Loving Death

Chapter Two: Just Ourselves

12 days since meeting Them.

I sit by the window. As I do. I watch the heavy rain smudge the world outside the glass into an impressionistic painting. I can almost feel the dampness of it. I smell it through the walls. I smell my coffee. I feel the pen in my hand glide across the page, the ink slightly snagging at the ballpoint tip of the pen from time to time. Get a new pen. The booth is in the corner, where the light doesn't reach much. The old bistro is almost empty, only a couple of people come in to hide for a while, maybe buy a coffee so as not to seem rude. The bell at the top of the door reminds me of jingle bells. Oh how I wish the world would be as small as I made it when I was a baby. 

These last couple of days I've been feeling like I needed to write down everything just to make sure it is real. Every sensation, every emotion. I need to make everything concrete. That night, that morning... it all felt too absurd. So impossible. So I put it to paper. I haven't picked up my diary in months. I didn't want to give any physical meaning to how I was feeling. It would make it too real for me. Less manageable. But then again, I did end up on that roof. Maybe... if I had just written it all down like I am doing right now, it wouldn't make it bigger or more real. It might have made it all so much smaller. If I had just trapped the spirals in my head onto paper, I would have been able to give them a beginning and an end. I would have been able to burn them. 

All ifs and maybes in the world wouldn't prevent me in ending up there. There is no point in trying to figure out what could have been. 

The door bell rang again. A young woman entered the bistro. She was wearing a dark coat. Too dark. Her hair was red, partially hidden under a water-soaked black-rimmed hat. She looked like a 50's movie star who just stepped out of a classic gangster film. Her eyes were covered by the rim of her hat, but I could still feel them on me. Watching me. She moved closer, her steps so light, she almost looked like she was gliding. She stopped by my booth and, with a movement that almost fascinated me, took off her hat and slid into the booth to face me. 

She looked calm, a soft smile across her face. Her eyes so pale blue, her pupil almost grey. For a moment I thought she was blind, but then I felt her scanning me. Every single inch of me. My features, my hands, resting on the table, still holding the pen above my diary. She even scanned the words just written. 

"Glad to see you in one piece."

I stared at the figure before me. The coat - too dark for my eyes. I couldn't really focus on it. As if the darkness had depth.

"I'm sorry, who-"

"Oh, Mylah, don't fool yourself. You know me."

It took my brain to catch up. I had that feeling again. The feeling that something impossible was happening. The time slowed down and my mind had to work hard to focus on the ground beneath my feet. I felt unreal.

"Joe?" I asked, unsure and scared.

"Yes. Well - I thought about it, maybe we could come up with a different name for me, what do you think?"

"Wait.. so, you're real?"

"Depends on your definition of reality, sweetheart."

The waiter came up. Death smiled at him and ordered black coffee and a glazed donut.

"Don't you just love donuts? It's such an amazing invention. I truly do not know what kind of magic you must have created to make me love it so."

Death smiled a big smile at me. The ground beneath my feet felt more distant.

"Why do you look-"

"Oh this?" they lifted up their hands as if inspecting them for the first time. "This is Héléne. I picked her up about... 78 years ago? I really like her style."

"What do you mean, picked her up?" I felt fear slowly rising up my chest.

"Oh yes, I apologize. She died about 78 years ago."

"So...what? You're wearing a dead person?" I felt my voice break, my tone too loud. I didn't really care.

"I feel the word "wearing" is a bit too crass. I just.. borrowed her likeness if you will. I do not really have a form of my own, so I only borrow faces. Faces usually do come with a wardrobe and I simply can never resist a good fashion sense."

I felt speechless. My body was buzzing. I held onto the table, tried to push it's edges into my skin just to try and hold onto reality. I felt a strange wave of anger wash over me. I think they sensed it but didn't say anything.

The waiter brought Death's order. They thanked him and began to eat. I was just watching them. I was trying to focus on the person before, trying to identify wether the whole situation was real or not.

"You musn't be afraid of me Mylah."

"How do you know my name?"

They just looked up at me with a faint smugness in their smile and a nod to the side, basically saying, C'mon, do you really need to ask that?

I could feel myself begining to have trouble breathing. I was hyperventilating. I felt I needed to be gone, I need to be away. I quickly gathered all my things and ran outside into the rain. It was a relief, feeling the heavy drops hit my skin. I've always loved the rain. It made me feel alive. 

I turned a corner and began to run. I could already feel the heaviness of my drenched clothes. I felt like I was being pulled closer to the earth. I felt real again. A car horn sounded right in front of me as I was about to run across the street. I stopped, turned my head to the sky and closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by the water.

"You really should be more careful," someone whispered in my ear. I looked over my shoulder and saw Death, raising their long coat, it's skirt as if extending into a giant endless darkness, wrapping me in it. I felt safe.