Is this how I die?

My heart literally stops for a split second as I wake up and a dark human silhouette sits next to my bed. I feel my throat tighten, my mouth open and my lungs pressing air out to scream - but it gets stuck and silence enters my body instead, trying to choke me. The silhouette doesn’t move and my wet fingers grab my phone from the night table. The flashlight blinds me for a second and my eyes hurt.

“Oh fuck!” The silhouette opens their eyes and looks confused and mildly startled.

I can now see it is a human with a hood drawn so far into their face that it gives strong Darth Sidious vibes. I can only see the white of the eyes out of the shade, but also a lot of chin and the tip of a nose.

“Who in the world are you and how did you get into my hotel room?” I dare to ask. I don’t know why I am more annoyed than scared because the whole situation is hella scary.

“I must have fallen asleep,” the silhouette mumbles and straightens in their chair. “Sorry.”

I light up the bedside lamp. Now the face of the silhouette is lit up and I begin to put together a whole human, not just the glimpses that weird panicky mobile phone flashlight gave me. I am quite fazed. I see a person I read as female. She sits in the chair next to the bed, one leg pulled up to her body. Only a chaotic pile of fabric indicates that it is the chair formerly known as “the chair” that carries all the clothes I still wanna wear a second time before washing. She is wearing all black. DocMarten’s. A tailored suit. A hoodie underneath. I need a hoodie with that big of a hood, I note to myself as she puts hers down and reveals ebony hair, almost black.

“I am here to take you with me,” she states now with a tired, somehow purring voice as if it answered any of my questions. “You ready?”

“Who are you?” I repeat. She sighs.

“Death.”

I look at her. Dark circles frame her eyes, tiny wrinkles, too. Her lips are thin and dry. Her skin looks soft and weary at the same time. I cannot tell her age. Young? But also - not?

“Ha ha.” She seems to think she is funny, so I give her sarcasm. “You are the Grim Reaper and I am what - a grandmother dying of a stroke in the middle of the night?”

“Nope. Unfortunately you are Harper Marten, female, age 25, dying of a heart attack in the middle of the night.” She seems serious.

“You - you don’t look like death.”

“Oh, no? Do I look like the blossoming life to you?” She snarls, rising from the chair and revealing quite an impressive height. I see dark smoke brushing around her feet. Her ageless face now looks more like a person my age with burnout. Annoyed and angry and almost giving up at the same time. I somehow believe her.

“Okay. I buy it,” I tell her.

“Sorry, I have had a long day. I shouldn’t have let you… it’s against the protocols. My apologies. I am quite new to this. um, okay. If my physical presence upsets you, I can change it for you.” She snaps her fingers and suddenly an old man who kinda looks like any old person I know combined stands there. He fuses so many familiar faces it freaks me out.

“No! Come back!”

The man snaps and with a bit of almost aesthetic black smoke the woman is back.

“Don’t do that again!”

“I won’t. I am sorry. Many people find peace in recognizing all the people they love in a face that comes and gets them.”

“Yeah, nah. I am fine,” I shrug. Why am I not impressed? Scared to literal death?

“So, Harper, come on, we have to go now.”