The Duty of the Dead and Dying

I could see Death through the crowd.

Muffled voices, unknown faces; all swooned in front of me as my vision blurred. I felt hands touching me, lifting me onto a stretcher that felt too stiff. The EMTs were here—sooner than I expected—but I wasn't worried. They couldn't save me in time.

A smile spread across my face unbidden.

This will not work. You know that, don't you?

I ignored the intrusive voice in my head, my mind dead-set on the hereafter. I was jostled into the ambulance, my head banging against the door's metal frame. I hoped the concussion would kill me faster.

You cannot cut your thread before the spool runs out.

Death almost sounded weary, as though they had been repeating themselves for the past twenty-eight years. It had, in fact, only been ten. I'd began to see the reaper on my eighteenth birthday, and it was only a month later that I could hear them. That first month had been a special kind of torture; Death had no respect for personal space or boundaries, and I'd often find them in my bathroom, curiously scraping my toothbrush across bone-yellow teeth.

I felt my body grow cold. Ah, I thought. This is it. The cold kiss of death.

I have no intention of doing such a thing.

Shut up.

"He just said something!"

Oh no. Had I said that out loud?

The EMTs seemed to double their efforts—things went in and out of me at alarming speeds. I was too out of it to feel any pain, but I did my best to play dead. Or deader, at the very least. The truck had hit me hard enough that I hardly needed to pretend.

"Clear!"

The pulse jolted me with enough force to jerk me wide awake. "WHAT THE F—?!"

"Hold him down!"

Struggling with whatever strength I had left, I tried to free myself from the hands that pushed me down on the stretcher. “Don’t! Please!”

Please. I was sick of it. Of watching the threads unravel every damn day, knowing yet never being able to say a word. I had watched my mother die long before she even knew the cancer was creeping up on her. I had watched it take, and take, and take, until there was nothing left on her spool, and the thread was cut. I tried to tell her, but the only words that would come out of my lips were nonsense, and I had to stop when I noticed how much it was worrying her. I watched the same thing happen with the first girl I loved. I’d hugged her tight after our date, breathily taking in her scent as we stood outside of the theatre. She’d stared at me with those bright eyes, her infectious smile tugging at my lips even as I fought back the tears that threatened to ruin this one, final moment. I was a coward. A broken, defeated coward. I had tried, subtly and in every way I could, but I knew now that nothing I could do would stop that night from happening. Despite my efforts, she would stop by Amon’s Jewellery to get me a birthday present. The man would head in after her, gun in one hand and desperation in the other. He would panic. She would die. I kissed her one last time and did my best not to cry when she said she’d see me tomorrow.

"W-Wait..." I mumbled. My lips felt slow and heavy, as though I were trying to speak underwater. I saw Death seated in the ambulance now, watching dispassionately as the EMTs worked.

You've wasted these good people's time, they muttered. His, especially.

Weakly, I glanced at Death's bony finger and the EMT it was pointed at. The large man was whispering to me as he held me down and, although I couldn't hear the words, it wasn't hard to figure out what he was saying. His kind expression and warm eyes said it all: You'll be fine. But I didn't want to be. I wanted to leave now while the going was good.

He's in my way. Am I supposed to feel bad for wasting his time?

It was weird to see Death shrug, as though a timeless being born before creation had no right to be so ... casual. But I had come to learn that it was quite the opposite. They had all the time in the world.

I suppose not. I forgot how difficult it is for humans to empathize with one they hardly know. Their head bent downwards, slightly. His daughter, however, will miss him.

What?

"Administering anaesthesia," one of the EMTs called. I could hear them now—like a dam being lifted, the sound came rushing into my ears in such a jumbled mess that I had no clue what to listen to; the low chatter of voices, the beeping of machines, the clatter of surgical instruments.

He intends to take his car to a repair shop later today. Or at least he did, but your predicament has just reminded him of the 1st of January—the day he ran over and killed Sarah Chen after a long bout of drinking. He visits her grave every year.

I don't underst—

He will go again tonight, a month early. The guilt never quite leaves, you see, Death said, his bony right hand flexing as though clutching the phantom of an old memory. Especially not when his daughter keeps leaving voicemails asking about their weekend coffee.

The man muttered something to another. They tied another strap to my arm, keeping me stationary. But I wasn’t struggling anymore.

Death's hollow sockets fixed on me. The breaks will fail on his way home. A quick end, at least. More than Sarah got.

Although there were only empty sockets where eyes should have been, Death's gaze was piercing. His daughter will miss him. The wife ... not so much. But her time isn't far off either. The cancer grows ever more malignant, even now, and will claim her in due time. Like it did your mother.

I was silent. Feeling the anaesthesia kick in, my thoughts slowed with the beep of the machines. As I felt my consciousness slipping, Death spoke again.

Know this: His blood is not on your hands. You were always going to do this. He was always going to be here. In a few hours, his spool will run out. Yours shall too, but not now. Not until it is done. You cannot outrun your duty.

Death's words rang in my head like a bell.

Duty. Responsibility.

Burden.

If it's Fate and I can't outrun it ...

I glared at the reaper as the darkness spread across my vision.

... then why the fuck do you keep chasing me around?

As my vision turned to black, I could have sworn I saw Death smile.