’t understand what your problem is. You’re the only one who has submitted 5,629 appeals to be reassigned to the Guardian department, with 5,628 so far being rejected due to “No Openings.” You’re the only Death who truly likes humans, truly wants to help them.

             You once tried to quit. You didn’t want to move the blanket that would suffocate 6-month-old Ellie Burns, so when the appointment time came you simply stopped going forward. You planted your feet and resolved to stand in that spot for the rest of time if that’s what it took. As soon as your feet stalled, the torment began. It was like nothing you had ever experienced. Fire and ice, shards of glass in every fiber of your being, threatening to tear you apart and crush you while keeping you alive to feel it all. You had no choice but to move forward. You were created for this, and you could not resist your nature.

Ellie was given a beautiful funeral.

After finishing a house fire that took a family of 4, you’re wallowing and contemplating filing another appeal—maybe the last one didn’t go through. Usually you would have received a rejection by now.

Just as you think the words, a letter appears in your hand. The front is addressed:

“AD: USA, Earth”

You already know what you’re looking at. It’s the standard way the Higher-Ups address letters of rejection. You mentally prepare for yet another letdown, open the envelope, and are surprised to see a lot more text than usual. You read:

Accidental Death: United States of America, Earth

Re: Appeal #5629 - Reassignment

Appeal Status: DENIED

Rationale: NO OPENINGS

AD- We cannot reassign you at this time.

However, after reviewing your case we have determined that an alternate arrangement allowance can be made, pending your approval. Please read the following carefully before making your determination. When you have decided how you will proceed, submit the attached form and your choice will take effect immediately.

Thank you.

Your position is vital and must be filled at all times. Leaving your position requires a replacement. Consequently, you may choose to allow a human to take your place. This offer is one-time and contingent on the following:

·      The human will be chosen at random

·      You will become the human and gain every aspect of their life (memories, job, etc.)

·      You will have no recollection of your time as AD

·      The human will become AD and gain all associated responsibilities, including Accident Suggestion Submissions

·      The human WILL remember their human life and understand what happened to them

·      This exchange is permanent and irreversible

You finish reading, hardly believing your luck. You actually have a way out! You’ve never felt so happy. 

Your enthusiasm is momentarily dampened by the understanding that to fulfill this dream, you have to steal a life. The thought makes you pause. Is it right to want to help humans, yet hurt one to get the chance? It’s certainly not ideal. But you haven’t stopped hurting people and taking lives since you were created. If you stay, you never will. You’d give anything to leave that behind. 

Is it fair to imprison someone else in this existence? If you had to live with the guilt of doing so, you aren’t sure you could. But it says your AD memories would be wiped. You wouldn’t even know you ever made the choice. Before you can think about it anymore, you hastily fill out the form and close your eyes with relief.

You open your eyes to see Helaren across from you, looking at you intently.

“You were in there for almost 7 minutes. Did you see anything?” she asks.

You pause for a moment, disoriented.

“No... I guess I’m not one of the lucky ones. I didn’t see anything at all.”

She looks at you with an odd, almost skeptical expression. For the first time, you feel uneasy. “I see,” she replies. “Well, there are worse fates than having nothing to forget. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

There’s something in her tone that puts you on edge. You brush off her remarks and stand up to get out of here. 

As you pull aside the curtain, she calls out “I hope you have a safe trip home, I’m sure you know what a dangerous place this world can be.”