Limes

Life shivered and wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. Winters in New York were frigid. She much preferred tropical places, even though she had to drag a cooler around with her so the lemons didn't spoil.

The people of New York had a dignified walk to them. Their footfalls were as crisp and rhythmic as the ticking of a metronome. They walked with their shoulders squared and their head down, hands plunged in their pockets. Life's gaze fell on one young man who was an outlier in this ubiquitous scene; his chin was flung towards the sky and a grin plastered his face. Sorry, buddy. She could only hope he knew how to make lemonade.

Life reached into her burlap sack and pulled out a lemon. She flung it at him, and it hit him squarely in the face. He staggered and tripped, and a black velvet box sprang out of his pocket and burst open in midair – the diamond ring inside slipping out and clattering into a storm drain.

Wailing sirens masked the young man's agonized cries. A firetruck was speeding down the road, and following it was a black-caped man with a scythe in his hand. Curiosity piqued, Life followed them; pelting lemons at New Yorkers on the street would have to wait.

The fire truck skidded to a halt before a burning building. Tongues of flame licked the soot-blackened windows and charred rubble clanged to the ground like hail. Firemen and firewomen ran out of the truck and into the building as a jet of water bubbled out of the hose on the truck and splashed onto the building. Life saw the man with the scythe shoulder open the flaming door.

When she first met Death, Life couldn't stand him. He seemed feelingless, a sociopath. "How can you bear it?" she asked him. "How can you stand killing people and making their families grieve? I find my job hard, but – you! You do it and you don't so much as flinch."

She was shocked when Death only smiled wanly. "I don't enjoy my job much," he said. "But – look, here's an example. A young woman has got more than her fair share of lemons thrown at her. She's homeless, jobless, and her family has disowned her. Life's lost all its meaning. So she calls me over."

Death sighed. "Sometimes dying is better than just suffering, constantly, for all of eternity. Don't you think?"

"Well – " Life gulped. "You're strangely wise."

"It's all part of the job," said Death with a wink.

And yet as Life watched the building burn, the chilly winter wind making her cloak dance around her knees, she felt tears spill down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve. Being wise is hard, Death.

/

Death scaled yet another burned staircase, feeling the smoky air scorch his lungs with every labored breath. There were so many bodies, so many casualties. Most of them cried when they had to leave. Some screamed. One even bit Death as he extended his hand. But he couldn't feel pain. Not physically, anyway.

He twitched the scythe in his hand and frowned. The thing was clunky and useless – or at least, hardly ever used. Not more than he needed to. Most people went to the Afterlife, but some – the murderers, the truly vile people, got eternal death, where he would slash his scythe through their souls so they perished along with their bodies.

It was a cruel fate, even for the most evil of individuals.

He turned into a room and found a girl. Her body was burned beyond recognition, but her silvery-white soul still roamed the room, delicate and ethereal. The girl whirled around when she heard Death.

"Ada."

"Who are you?" She narrowed her eyes. Her kinky hair was in two pigtails, sealed off with little ribbons. She couldn't be more than seven years old.

"I'm...a friend," said Death.

"No, you're not." Ada eyed Death warily. "I've never met you before, and Daddy says I shouldn't go with strangers."

Death sighed. "Look, please. Just come with me."

Ada shook her head insistently and floated away.

Death groaned. He was exhausted. Every inch of his body ached. Just yesterday there had been an airplane crash, and the day before that a school shooting. He wiped away a thick layer of cinders from the hot window, and that's when he saw her – it had to be her. The red hair, the silver cape –

"One moment, Ada."

/

Fate pushed her glasses up her nose and the muddled mess of glowing colors before her slid into focus; the timeline. She tapped a shiny marble hovering within reach, and it zoomed in on a scene; a baby girl being born. The parents were a weeping mess; the nurses were all smiles.

Making up diseases was interesting, and yet Fate was running out of ideas. She couldn't keep killing off unborn fetuses with Trisomy 13 and congenital heart defects. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome was a sloppily constructed idea, not one of her sharpest, but it worked well enough anyway. Healthy babies didn't just drop dead, but SIDS was vague enough.

When Life had first heard of what Fate did, she had been enraged. The girl was vivacious, more so than the cool, calculating Death. A few billion years of work still hadn't put a damper on her; she still had such a clingy attachment to human happiness. But Fate had been around far, far longer than both Life and Death. Once they were as old as her, they would for sure be equally as callous.

There was a rapping on the door. "Enter," said Fate crisply, and in walked the thin, quivering frame of Sam the lemon farmer. "What is it?" asked Fate.

"We...we have a problem," stammered Sam.

"Not we, you," said Fate exasperatedly. "Well? What's the matter?"

"We...I...am out of lemons."

Fate gasped. "WHAT? DON'T YOU KNOW THAT THIS WILL UPEND THE DELICATE BALANCE WE HAVE BEEN WORKING AT FOR CENTURIES, FOR MILLENNIA?!" She couldn't help it; her voice rose to a piercing scream. Sam's hands clutched his ears.

"They'll grow back in a few weeks!" he squeaked.

"A few weeks without human suffering?" Fate grabbed Sam by the collar of his soiled shirt. "You fix this, or you'll go to eternal death like you were always meant to!"

When she released Sam, he was choking and sputtering. As he crawled out of the room, Fate put her glasses on, swept aside a lock of hair, tapped on the marble again. The baby was now home from the hospital, sleeping soundly in her crib. Fate eyed the young girl. "Death's busy, but he'll be back soon."

/

Life entered the room with Ada, who was now curled up in a corner of the room, covering her face with her arms. She saw Life and gazed at her, tilting her head. "Is she a friend too?" she said skeptically.

"No," said Life. "I'm Life, and he's Death."

Ada gasped. "Does that mean I'm going to die?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't have a choice," said Death, setting his scythe down on the opposite wall and kneeling.

"But my Mommy and Daddy will be sad. They're outside."

"Yes, I know that," said Death. "But do you know what will happen to me if you don't die?"

Ada shook her head ruefully.

"I'll die," said Death. "Fate will kill me. I'm not supposed to disobey orders from my boss."

No tears dripped from Ada's doe eyes. Instead, she gulped and said: "If you have to die, I guess I can go."

"No!" exclaimed Life, diving in between the two and blocking Ada off from Death. "You can't kill her!"

"I don't want to die, Life!" roared Death.

"This – this is madness! Do you really believe Fate, that this is the only way? Killing off a ridiculous amount of humans each day? Ada doesn't deserve to die!"

"It's a bit cruel, but it has to be done."

"A bit cruel? A bit?" Life chuckled mirthlessly. "Just this once, Death! Just this once, don't be wise. We spend so much time around humanity and yet we don't have any. Please." Her eyes gleamed with desperation, and maybe a bit of hope.

Death sighed. It was creepily silent for five seconds, five seconds in which Life waited with bated breath.

"NO!"

Death lunged forward and reached for Ada's hand, and like a mirage, she rippled and vanished.

Life fell to her knees. She was too shocked to cry now, too angry, too horribly, excruciatingly sad. And a few feet away, Death picked up his scythe, ran his finger on the side of his blade.

Neither could bear to face each other. Neither could bear to face themselves.

/

When Life entered the atrium the next morning, Death was there, as was Fate. She handed Life her refilled sack, and Life peered in and flinched with surprise. "Limes?" she said, reaching in and picking one out.

"We're out of lemons," said Fate crisply. "This will have to do."

"Can't they just not suffer for a spell?" said Life angrily.

Fate sighed. "I saw what happened yesterday. I know you're shaken, but Death did the right thing." She placed a hand on Life's shoulder. "You're still young. I understand. You'll learn – "

"Where's Death?" said Life abruptly.

Fate blinked. "He's right – " She flinched. "Where did he – "

The sack of limes in Life's grasp came crashing to the ground.

Death's scythe lay on the ground, the blade slick with deep red blood. Fate spun around, and when she saw the sight she began to wheeze, her eyes wide with shock and terror.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" murmured Life.