A conversation with Death
Death came through my door quietly.
I was lying in bed, thinking random thoughts ruminating without purpose when it glided in.
I didn’t scream, though its appearance may be startling. I didn’t even say much at all at first. Maybe I was shocked? Probably just apathetic.
“Hello” death said and stared into my soul.
“Hello” I answered.
“You can now advocate” death held its stare, giving nothing away.
“Advocate for your life”
I think it was attempting a reassuring smile, but all I could see was an endless pit of existence.
“I’m not sure I can, not really” I replied.
“You can beg, you can scream, you may cry”
I searched inside for the emotions, “I’m not really feeling it” I said after a pause.
“You know, life?” I sat up and looked into its eyes and the pool of eternity there beyond. “I’d like to say something eloquent about allotted time, chances and dues, but I’m just not feeling so inclined. Do I follow you?” I asked and stood up.
“You should attempt” death said blankly.
“Attempt to what?” I felt out of place standing in front of death in my pajamas.
“To fight for your life”
“I’ve never had much fight in me really, I haven’t done much or tried. That might sound like an argument but I don’t say this with regret, it’s just the facts” I moved past death heading for the door, and as I did it was as if I could see people floating about beyond it, but death stopped me with a cold yet gentle hand.
“You are young, and as you have said, quite inexperienced. There is a lot out there in your world. Colours, flavours. You should speak up. Fight for it”.
Death had a point. I knew that it did but I still couldn’t summon the emotion necessary for a plea, “What do you say though when all that stands out is the bad stuff, the rising tides of evil and all that?”
Death paused, almost frowning, though his was more an ocean of past lives, “is there nothing that you would like to be here for tomorrow? Something that you are waiting for in the near or distant future, anything at all?”
“Well,” I smiled “like any living human, I would love to read the last two books of a Song of Ice and Fire.”
“A Song of Ice and Fire?”
“George Martin’s Game of Thrones.”
“Ah, of course” Death said. “You said that you would love to. Love. There lies your argument.”
“Love for a book? Wanting to read the end of a story I’ve invested months of my life to? Wanting to know how something ends? I don’t see how that is your smoking gun” I was a bit incredulous.
Death flared, his shades of black darkening in a way that wasn’t quite definable.
“Loving a book is to love reading, enjoying fiction is to rejoice in life, searching for the end of a story is to care about something and anticipation holds hands with excitement and bliss as well as disappointment or the possibility thereof. Thus I see in you a desire to experience things that have not yet occurred, also known as a desire to live. If you ask for it, it may be given.”
“Huh” I felt defeated in the best of ways.
“Well then,” I said.