Running From Fate

Time’s lips pulled up into a smirk she directed to Death. “Stop fooling around. Do as you were taught,” she said, indicating to the end of the man’s life.

Death released his grip of the bloody, beaten man. "Taught to do what? Killing people is an art, Time. Not a fool’s play. You of all people should know that."
The condensing smirk evaporated from her face. "Are you implying that I kill people?"
"I am not implying. I am saying." Death said, mocking her use of words and accent.
"Time does not kill people. Death does. Time withers, ages, and heals, you fool!" Time barked out at him, very defensively.
"You make me laugh." Death paused, and then uncertainly continued. "Was this our choice, Time? Do we remember our names, our families, feelings other than hatred?"
Time's face softened despite herself. Yes, you do feel other emotions. You have just forgotten. She thought, but did not say. "Of course it wasn't our choice. It was Fate's." She purposely evaded the other question.
Death let out a deep, guttural, mocking laugh. "Fate, the bitch that did this to us, our queen. Do you know how it feels to take innocent baby lives? Kind people who were murdered? It's sick!" Death was a hair width away from hysteria.
Time froze. "Do not disregard Fate. She'll strike us down."
"Then let her!" Death interrupted.
Time continued, but fixed him with a glare. "I do not know how it feels, nor do I want to." She paused. "You are quite contradicting. You just said how killing was an art. Then you say it's sick."
"That's exactly it!" He screeched. It's my art and I don't want it!"
Time's perfect lips pulled into a frown. "You'll grow used to it.. Over time. With that she walked away, Death's angry words playing over and over in her head.


Time knocked on the huge, elaborate doors.
"Who goes there?" A booming voice said, coming from inside the room.
"It is I, Time, and I wish to see Fate. It is urgent."
"Password," the voice demanded.
"May Love be the light, Death be the night, Hate take the bait, and Balance weigh the gate." The saying was extremely old. It was made by Fate. Very few humans have heard it, but only Time and her companions know it to be a password.
There was an audible click and the huge doors swung open, revealing a betrothed old lady upon a throne, Fate.
Time walked in, head bowed. "Milady, I have come to see you." She curtsied, gracing Fate.
"Time it is a pleasure to see you as always. But I have told you once, as not a thousand times before, to treat me like a friend. Not a queen."
"Of course, Fate," Time smiled.
"Why do I have the pleasure of your presence this evening?"
"It is about Death." Time stated blankly.
"Has he found out?"
"No he hasn't." Fate raised her eyebrows. "It’s not about that." Time said.
"Oh? Then what is about him now? What about the rebel soul?"
Time re-laid the previous conversation to Fate, leaving out the part where he had cursed Fate.
After a silent moment, Fate spoke. "Ah, I see. His heart is filled with much hate and pain, I know this. So now child, why did you come here and remind me if his tragic story?"
Time winced. "I have come to beg of you to relieve Death of his station."
Fate eyed her, "Do you know that if he is relieved from being Death, it will kill him. For good this time."
"I am aware. But he is in so much pain still and it hurts me to see. I also ask that you to tell him of his past before he departs. So he'll die knowing."
Fate raised a quizzical eyebrow. "So you'll take away Death's pain but not yours?"
"I'll live." Time told her surely.
"You still love him." It wasn't a question.
"I suppose. I told myself over and over to stop, but it seems I cannot."
"Understandable." Fate told her, even though she didn't understand.
"I will fulfill your request. I expect both of you to be here at midnight."
Time nodded, briskly exiting the room.
"It's always Time and Death that are cursed." Fate breathed to the empty air

Death held his curved and deadly beautiful scythe in his hands.
Stupid Time and her useless needling, God, she drives me crazy, Death thought bitterly.
He sighed and grabbed a cloth from the counter, removing the blood from the scythe.
Innocent blood.
Death shook his head and hooked his weapon over his shoulder. Dressed in traditional black clothes with his stereotypical cloak over it, he headed his way to the training room to train for countless more hours.
"Sir Death!"  A chirpy voice called. "Sir Death!  I have a message for you from Fate." The voice belonged to the royal messenger, Travel.
Death stopped mid-swing and wiped sweat from his brow. "What is it Travel? Another tea party? I told her, I'm not going to another one. Not since Mind poured tea down my front."
"No sir, it is not that. Fate wishes to see you at midnight. That is all." Then with a sweeping bow, Travel took his leave.

Death knocked on the all too familiar doors.
"Who goes there?" The programmed voice demanded.
"Death," was his reply, he disliked being formal.
"Password," it wasn't a question.
"May Love be the light, Death be the night, Hate take the bait, and Balance weigh the gate."
The doors clicked open showing Fate sitting in her throne as always. Death couldn't keep the hatred from his face. Just as he was going to say something spiteful to her, Tome jogged up to the throne, standing by him.
"My apologies for being late," Time stated. "I fell asleep."
The last part caught Death off guard. He had never heard Time say something so.. mundane. Nor has he never seen her not grace Fate. She looked restless.
"You are forgiven Time. Shall you tell him or I?"
Time still didn't look up. Death noticed her fingering the ring on the chain which was around her neck. She never took the necklace off.
Hey, that ring looks oddly familiar...
Time grimaced. "Could you? If you don't mind?"
"Tell me what?" Death demanded, feeling much like a child left out of an adult conversation.
Fate looked directly at Death. "If you wish, I will release you from uour position as Death. I will tell you what you wish to know about your past before this. You will like that, correct?"
"After you release me from being Death, I would just leave? Continue my life as it was before?" Death was happy although he had no idea about his past. Just the thought of leaving this sobered him.
"No," it was Time. The grief that was apparent in her voice was almost unbearable to listen to. "Time has passed since then. Many, many years, perhaps a millennia, perchance ninety years. For being immortal time doesn't matter. But even though you wish to, you can't go back. You go where every mundane goes where they die, the afterlife."
Death's short happiness was popped like a balloon. "Of course, I shouldn't have thought there wouldn't have been a catch. Silly me."
Time flinched as if he had struck her. "I thought you would like that. To leave this… place. You would like that wouldn't you?"
Death mulled this over a bit. "Yes.. I suppose I would. But why are you doing this for me?" That wasn't the only question Death had. He wanted to ask Time why she wasn't speaking in her irritating proper way and why had she suddenly lost her old English lilt?
This time it was Fate who spoke. "You, like all the others, are like children to me. It pains me to see you hurt. You may hate me, Death. But I am not an ill intending soul. Now would you like yto know about your past?"
"Yes."
It was obvious that Time was now holding back tears.
"Your name is John Anderson. You had a beautiful wife named Diana and two lovely children, a boy and a girl. You had a good high paying job and many loyal friends. You were the highlight of every party and the highlight of Diana's and the children's every day. People felt attracted to you because you had a good natured personality and a sense of humor.
"When your daughter turned six years old, and son tow, Diana got killed in a bank robbery. You became sullen and unreachable. You got fired from your job, lost many good friends, and became short tempered with your kids. You then started coming home drunk every night. Your daughter was eight years old when she and her four year old brother found you dead, with a pool of blood by your head."
All the memories started to wash over John in fast, jagged, overwhelming waves. "How long ago was this?" He managed to utter out, voice cracking with emotions.
"Ninety years ago," Fate said sympathetically.
"My children..." John could hear the screams as they discovered him dead.
He remembered the way Diana smiled brightly up at him. He remembered all the laughter, tears, and kisses they shared together. All the memories of his past whirled fast in his mind.
I threw it all away when Diana died. "Did my children lead a good life?"
"Yes, they did."
"Dad! Dad no! Please come back. Please wake up! We love you, daddy, please!" Eight year old Jaqceline screamed in between sobs. She dragged her four year old brother, Daniel, away from the crime scene into the kitchen to dial 911.
John clutched his head, finally allowing himself to cry. Everything was still so vivid in his thoughts.
Time, who was crying during the whole thing behind John, went up to him and enfolded him into a hug. "I-I'm so sorry." she stuttered, tears making her face glisten. "The kids will always love you." She somehow smiled through the tears. “I was recruited here two years before you. I adapted old English and the accent quickly. We've changed a lot. The only thing that hasn't changed was that I never stopped loving you." Time grabbed the ring necklace she wore and showed it to John.
That's when John knew.
It was Diana's wedding ring. Time was Diana. Diana was Time. His wife. It was obvious now.
"I love you." he told her. The most sincere thing he's said since being Death.
"I love you too. Goodbye John."
Then everything faded to black. The last thing John was Diana's face. Smiling and crying.

John Anderson My Jo
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like a raven,
Your belding brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw,
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo!

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And monie a cantie day, John,
We had wi' ane anither
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo!
~Robert Burns