I reach down and shake the guy’s shoulder. It’s hypocritical, I know. How many times have I yelled at the stupid humans that shaking will not bring anyone back? It does not resurrect. But I have a schedule to keep and this guy is taking a really long time to get his shit together.
And throws up all over the place. Fantastic.
“Holy shit, what are you doing kid?”
Really? Kid? He’s on a platform in the middle of space, standing at the very limits of nothingness. The stars are shining and burning and living, and the moon smiles down at us, cold and gray and so very very familiar where there should not even be a moon because we are not anywhere near his Terra and all he can concentrate on is that I look 13 years old?
I’m waking you up. I don’t have all eternity.
“Where the hell am I? What happened?”
I have been asked that question so many times, and I will give you the same answer I gave everybody else. You are dead and this is where you stay until whoever’s up there decide where you go next.
Stars above, not a mimicker.
Dead. Would you like me to spell it for you?
“The last thing I remember is talking to Karen and she leaned over to kiss me and a squeal and… oh.”
I stay quiet. So far he has been typical. Probably disappearing any second now, going to wherever the mundane ones go.
I’m Death. Or, that’s my official job designation.
Now that’s new. It’s been so long since I used a name. I close my eyes and try to remember, past the countless souls and never changing view back to before…
“That’s stupid. I’m Clint.”
Nice to meet you, Clinton.
“I’m not even going to ask how you knew that.”
I sit down, kicking my legs against the platform like a little child.
“That’s your name. Nicole.”
I told you, I don’t have one.
“Well now you do. I name you Nicole.”
I am caught off guard by this mortal’s familiarity, and his kindness for me.
“My girlfriend. She’s terrific. Suppose she’s dead too.”
I really wouldn’t know. There had been an accident or something at a “So-roar-city” somewhere and the last couple dozen people had been young women.
“That’s what I would have named my daughter. Karen was a month pregnant.”
I look at him. He gazes back at me. Naming Death after his daughter. Kindness. This guy was going somewhere good.
Nothing. I look back. He’s gone. But where he was sitting was a little index card. It had a name on it.
I shrug, and tuck it into my pocket. Works for me.
But now what should I do about the mess?
I wrote this. Its an original work, not a fan-fiction.
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