In Another Life

She saw him standing there. He was saying something but she could not hear his voice over the loud music. She turned to face him and stumbled while doing so. She regained her balance and a cry tore her apart but there was nothing she could do now. She pointed at the sky and smiled. He looked up, too. But he could not get himself to smile. She brought the bottle to her lips, took a swig. His eyes widened. She turned around, her head swaying from the high. 'I'm sorry,' she mouthed. He was sobbing now. She jumped.

And that is where my job begins.

I

I've had this job for three hundred years now- Carrier of souls; savior of tormented hearts; A thief who steals lives. People have given me a lot of names over the years; some good, some bad, mostly bad. It comes with the job. People despise me; they hate me for the things that I do. But they'd miss me if I leave. I do not blame them for this - they're only human; Indecisive, insecure, selfish. They are scared to stand up for something that is not accepted by the majority. They are creatures run by the society, a society where standing out of the crowd is considered a taboo; an unforgiving place. I am not the Devil. I don't fry dead people, I do not drown them in lava and I do not whip them. I only show them what could have been, what they missed out on, what they left behind. I am Death.

I take the stairs this time. I want to give the girl a chance. I want to give the boy, hope. I am willing to give someone the time to save her before I place a kiss upon her cheek. I can hear the boy's thoughts in my head.

I could have saved her.

If she dies, so will I.

Oh God, save her.

Blood! So much blood. Why did she have to do this?

Whom am I kidding, it was my entire fault.

Three hundred years and I still cannot handle grief; Human grief. He kneels down beside her, desperately screaming for help. It is one in the morning. He dials a number on his phone, and speaks rapidly when the receiver picks up. The hospital, I think.

Baby, please don't die!

Get up! Get up and let me hold you!

Get up! Get up... get up, please!

An ambulance arrives and they try, but in vain to revive her. She has decided that she wants this to end; so young, so beautiful; a waste. The medic looks at her and tries one last time. One last try to get her heart beating again. He succeeds. They take her to the hospital, the boy with them. She has lost a lot of blood, they keep saying. The boy offers to donate his blood.

Anything, to save her.

II

'Who are you?' a meek voice asks. I turn around to see her standing behind me. She looks the same. But there is no blood and no alcohol reeking from her, too. So young, so beautiful. 'Me? I am your guide,' I answer. She gives me a puzzled look and asks, 'A guide? For what?' I smile. She does not smile back. 'I am your guide to the path your have chosen.' She nods. I see in her eyes a kind of acceptance I have never witnessed before. What I had feared has come true, I think. She does not want to be saved. 'My dear, you seldom get what you want,' I say and she looks at me blankly, not understanding what I'd just said.

It might be my job but I do not like it. I do not like it when young lovers are parted because of rebellious decisions, I do not like it when a child does not even open its eyes before I am forced to take it away and I do not like it when people lose all hope and decide to end themselves. What they do not realize is that what they'd been meaning to end was actually their past and not their own selves. But to them, death seems to be the only remedy. Believe me, I'm not.

She rubs her arms. It is cold. More so because she is half-dead. I let her deal with it. The perks of being dead. Plot twist - there are none. Being dead is like living in seclusion - nobody to talk to, nothing to do. An endless saga of lonely walks and talking to yourself. An isolated life. The only difference is that you're not alive.

Three hundred years and I've come across only seven people who have accepted their fate, begged for it even. One was only fifteen. It's sad how she didn't once cry. How she smiled when she saw me, instead of asking me who I was. Slit wrists - cause of death. Too many people try to end things by doing what she did. A handful succeed, others live on with their battle scars. She didn't. She didn't live and she was only happy that she didn't.

***

It was a warm June afternoon when he came into her room. He came in and touched her. Inappropriately. She froze right there. It was a nightmare, she thought, it has to be. She was eleven years old. And her father was sexually abusing her. She was old enough to know that it was wrong but young enough to think that it was a bad dream. She was living in two worlds and she wasn't sure which one was real. But soon clarity hit her. Hard. That was the day she lost herself to a halo. People hardly noticed but she was no longer herself. Life forced her to grow up. She hoped that death would bring her back. I tried my best. At thirteen, she put an end to it but it didn't really matter - the damage had been done. She started doing everything she wasn't supposed to be doing - including falling in love. She met him while buying cigarettes. The perfect way to meet. Soon they were almost always together - singing, crying, smoking. Cheesy quotes made sense now, romantic songs took over rock music and love defeated the hatred in them. She was still wounded but sometimes love alone was worth the fight. And then everything fell apart for her, again. I had to take him away. And so, at fourteen, she lost the little faith she had in hope. Just because humans are constantly breathing, they are said to be alive. But breathing as she was, alive she was not. She wrote her best-friend a letter and told him not to mind her farewell. As she neared me, she realized she needed to pen down her last words. Ah humans, these insecure creatures who feel answerable to everyone. 'IT ISN'T SUICIDE IF YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD INSIDE.' With her last words ready, she walked towards me slowly. She was smiling.

III

Babies are the easiest to take away; they don't love life yet. It's the teenagers that break my heart. There are so many possibilities, so many dreams waiting to come true. Yet circumstances make them so brave yet so vulnerable that they crack. Not yet grown up, no more kids, life is hard for some of them. Like my fifteen year old girl. 'Can I meet him?' she asked me when I'd gotten over the shock of seeing her smile. I could sense her impatience but she'd waited for so long... a little longer wouldn't kill her. Don't mind the joke. I get lonely. I walked her through the life she would have had but she didn't care at all.

He was her safehouse and with him gone, there was danger lurking everywhere. He was her rock. She never told me this - I read their thoughts. They were both yearning for each other's company; the only thing that was keeping them was that they didn't live in the same world anymore. And then one day when she'd had enough, she decided to get rid of the distance. She was living on the wrong side of the tracks and she decided to cross over and get him back again. She did have other reasons. Her father, for one. She told me what it was like to be her when I had finally confessed to having read her mind. You never see yourself for who you really are. I'm telling you, she was pretty smart for a fifteen-year-old human. I've taken away people four times her age with only half her wit. I asked her if she was sure about her decision of giving up on life. I asked in vain, for I already knew the answer.

Somewhere in a hospital's ICU, the boy watched on helplessly as the girl succumbed to me.

It's my job and I'm not sure I like it.