Lord Death

I remember the first time that I saw him, the man I can only explain as my constant stranger. It was on my sixteenth birthday, and although my friend Lionel was feeling ill, he insisted that we spend the day together. In his weakness, he couldn’t do much, so he merely watched me pick wildflowers and sway with the poppies in the field outside of town. I recall the freedom and contentment I always received from such leisure, and, presently, I wish these certain pastimes were still enough for me. I am grateful to this day, however, for his determination of giving me those last few hours, for that very night Lionel had died in the tub, aiming to cool his fever .

Sobbing could be heard even from the garden outside of his house the minute the doctor pronounced him dead. Inside, I mindlessly ambled in shock through the grieving crowd like a phantom in the night while glancing at all their faces. I have had acquaintance with everyone there at one point or an other. It was my first encounter, though, with the effects of death and how it bleakly dulled the light in people’s eyes. All of them, each one, had the same look, face after face.

Becoming desperate to find a sign of hope, I frantically begun seeking, more ardently than before, in the manner of everyone present. At last, my gaze fell upon a young man with dark hair that I surprisingly did not recognize, and in his glare I discerned something different, something that confounded me. His stare, while pained, was not dimmed or brimming with tears, but instead read a feeling of profound remorse. Positioned stolid in the corner, no one turned to console him. In fact, no one even seemed to notice his presence. I started to force myself closer to him, but once he realized I had my sight fixed upon him, he tersely awoke from his inner thoughts as alarm widened his eyes. Alas, before I could reach him, he was gone.

I have seen him only twice since, and, still, I have the slightest inkling of who he could be. The occurrence of my grandmother’s final rest was also the first instance I had caught sight of my mysterious stranger since Lionel’s death. He was perched outside in a nearby tree as if patiently waiting for something. I was eighteen when I beheld him last. The youngest son of the Baker family went missing after a family picnic near the river, and while everyone was searching for the small boy, I happened upon this striking man instead.

I found him bent over the stream, twiddling his pale, slender fingers in the cool water, and for the first time, I absorbed his façade. His hair was pulled messily back with strands framing his delicate face. He appeared to be about twenty, with full lips, an angular nose, and a sturdy brow. Though his body appeared lean under his sheer tunic, tucked loosely into his pants, in his stance I could tell of its firmness. As I realized the beauty embellishing his figure, to my astonishment, I began to blush.

Collecting courage, I gathered up the ends of my dress and headed apprehensively toward him, almost as if I were approaching a wild animal. My bare feet kept me silent against the mossy carpeting of the forest, which enabled me to sneak behind him after seemingly prolonged seconds. My heart fluttered as I stood over him, for he was still bent over with his long back curving elegantly, and I overheard him humming softly to himself a sorrowful tune. In sympathy, I instantly reached for him, yet upon resting my hand against his bare skin, for his shirt collar was unbuttoned and drooped over his shoulder, an immediate chill ran through me. He was ice cold to the touch.

I drew back my arm with a gasp as he abruptly stood in alarm. He stared straight at me with a bright shade of brown eyes, and with his nostrils flared I feared I had angered him. Yet, there he tensely remained with a restrained foreboding stance. I weakly stepped back, looking to the ground as I began my embarrassed apology.

“I…I shouldn’t have…”

“No.” His face softened as he spoke while extending his arm in a comforting way, but as a sadness overtook his features, he let his arm fall limply back to his side and shamefully continued with his eyes watching his shuffling feet. “Just… what I mean is… It’d be in your best interest to stay as far away from me as you can.” My uneasiness fading as my body relaxed, I advanced closer to him. The apparent grief in his claim afflicted my own heart, and I instinctively longed to ease whatever pain he was enduring. But, to my dismay, he uneasily shifted away. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” With those hushed last words he hurried off into the depths of the forest.

Now nineteen, I lay in my crumpled bed, dying of the disease I should have died from years ago. The town doctor told my parents that he had seen pneumonia this severe only once before. Almost exactly three years before. We all knew he was referring to Lionel. On this night, though in my obstructing delirium, I clearly see my beautiful stranger pacing outside of my window, the full moon silhouetting his form. Rising from my sheets, I find my way into the cool night. Yet, this time, I make no attempt at hiding my approach as I stride compellingly toward him.
Upon seeing me, he halts in his gait and throws his tormented glance at me, except tonight, his frown seems somehow deeper.

“I thought I was to stay clear of you, and here I find you sneaking about my window.” I deliberately stick my chin out as I find myself oddly irritated with him.
A dismal smirk relieves his worried features for a moment as he responds. “On the contrary, this time, I am the one who seeks you.”

“Oh, is that so. And, why is this? Hmm? Are you finally going to tell me who you are? Are you here to explain to me why you sneak around this town like a shadow?” I mumble the last part more to myself than to him, “A shadow that only I seem to notice.” Inhaling, his breath seeping in through his lips, it seems as if he is preparing to rehearse a speech that he has spoken countless times before. Crossing my arms impatiently, I raise my brow while waiting for a ridiculous explanation, but instead, he only sighs, shakes his head, and loosens his expression.

With an uncomfortable demeanor he replies, “Three years ago…your friend Lionel transferred his sickness upon you. I had been following him for some time, you see, keeping an eye on his progress. I suppose that is how I first saw you. You must understand, that in my experience, due to my…uh…profession, I don’t often encounter such levels of happiness of which I observed in your dancing.” As he scrambles for the right words, I come to believe that he chose to speak truly rather than preach his rehearsed discourse. Reflectively, he breathes out with a serene grin, “and your smile…your laugh.” Clearing his throat, his eyes meet mine in an intense gaze lasting only an instant.

Growing more bashful but swift in his speech, he speaks with his hands in his pockets and his chin back upon his chest, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I was fixed on the image of you… in the sunlight, uninhibited, as you were, in your graceful movements. Painted…yes, it was as if you were painted by the sunlight. With your skirt brushing against your knees…the poppies against your ankles, and your hair sweeping against your neck, I swear I’ve never seen so much color than in that moment. Even now, in memory, the brightness of the scene remains.

Nor, have I ever felt such life as I did! Just the idea of me feeling life, it was new territory; I wasn’t prepared. In fact, the feeling that grew within my chest rather astounded me and I grew fearful of it. But still, I could never have disposed of the feeling, even if I had openly desired to.” Expressing somewhat to himself, he whispers, “And, how, with a person in my position, who has known death too personally and for once…for once has seen life, could I not have spared you.”
Confusion weakens me, and I begin to feel fear creep inside me as I mumble uneasily, “What are you saying?” Becoming suddenly faint, I slowly lower myself onto a nearby bench.

Swiftly, he rushes to my side, a concerned countenance on his face. “It’s coming fast.”

“Quit mumbling to yourself and please tell me what’s going on!” I can hear the desperation in my voice.

“I don’t… I don’t know how. The best way I can possibly explain is to say that I work for… someone? No…” He pauses while glancing to the side, as if searching for an answer in the distance, “not someone as much as something. The order of things. How things go.” He groans in annoyance, but continues with a sigh, “I am…well… I regret to admit that…simply put,” He breaks as he swallows aloud and resumes with a sheepish manner, “I am Death.”

Gaping, quiet extraordinarily, I imagine, I feel my heart stir heavily, and obviously noticing my distress, he pleads, “Stay with me, alright. I need you to stay with me. To clarify, I’m not the cause of death, I only meet those who must move on and deliver them to where they are suppose to go. Your sixteenth year, when the signs of death had begun to seep upon you, was the first case, in all the years that I’ve been doing this, of which I grew angry with the ‘Order of Things’. To say this bluntly, I just refused to obtain you.”

Disbelief numbs inside me as I leap from the bench to escape the impact of his report, and I feel the sob begin in my throat as I spit out, “So, you’re here to fetch me, now?” He simply responds with a silent nod, which I retort with a feverish appeal, “You spared me once, please, can’t you do it again? I’m not ready! ”

Rising to stand even with me, he murmurs his reply, “Please, don’t beg. I can’t…It will only make this harder, and it’s already so difficult.”

“Why now, then? Huh? Why now? Couldn’t you have kept away for a just little longer? I’m nineteen! ”

Spinning toward me, so near, I can feel his breath upon me, he hurls out more firmly, apparently
frustrated with where the conversation has landed, “The Order found out. When something doesn’t go the way things should, the Order of Things will eventually find out and correct the wrong. I thought that by now, I would’ve grown apart from this weakness I have for you, which would make this much easier. But, I couldn’t keep myself away. Nevertheless, I managed it, though quite miserably, for some time. I wasn’t aware of how grueling the task would be, and I was even more upset with myself when I felt excitement bloom inside me when I was called to deliver your grandmother.”

Hastening forward, he raises his tone even more, “Can you imagine the guilt I felt! Excitement! Excitement upon the news of someone’s coming death. I quickly pushed away the feeling, however, and decided not to enter the house in efforts to keep from you, and, instead, I waited for your grandmother to come out to me. She was ready, so I knew she wouldn’t try to escape. But, it was a fruitless attempt, for I witnessed you weeping by the fountain.” He hesitated and lowered his voice, “I wanted so dearly to comfort you, but how could I, being who I am, do such a thing. It is not my place.” He finished while shaking his head.

“I don’t… I don’t follow. What would happen to me if I didn’t go with you tonight?”
Running his hands through his long hair, now fallen from the band that held it back, he quietly says, “You will die anyway and your soul will continue to wander and haunt the living. And, I will not have that of you.” His lecture becoming more forceful, he persists, “I have spared you once, and I could do it now, but death will only come again, and next time, and there will always be a next time, you will most likely die in a more sudden manner, not even giving me the chance to rescue you. So I cannot, and I will not, spare you now. I’m sorry.” Turning away, he recovers his composure.

The realization eventually succumbs me and acceptance of my fate slowly clears my previous panicked state. I grasp at all that he had said, listening to his soft voice repeating in my thoughts until something ultimately occurs to me.

Extending my arm, I grip his shoulder until he softly relocates in front of me. Placed near him, his face practically level with mine, in effort to help him recognize that, after all this time, I understand, I break the silence encumbering the somber mood with, of all things, an innocent tease, “I always imagined Death being taller.”

He bears a true, blissful grin that rests lazily upon his face; the first genuine smile I’ve seen lighten his usual dreary mood. I become secretly pleased with myself, and as he regards me with a certain enamoring air, I know that what I had suspected just moments ago is sincere. Breathing out tenderly, I barely utter, “You love me.”

Glancing away as always, he meekly responds with a discreet, “I do.”

Cupping my hands around his face, I feel warm inside although his skin is cold, and, in his hold, I am at ease. When returning his sight upon me, an inevitable sense rushes through my body. A rousing tension builds between us, only intensifying as we both lean in. Once his lips touch mine, a passion erupts between us as his arms hold me tightly against him, my own hands exploring the curve of his lower back.

We mold together like this under the starlight for a while; the moon watching us from above, and at length we pull apart. As I rest my head intimately against his chest, I whisper gently to him, “I am ready for you to take me away now, for what value would there be in life without you…my handsome prince.”