The Life of Death #Wattys2016

End of Games

 Once inside, they roamed through black and brown hallways of gnarled wood, decorated with old and drab oil paintings, mainly of depressed farming couples and religious persecution, with the exception of one very out of place painting of a round-eyed kitten.

Barry's Adam's apple bobbed along his throat like he was trying to dislodge a hairball, if the hairball were the size of a prize winning sea bass. Inside Death's macabre abode roamed an endless sea of unsettling small men and women with pale white skin that looked as if it had been ironed for several centuries, then placed back on their owners by stretching the skin to its breaking point, sewing it up, and cutting off the extra bits. He wouldn't have found this quite so upsetting if they weren't all dressed in business casual. Demonic goblins with near translucent skin was one matter, but when coupled with a smart tie, or pumps and a black miniskirt—it was almost enough to break the mind.

"Who...what are these things?"

"These are the grunts," Madeline said, patting one of the passing creatures on the head, who looked like he might have snapped her fingers off if the action were performed by anyone else. "They are in charge of culling the masses."

"The masses?"

"The little people." This earned her a few glares and growls. She huffed. "I meant the unimportant people of the corporeal world. Not all of you."

The 'little people' returned to their duties of trafficking file folders and papers from one room to another, while Madeline returned to her own of dragging Barry along like a poodle unsuccessfully trying to resist its morning walk.

Madeline craned her neck back to Barry. "They take care of the normals—the ones who haven't achieved enough to warrant my attentions."

"And who is that exactly?"

"Kings and queens, presidents, assorted dignitaries and academics, and, though I don't agree with this, celebrities."

This made Barry perk up, if just a bit. "So I'm special?"

Madeline scoffed. "You? No. You were a mistake, and one that I think was intentional."

Barry slumped again while trying to work out Madeline's words in his head, but they refused to connect. "So you intentionally made a mistake?"

"You ask a lot of questions for a dead guy." She yanked the leash. "Shut up and keep moving."

The futile tug of war came to an end at the opening of a circular hallway. Planted firmly in the middle of the room—or hallway—was a room sealed off by a sturdy door of black oak and steel bars. Slivers of purple light gleamed from the edges as if it were trying to burst the door from its hinges. Barry could imagine the door being very amused by this, as if it said "An admirable attempt light, but I'm quite large and very solid, whereas you are just rays of nothingness, but good luck with that."

"What's in there?" Barry asked.

Madeline turned and, with an exaggerated smirk, dragged her extended thumb across her throat while emitting a guttural crackling sound.

Barry tried to gulp down the sea bass.

Madeline worked her fingers deftly through several iron locks near the door handle, then dragged one fingernail across a glowing rune in an intricate pattern that Barry likened to unlocking a smart phone.

The door lurched open with a groan, which, in Barry's mind, was a groan of resignation from the door at having to give up its amusing struggle against the violet light.

Around the room, a multitude of shelves dotted the walls to the ceiling like misplaced steps. Various bottles half or completely filled with liquids of colors he didn't even know existed lined each shelf to full capacity. Barry only noticed these features by working very hard not to notice the main event, which dominated eighty percent of the room at the center.

An in-ground cauldron, with no amenities like colorful umbrellas or a fun slide, swirled black liquid around its center in a windless maelstrom. The purple light that seeped through the door was almost blinding now as it spun around the surface of the pool, and several feet into the air, keeping an awful, but beautiful rhythm with the rushing black waters.

"So, do you have any final words before you go off to wherever?" Madeline asked, while inspecting her nails.

Barry almost burst into tears—almost. The finality of the situation—the absolute finality—had just now sunk in, but a small spark of the real Barry became a roaring inferno. "Last words?" He turned on his heel to face Madeline, and with his thumb and forefinger in crab claw formation, reached out and pinched the fleshier portion of Madeline's backside. "Yeah. Anybody ever tell you what a great body you have?"

A storm erupted in Madeline's face that made the whirlpool in the center of the room jealous. With a lightning flourish, she spun and brought the back end of her scythe around to crack Barry squarely on the bridge of his nose.

A gurgling bubble of noise escaped his lips and his feet wobbled underneath and shuffled toward the edge of the pool. Barry scrambled, grasping for something to break his fall. In a last bout of desperation he found the end of Madeline's scythe and grabbed hold, just lucky enough to avoid the pointy and slicy bits. With his feet perched precariously on the edge, the two were engaged in a new and different tug of war.

"Let go!" Madeline demanded.

Barry managed to smile through his enormous fear. "Nope, and something tells me you're not going to either." He pointed to Madeline's precious, and most likely irreplaceable weapon.

"Fine! Then I'll just have to make you let go." Madeline lifted her leg in the air, and with a similar grace used to wield her scythe moments ago, brought her heeled boot around toward Barry's midsection.

"Enough!" A different voice boomed throughout room, one so powerful that all other actions ceased.