The Antonym of Living

The rain shouldn’t bother Death. Yet Meissa noted—that Death was shivering.

Wet hair clung to their skin, downpour turned drizzle that left a chill in the low wind, a bite that Meissa could taste. Death was well put together, still immaculate in the rain. Their peacoat white as snow, with the buttons and belt stark against the fabric. They lacked an umbrella and watched the lake. The scythe to their left was invisible to the every-day passerby, but it leaned against the tree. Sight as familiar as it had been for the past six hundred years for Death’s most loyal reaper.

A grim, static normal sight.

Meissa could feel the discomfort in her wet socks in her beige boots as she walked the familiar, rain riddled and muddy path down the woods and to the lake. Every ounce of her nerves was tinged with exhaustion, the after-taste of grogginess that came with being sick. No matter how many times she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with mouthwash, the taste of disease couldn’t leave her mouth.

Putting herself in the rain would lower her defenses and leave her one bad cold from feeling sick again. Her jacket was feeling it, not built for the cold woodland weather.

But she didn’t care.

The figure in white came closer as Meissa approached.  

Death turned at the sound of her boots crunching against the gravel.

“What are you doing out of bed?” they asked.

“You know why,” Meissa crossed her arms, leather jacket straining against her arms.

She watched as Death’s expression stunned, an ethereal deer caught in the headlights. An elephant in the room shot with a handgun.

“Who told you?” Death asked, voice soft.

From the few friends Death and Meissa had, and the too many enemies they both shared, Meissa didn’t need to ask. She didn’t need to reach out.

Meissa felt her right hand clench the leather of her left sleeve. Voice so soft, with an ease that would leave her weak.

Oh, how she loved Death so much.

Oh, how much did Death break her heart.

“No one had to,” Meissa said. “I woke up stronger. And you didn’t leave my bedside for four weeks,” she sniffled. “And you’re shivering. You used your energy to save me from dying. You’ve been using your energy to keep me safe. All this time…you’ve been the one to keep me out of danger.”

Death couldn’t face her.

“D, you sacrificed pieces of your own energy to me. Why did you do that?”

Fear was something for the insecure, for the unsure. For uncertainty and fear. For the ones who felt human enough to feel fear. Fear was for the uncertain; and Death was always certain. It was words that Meissa had heard during the moments Death fought an enemy. When every step taken left a square block of wilted fauna behind.

But even then.

Meissa willed her nervousness aside. She let the rain pelt against her forehead, letting the cold drops blend against the bitter-hot tears that were close to spilling. She took three brave steps forward.

The reaper looked up to Death at their intimidating height, barely-there strain against the back of her neck and said, “Look at me.” 

And Death did. Their breaths, visible in the cold air, were quavering from steady too much for it be normal. They willed their voice to be stronger, to show the strength of what it all meant. What it all meant to have everything come true and to work out. Something, anything, so long as they weren’t crying.

Six hundred years of wanting to say it, only to choke up and say nothing at all.

No, they had to do better. They had to do better.

“I did that because…” Death took a deep breath. And tried again. “…I did that because I’ve been in love with you for the past six hundred years.”

Meissa let out a staggered breath. Silence lingered along the patters of rain drops on concrete, with each rapid pulse against her own ears.

And Meissa started laughing.

“I—I don’t understand,” Death stammered out. “Are you rejecting me?”

“No, Gods no, I’m—” Meissa ran her hands through her wet hair. “I—I just can’t believe it’s true. Has it really been six hundred years? Six hundred years of loving you so much?”

Surprise overtook them.

“Why are you laughing, Meissa?” Death asked. They crossed their arms. “Are my feelings a laughing matter now? I pour my soulless self out to you and you suddenly think it’s funny?”

The conversation felt familiar, the centuries old ribbing and banter of Meissa continuously being too light-hearted for Death’s hard self. Her fellow reapers would call her a fool for teasing Death, for teasing the most powerful being. Who could wilt lives at all and disrupt balance with a sway of their scythe.

But Meissa didn’t feel any of that. To her, Death was hers. Their left hand on the scythe, and their right hand firmly holding Meissa’s heart.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun. I’m not making fun of you. This is just incredible. Unbelievable.”

“Because I’m not capable of love?”

“No, silly! Don’t feel the need to defend yourself,” Meissa said. “I laugh, because this is all so ridiculous! I’ve spent the past six hundred years being in love with you too!”

A small sound of surprise escaped Death’s throat, huff of cold air following.

“Well…Damn,” Death said. “I honestly didn’t think this would ever happen.”

“Oh, Death. For someone’s who’s been observing humanity for all of eternity…you really can’t see.”

“Then help me see, Reaper.”

“Death, I’ve gone to war for you. I’ve fought for you. And I’ve nearly died for you too. I’ve burned for you for the past six hundred years and I would keep burning for you.”

“I don’t want you to burn or hurt for me,” Death said. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“And I don’t want you to take away from your energy to use on me,” Meissa said. “I know you mean to keep me safe, but—I don’t want to outlive you and leave you behind. I just want to live with you. Alongside you. Maybe it makes me a bad human. Or former human—or ex-human. I don’t care what it makes me. So long as it means I’m yours.”

“Oh Mei. You deserve—”

“You. I deserve you. Or a chance, at least. If you let me,” Meissa said. “I…would like a chance. Do you reap what you sow, Death?”

 “Always.”

“Do you want to take a leap with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then hug me, silly. I’ve been waiting for six-hundred years.”

And Death laughed. They strode forward and embraced her.

And Meissa had never felt more alive.