A Wonderful Day Cruelly Kippered

It's a short story so there's only one part you fool

Sam woke with a startle, eyes blurry and mostly closed. Lazily rubbing his eyes he stretched and gave out a terrific yawn. His head slowly slid to a side, gazing emptily at a clock. It was 2 AM, far too early to get up. He sank back down into the living room sofa, started to calmly drift off into sleep when something cold and slimy met his hand.

He recoiled, pulling up in disgust. On the coffee table was a small plate with some fish bones and rotting meat smudged on it. Some faint memory returned to him of having a rather revolting kipper for tea. He sighed and tried to forget the kipper, but now the vile smell of decaying fish hung over him like a cloud.

With an angry puff he heaved up, grabbed the plate and stumbled into the kitchen. He threw the plate into the sink, a satisfying CRUNCH filling his ears. His mouth curled into a faint grin and he walloped over the back of the sofa and once again sunk into the warm depths.

Hold on. What was that.

The smell of rotting flesh flooded back and he spluttered, cursing loudly as he rolled off the sofa. Angrily he grabbed the side of the small coffee table and pulled himself up to view its contents. There was no kipper in sight, only a small post stick note. Focusing his blurry eyes he vaguely made out the words "Come outside".

He laughed and turned away, crawling back up the sofa and already starting to drift into sleep-until he saw a body lying on his sofa. He yelped and fell back, bringing down the coffee table with his flailing arms. He peeked up from behind the felled table. The corpse was still there.

Fearfully he rose, half expecting the cadaver to leap up and grab him. But there it lay, pale and drooling, something orange coloured smeared over the sofa. He made a sour face.

"Ugh, kipper"

Ever so slowly he reached out an arm, fingers twitching slightly. Cursing under his breath he pushed forward and poked the body. No reaction. He poked again. Nothing. He gave a gentle shove and frowned. He knew this person. He looked up, confusion spilling into his foggy mind. How did this guy get into his house?

He noticed a bulge in the man's pockets. He carefully slid his hand in, snagged something and withdrew. A flimsy black wallet hung before him. He opened it and flipped through the cards, before noticing something. All of the cards had his name. Some had his photo. There was even the same amount of loose change in the pocket as there had been in his earlier. Why, it was his wallet! So why did this guy have it?

He looked down again, thoroughly confused. The man did look quite familiar. Very familiar in fact. He also seemed to be wearing the same clothes as him.

The penny dropped.

He wailed and jumped away knocking his head on the mantelpiece. It was him! He was dead! Lying there! Dead! Him! But how? He was here!

He looked down in panic and realised he didn't seem to be all there. He could see the floor through his shoes.

Oh god, he was a ghost!

He wailed again and tripped, falling face first to the floor. He heard a crinkle of paper and his eyes split open. The post stick note lay before him.

"Come outside"

He picked up the note and stuffed it in his pocket. Queasily he wobbled forward and opened the blinds. A dark hooded figure was sitting on the garden wall. He gasped.

Without turning his head, the figure raised his hand and waved to him. Sam waved back, realising the hand was composed entirely of bones. The hand beckoned. He made his way to the front door, wrapped a scarf around his neck and went out. He walked over and the strong stench of alcohol hit him harder than a speeding car. He leaned back onto the garden wall and for a moment and both figures sat, motionless. Then Sam spoke up.

"Are you-"

"Death. Yes, I am Death."

"Ah" Sam glumly muttered. "So, am I dead?"

"That's a liable possibility. Alternatively you're hallucinating after some dodgy kipper."

"Ruddy kippers"

Death snorted, which confused Sam as Death had no nose.

"So, uh, how are things?"

"They've been better. I'm going through a mental "rough patch"".

"Eh?"

"I was doing the rounds earlier, you know, and I just thought why? What is my life? My mind is eternal, I know everything that has, is and will happen, I have incredible amounts of power, I can literally do anything . So why aren't I happy?"

"Uh..."

"Oh, I shouldn't expect a mortal to understand. No offence but, what I mean is, with all of this power and ability to do great things, for some reason I can't. Not out of weakness or disability, I just physically can't. I can't disown my duty. Without me the entire universe would fall into havoc. But why? What am I but a skeleton with a scythe?"

Death turned and gazed at Sam with his ancient skeletal face, his skull bringing a new meaning to "bone white" He drew an ice-cold bottle of beer from his robes and cracked open the cap on a rib, before throwing back his head and pouring the contents between his stiff white teeth. The liquid flowed straight through him, soaking his musty black robes.

"How do you humans possibly recover from such mental travesties?"

"Eh, buy stuff?"

"What would I want?"

"New scythe?"

"I'm sick of scythes. I want something new, like a.. a..."

"A chainsaw?"

"A chainsaw? The spinny- electric ones?"

"Yeah. I think a chainsaw would quite suite you."

"That could work... It would need charging though."

"You're Death, you'll think of something."

Death shifted to face forward, and they once again sat in silence, Death contemplating the idea of a big fancy chainsaw. Suddenly he reached into his robes and bought out another icy bottle, holding it forward.

"You seem alright Sam. Pleasure to meet you."

"As it is you." Sam beamed and drank, the freezing beverage strangely warming his insides.

You don't meet many good people these days- oh dear."

Death brought out a plump sand timer and tapped one bony finger on the glass. A name suddenly began etching itself onto the glass while sand filled the timer.

"If there isn't much sand in the top of the timer then the currently displayed person is close to dying, and I must go and find them. I used to have thousands of individual timers, but now I just have one multi-purpose one."

At this the name and sand faded away, and Death stuffed the sand timer back in his pocket.

"Goodbye Sam. I hope we meet again."

Sam began to speak when Death drew his dark and sickening scythe and without warning swung it forward. Sam began to scream, but the scythe went straight through him. He looked at Death confusedly but only got a friendly wave in return. In turn Sam raised his hand, only to realise it was a lot less, well- there. His hand was fading, and looking down he realised he was fading.

"What are you doing!?" Sam exclaimed

"Oh don't worry, you're going to that place, eh, what's it called..."

"Heaven?"

"That's it. Probably."

Sam gave out an excited "Ohh!" and then dissipated. Sighing, Death rose from the wall and began walking down the road. He should probably go and see to that other one that was dying. Alternatively he could go and find a chainsaw.

"Chainsaw it is."