The Life of Death #Wattys2016

A Fate Worse Than Death

Returning after ten minutes absence, Death—the real Death, not the girl pretending to hold her father's position, paced the dark marble floors in front of a seated Madeline and Barry. His thin black hair bobbed from side to side with every foot beat. His face, both ancient and ageless, was creased with several emotions at once: confusion, concern, and pure anger being the dominant three.

Barry and Madeline hadn't spoken a word to each other since Death busted Madeline trying to dump Barry into the void without care.

Death stopped, stared at the two, raised a finger, opened his mouth and...resumed pacing. This routine repeated several times before he chose another course; resting his bottom atop his massive desk while continuing to stare.

Madeline barely noticed her father's false starts at a stern conversation.. Having been the subject of this routine on many occasions, she was not bothered by his stunted rage, choosing instead to peel chips of paint from her chair. Fifteen minutes of silence finally tested her limits and she decided to end the charade.

"I get it Dad. I shouldn't have...."

"Silence!"

For a brief moment, his thin, frail face adopted a mask of pure evil, and his voice was like nothing a human being shouldn't be able to make, which was acceptable since Death was no human being.

Barry jumped and squeaked at Death's proclamation. He was almost certain there was some ectoplasm in his ghostly boxer briefs. In an effort to avoid Death's gaze, his eyes fell on Madeline, who looked as if she were slapped hard on both sides of her face at once. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were screaming with fear. Perhaps this is a side of her father she'd never seen before. She noticed Barry's glance and resumed the graceful nonchalance she exuded since their first meeting. Being a moderately successful reality TV star, Barry knew forced when he saw it, and she was as guilty as anyone he'd ever seen.

Death took a deep, and what Barry believed was a completely unnecessary, breath before storming out and leaving the two of them in uncomfortable silence—not that any silence in the past few hours has been comfortable, or any moments at all to when it came down to it.

"So...you're not really Death, are you?"

The look she gave wouldn't just curdle milk, but scare it so much it would un-curdle itself just so it could curdle all over again.

"What do you think he'll do? He seemed pretty pissed off."

Madeline glances absently at the walls. "Not that it's any of your business, but I suspect he'll do nothing, which is what he usually does. He blusters and threatens, and that's usually the end of it, because he knows I'm right and that I'm not going to change my feelings on the matter or the way I conduct business."

"Oh. Lucky future dead people."

* * *

"You can't possibly be serious." Madeline slammed her scythe against the top her father's petrified mahogany desk.

He lounged behind the desk, his hands steepled, and his features unflinching as wood met wood with all the force his daughter could muster. "I am, if you'll pardon the pun, dead serious." Death's voice was calming and unwavering. He could see the pressure cookers in Madeline's eyes about to boil over. "Your temper tantrums are not going to get you out of this, nor will I deal with any of your hollow rationalizations. You say the way you operate is who you are and you're not changing? Well, I say you'll either change or you're finished."

"But this...." Madeline slumped into her chair under the weight of her father's resolve.

"This is your final opportunity for you to learn your lesson, and if this doesn't change you then—well—then I suppose you'll have to find something else to do with your eternity."

Barry wasn't sure why he was allowed to remain in the room. The most logical conclusion, and most likely the correct one, was they had forgotten he existed. And while he was okay with that, he would have preferred if they put him outside the room first. Instead, he was given a front row seat to the very uncomfortable stare down.

He watched the two—not because he wanted to, because he didn't—but because it was a train wreck you couldn't look away from because the train was intent on smashing you in the eyeballs. Death—the real Death—didn't flinch or modify his expression by an inch. Madeline, on the other hand, began with a pout, which looked quite odd on her. It was obviously a look she had little practice with. To Barry, she looked like a sad and cute puppy dog who accidentally had its face smashed with a brick. She soon gave up on that approach, which Barry was quite thankful for. Her eyes assumed that ice cold, steely look Barry was much more accustomed to. There were wheels turning in there, probably looking for a way out of this trap. Barry could only assume her brain came up empty-handed once her face changed again, though changed was probably the wrong word for it. Her face didn't just settle into a new look anymore than searing hot volcanic magma changed and settled. Her face twisted and contorted with the most volatile resignation Barry had ever seen. She knew she was trapped, and she was not happy—very, very, very not happy.

Madeline stood, and her eyes appeared to be trying to slice clean through her father's neck. She straightened her back, placed her scythe gently at the end of the desk, then screamed a scream that would give a banshee a heart attack before she stormed out.

Barry wanted to cover his ears and disappear into himself, but he was more concerned with staying invisible until Madeline was gone. Once the door slammed, he drummed up enough bravery to glance in Death's direction. Death fixed him with the same calm gaze he used on Madeline. "So...does this mean I can go now?" Barry really wished he hadn't said anything when he saw the corner of Death's mouth flicker and rise an inch into a devious smirk.

"You? Free to go? I'm afraid not, Mr. Kinkaid. I have...plans for you."

"I see." Barry glanced around the room until his eyes fixed on a silver serving set. "Do you having anything to drink around here? Hard stuff?"

Death raised his eyebrows and motioned towards the serving set. "Absinthe."

"Yes, please!"