Life Over Death

After living for thousands of years, never aging, I got pretty good at predicting the actions of mankind. Goodness, it’s all so predictable. Humanity ignores every reasonable suggestion given to them, crying when things go wrong. I had seen empires rise and fall, so I knew just about every card humanity could play. I just watched as those cards were played over and over again. After all, Death is one of the only immortal beings in the universe.  

“The fires are escalating,” I muttered as I stared at the TV screen. Though I was safe in the mountains, I still felt bad for those stuck in those fires. I felt bad for everything that went up in flames. I felt bad for the world that was slowly collapsing in on itself. Not gonna lie, the year 2020 was turning out to be a pretty trash year for everyone. Threats of World War III, murder hornets, COVID-19, forest fires, and the ever-looming threat of climate change. Humans really messed up this time. Death and destruction reigned. It won’t be long now, I thought. The apocalypse wouldn’t be long. 

“Violet, I’m back,” Juniper called. I grinned at the sound. Over the years, there were only a few people I trusted with my secret. Friends were hard to keep once they realized I never aged. Lovers were even harder. It was a good thing I had never really fallen in love or at least never acted on it. Juniper was one of the only people who hadn’t completely panicked when I told her what I was. Of course, she had millions of questions, but I didn’t have all the answers. I had no idea why I was like this. Well, I did, but I couldn’t tell her. In the end, the only thing I could do was keep my secret the best I could. That included hiding out in the mountains for a few years while the world forgot I existed. Juniper would probably leave long before then. For her sake, I seriously hoped so.

“Did you get everything,” I questioned as I stood and walked toward the kitchen. She shrugged and turned to unpack the supplies, her long brown hair falling in front of her face. My own hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. 

“I mean, a few things are hard to get. Everyone’s still freaking out about hand sanitizer and toilet paper,” she replied. 

“I’m sure in fifty years or so, schools will be teaching all about the toilet paper shortage of 2020.” If they survive that long. 

“I’m pretty sure students will spend at least a month unpacking everything going on. President’s probably going down in history for this.”

“For the things he did or the things he didn’t?” Juniper scoffed but didn’t answer. All over the world, I had seen a few bad leaders. I tried to list them all, but my hand started cramping up. When I tried to list them verbally, Juniper groaned, saying there were too many. 

I helped my friend load the supplies into the fridge and the separate freezer. There were a lot of necessities, especially when going down the mountain was such a pain. I couldn’t do it lest anyone recognize me from my last stay ten years ago. I hate to make my best friend go down there. Still, she insisted, and I always wondered what Life was thinking when he designed her. A nearly perfect human being. 

“What were you watching,” Juniper questioned as soon as we were done. 

“Just the national news,” I replied, following her into the living room. The TV was still blinking. 

“Oh, but that’s so depressing,” she groaned. 

“What can I say? I like watching humans destroy themselves.” For a moment, she was quiet. I reached to change the channel, but her voice stopped me. 

“Did we really do this to ourselves,” she whispered. I bit my tongue, wishing I could take back those words. Juniper had a few friends who’d lost their homes in the fire and a couple more who had caught the virus. My best friend was a human who had quite a few connections to the world. Maybe that was why I told her. She cared too much, and sometimes that was a good thing. I should have thanked Life for giving me such a good friend. 

“Some of it, yes, but not everything. Not everything can be blamed on the human race. Your ignorance, though, that’s entirely your fault,” I retorted. 

“I guess,” she muttered and started flipping through the channel. Ordinarily, I would have stopped her, but from the look in her eyes, I decided that wasn’t a good idea. Funny how the truth always seemed to dampen the room, no matter what it was. Maybe it was better to lie this time. 

Soon, I found myself scrolling through the news sites. There were some in different languages, but that wasn’t a problem. An immortal had a lot of time on their hands. Might as well put it to good use. Learning languages was fun in any case. 

“Did you hear about the protests? Argh, what is the,” I started, but Juniper looked up, her eyes starting to shine. “Never mind.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m your friend. I should be able to listen to something you like talking about,” she insisted, but I shook my head. Talking about Death definitely wasn’t what she needed. 

“It’s not that I like talking about it. I just think people should see the facts for themselves. No one seems to care about it.” I heard rumbling outside and looked out the window. A blanket of snow rolled past, less than a mile from our cabin. I shuddered. I had stayed in that cabin once or twice over the last hundred years, but I never got used to the avalanches. They’d started getting worse over the last few years, though. The snow was melting easier, and Death followed. 

“I’m going to bed,” Juniper announced. She stood and stretched before heading down the hall. Did I upset her, I wondered. Did I just upset the only person I genuinely cared for? Did I just upset my best friend? I hadn’t had friends for the past few decades, so I supposed I was out of practice. My words carefully replayed in my mind. Climate change and the inevitable apocalypse could be considered upsetting. The inevitable Death would be extremely upsetting. 

The years flew by. Chaos rose and died. Juniper moved away at my request. She shouldn’t be tied to an immortal. It was for my own benefit too, since I hated to watch her grow older while I stayed the same. That was why I tended not to make friends. Immortals definitely make good friends, especially immortals like me. 

I too moved from the mountain into a busy city. Since my face was never in any sort of paper of picture, it was easy to start over when I needed to. 

The city itself would have been beautiful if not for the constant smog that hung in the air. It was warmer than ever, and even New York City didn’t receive snow. Not even an inch, which was fine. The snow probably would have just made the economy worse. People wouldn’t be able to go to work, and places would be snowed in. Yeah, snow was the last thing New York needed. 

“Argh, what is the world coming to,” someone sighed. I smirked. The world’s ending, I thought and continued my walk home. I switched the news on as soon as I sat down. It was the same boring stuff, and I zoned out about halfway through. Yep, the world was definitely ending. Just a little longer, I thought. He’ll be coming for me soon.

It didn’t actually happen for another few years. The world was in such a blur I wasn’t exactly sure how many years it was. It didn’t really matter to me. I never aged. Any injuries were healed in an instant. Death couldn’t touch me, after all. Even as the city flooded, and everyone had to move. Even when the heat started to suffocate us. Even when senseless wars were fought. People died, and the world slowly fell into chaos. It seemed like I was alone, but it wasn’t until I found myself walking through the ruins of a broken city did I realize how truly alone I was. Everyone was either dead or evacuated to the space station. Imagine my surprise when I found a man standing in the middle of the road.

“Death, isn’t it funny how the only immortal being is death,” he said. I stiffened. Only one person could call me that. Finally, I thought. 

“You took your time coming to get me,” I retorted and walked toward him. “I thought you forgot about me, Life.” My partner chuckled and waved his hand.

“They’re all gone from here. They won’t be coming back.”

“I didn’t think they would.” 

“Time to start over, isn’t it,” he asked. I nodded.

“Time to start anew.”