Death & Life
The boy was aware of the act of breathing.
How hard it was to force the bad air out and the good air in. How each breath felt like a sharp knife slipped through the flesh of his ribcage.
The boy pushed himself, with each rasp, further and further from panic. He needed to be clear. Needed to think straight. He looked around at flickering street lamps and looming shadows in dark windows; struggling to see through boarded glass and down unlit corridors.
Each wink of dim yellow light only made him more terrified.
He’d seen Death! An omen: tall, and thin and—and those eyes...
His heart thumped faster.
Think, he thought. I saw it on Manning. And now I’m on— he squinted up at a fading traffic sign— South Rd. I’m probably lucky. I probably got away.
But he didn’t feel lucky. He couldn’t stop imagining the thing watching from every dark window and shadowed alley. Silent. Unblinking.
No-one outran Death. He knew that. Some people that saw it from a distance could prolong its coming— get as far away as possible. Buy themselves some time— but the boy hadn’t just seen it watching. He’d seen it coming.
Not walking— not really. More like a glide or a hover. Like it knew it’d catch...
The boy shook the ice from his spine.
I can’t think about it. Just keep moving. Gotta keep moving.
So he kept running down the street. Away from Death, and his death. Focusing only on his breathing.
In. Past an old building on his right, with dead brown grass growing wildly in ugly patches.
Out. Past the sad-looking graveyard on his left; old names and dates lost to weeds and to time.
In. Crossing beneath the dull traffic light at the intersection where South hit Mason. Where the monster stood waiting for him.
Out?
The boy gasped, freezing in place mere feet from the shadow. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared dazed into two brilliant blue stones where eyes should have been.
His blood turned to ice.
Then he heard the screech.
But it didn’t come from Death.
It came from behind him.
The boy turned, and locked eyes with the murky yellow eyes of a Honda Civic.
~
He didn’t feel the pain where his arms and legs bent at impossible angles, or where his lungs glitched, pushing out good and bad air in one violent lurch. He didn’t even feel the air beneath him, some six feet that should have connected his soles to concrete.
Instead, the boy watched the car, headlights off, speed down South Rd into the dark, and he felt Death—with its cobalt eyes and tattered black cloak—catch his soul before it crashed to the pavement along with his twisted body.
Death exhaled then, shaking its head while whispering into the boy’s ear.
“i warned.”
“Warned?” the boy repeated, confused. “What warning? You came for me. What’s going—”
“you ran,” it sighed, interrupting. With each breath Death dissolved some; everything but those blue eyes slowly paling to white.
“I ran from Death—from you, so I wouldn’t die— but did I?… Am I—“ The boy choked through his fear. “What’s going on? Why can’t I see you?“ His vision was growing hazy, and he was beginning to suspect that Death wasn’t the one that was fading.
“relax,” Death hummed.
There was something unmistakably ancient about the voice. Something that matched the impossible blue of its eyes, and the way it moved like the wind blows. Something relic and tired.
It did little to calm the boy. He was dying and he knew it.
“What’s gonna happen to me?” he whimpered softly. He couldn’t think past the fear and the confusion. And everything was getting so bright. Like he was in a hospital room, or someone was shining a white LED light in his eyes.
Death ignored the boy—or perhaps it didn’t hear him. It looked out into the distance preoccupied; its blue eyes sparking and fading into the white.
Then it was gone, and the boy thought he could hear people talking and moving around him: men and women whispering excited and urgent, the area buzzing with activity.
Is that a baby crying? he wondered.
Am I crying?
Then he heard Death; like the faint groan of a soft breeze, spoken directly to his head.
“now. we reset.”
~