Death's Pink and Glittery Birthday Party

Mrs. Morrison was too busy to die.

"I've simply got far too much going on," she said to Death, who was waiting in her hall, tapping his bony feet and sighing.

"You have no choice!" Death rasped, in the eerie voice that usually reduced mortals to timid acceptance of their fate.

"Oh, I'll come with you, all right," said Mrs. Morrison, in an affable, soothing sort of voice that got on Death's nerves. "I do understand. You've got a job to do. But so have I, you see. I'm doing the birthday party for my little niece Katie (she's so sweet you wouldn't believe) and I've the washing to do and a ton of food to prepare. Plus I need to shower, and put my party frock on. It's purple with gold trim - really stylish. My friend Charlene says that I look sort of regal in it."

When he could get a word in, Death said, "I am cruel. I snatch infants. I nab people on the first day of their well-earned retirement. You don't get to make caveats. You will come with me - NOW!"

And with all the drama possible, Death pointed a bony finger at Mrs. Morrison, and brandished his scythe in the other hand.

Mrs. Morrison looked interested.

Nothing happened.

"Er - " said Death.

"I'm awfully sorry. Well, obviously I'm not sorry! Ha ha!You know what I mean, though. It looks as if my wish has been granted. I don't know why; they so seldom are, after all. Much more deserving cases than me get - was it nabbed, you said? - by you all the time, don't they? But anyway, I prayed to my deity when I started feeling ill. I said, or prayed you might say: Just let me give little Katie a birthday party that she really enjoys. I know that I have no right to ask, and you have a lot on too, but well, so do I. It would mean such a lot, and it would be something for her to remember me by after I've gone. That's what I prayed. So it looks as if my prayer was granted, doesn't it?"

" - Maybe your deity just wanted you to shut up and go away," hissed Death, who was feeling cheated and not a little embarrassed by his failure.

Mrs Morrison put her hands on her hips.

"That isn't very nice! That's not nice at all! You'd think that with all the time you've been alive, or whatever it is you are if not alive - shall we just say you've been around? -  that you'd have better manners than that."

"I'm sorry," said Death automatically, and then wished that he hadn't.

"Anyway, I can't stand here gossiping. I have a party to arrange. Look, Sir, you really want me to die, don't you?"

"Yes," said Death, with feeling.

"Well then! Help me to make this the best party ever, and then if it all pans out, I'll be able to come with you."

Mrs. Morrison looked at him, delighted with herself for thinking of a solution to please everybody.

Death sighed.

He had been expecting to drag her out of her body and off to her fate.

Instead he found himself sandwiching macaroons with buttercream, and putting little plastic unicorns and brightly-coloured bracelets into party bags.

Everything was pink, sparkly and girly, and Death had never felt so sorry for himself. The things he went through for his job...Perhaps I've died, he thought, and gone to my personal hell.

It certainly seemed like it when Mrs. Morrison put on a CD of party songs suitable for children, and left it playing on a loop.

"Haven't you got any death metal?" asked Death, who had been tickled to have a whole genre of music named after him. "Please! I can't bear this horrible noise."

"The party isn't for you," said Mrs. Morrison sternly. "Now be a grown-up and stop whining."

Death thought that she would do his job better than he did. No one would argue with her. They'd just comply as swiftly as possible, in order to get rid of her ASAFP. Death would be sweet by comparison with her company.

"You know, I've got some edible glitter to go on the cake," said Mrs. Morrison. "It's pink. So nice for little girls. Could you sprinkle a little over? In swirls?"

She said this as if she were offering Death a great treat.

"You have got to be kidding."

"No, I'm not. Cake decoration isn't my strong point, and I so want Katie to love her cake. It would help her to enjoy the party..."

"OK, OK," said Death.

It's not easy to sprinkle glitter artistically with bone fingers. Death did his best, and even enjoyed making swirls and stars. A bit.

Mrs. Morrison put up streamers and laid the table with paper plates (pink, of course), and attended to her toilette. Her dress reminded Death of something once worn by one of the more ghastly Roman emperors, when he was deteriorating in every way.

The songs on the CD had played through several times, and seeped into Death's psyche.

"The thunder has gone under and the sun's come out to play; oh -  what a lovely lovely lovely happy birth-a-day!" he sang along, and then caught himself.

Fire kindled in his withered bosom.

"Enough!" he cried, and his voice had its usual deep raspiness back. "I will do no more. This room looks and sounds like - like nothing on Earth!"

"Oh! Is the afterlife like this?" asked Mrs. Morrison with great interest.

"No. It is not. I say again. I will do no more!"

"That's quite all right, dear. You've been the biggest help. Katie's due any minute, and everything's ready."

She patted his shoulder and beamed at him. Death grimaced back.

There was a knock at the door.

"Is that you, Katie? Come right in!"

"Yeah."

The door opened.

"Surpri - oh my word!" said Mrs. Morrison.

Death looked at the girl and her three friends. If this was Katie, she looked a lot better than he had expected.

"What's going on? Why do you look like that? Are you ill?"

Mrs. Morrison was anxious and her party spirit had drained away.

"No. Except with the sickness of truth. I am a goth. Kinda on the emo side, but with more style. We look like this. It's no big deal, Grandma. Look, it's just clothes and makeup that reflect how I feel inside. Because life is dark. And it sucks."

Katie's friends, dressed similarly, nodded slowly with all the wisdom of their tender years.

"She's wonderful! Look, she has skulls on her tights, in my honour," said Death.

"You be quiet, young man!" snapped Mrs. Morrison, forgetting Death's age in her need to reprove him. "I don't welcome your opinion of my twelve-year-old granddaughter!"

"Who are you talking to?" asked Katie.

"She can't see me," said Death. "Only those with appointments can see me."

"Oh," said Mrs. Morrison, deflated. Then, trying to save the situation, she said, "Surprise!" and gestured at the table.

"Yeah, right," said Katie. "I mean thanks and all, but seriously - WTF?"

"WTF?"

"It stands for - oh never mind. Is this supposed to be for me? Is it ironic?"

"I thought you'd like it..."

"And what are we listening to? Is this Music to Torture By?"

"Yes!" said Death.

"I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it."

Mrs. Morrison was trying not to cry.

"Er - I'm kinda hungry," said one of Katie's friends. "Is it OK if we eat a sandwich and maybe some cake, if we do it ironically, before we head out?"

"Sure," said Katie.

Mrs. Morrison said nothing.

The girls stayed for all of ten minutes, though they managed to get outside of an astonishing amount of food in that time. Death was pleased to see that they seemed to appreciate his macaroon-work.

"OK. We're off."

At the doorway, Katie turned and shrugged.

"Thanks for trying, Grandma."

The door closed behind her.

Mrs. Morrison turned her head away from Death, and did some dabbing with a handkerchief.

"After all our hard work," said Death. He was enjoying himself.

But Mrs. Morrison's back straightened, and the face she turned towards him was resolute, even if her eyes were a touch red around the rims.

"Next year we'll get it right."

"What do you mean, next year?"

"Well, you'll be coming for me again then, won't you? If Katie enjoys her birthday party then, I'll go with you. I think you should come earlier next time, though. If she likes gothic things, then you're the ideal person to help. Can we get black icing for the cake, I wonder?"

"Next year?" repeated Death.

"Of course!"

"But she'll be thirteen! She might not be gothic any more. She might be - well, anything at all at that age. Even her mother won't know what she likes from day to day."

"Well, I'm going to try," said Mrs. Morrison, "And you can help me."

"Oh no! No way! I don't have to. Your deal was with your deity, not with me. You broke this appointment, and I'm not inclined to make another right now."

"You're not coming back?"

Mrs. Morrison sounded almost disappointed.

"Maybe in about thirty years. Katie might enjoy time with you then, if life treats her badly enough, which it probably will," Death said nastily, "Because she's interesting. But until then, I'm not coming back, and you can't make me!"

Death swirled impressively, and disappeared.

"Well I never," said Mrs. Morrison. "I wish I'd given him a slice to cake to take home with him. Oh well, I can't sit here. I've a lot to do," and she began to clear up the party things, before getting on with the rest of her tasks.

  END