Death Becomes Us

Chapter One

A web of city lights spreads out thousands of feet below, the top of the Burj Khalifa offering an unhindered view of Dubai. I can see it for all it's worth; the life it breathes into the world, the people it nourishes...and I think of how I cannot be a part of it. The dry fingers of a desert wind beckon for me to cross over the balcony ledge into nothing, but I ignore its invitation for the moment, taking my time to contemplate the inevitable future that awaits me. There is a darkness that will soon ensnare me in its arms and, with it, an end to my existence.

A part of me fears this end, but another, larger part of me wonders what would happen if I accept it. Would it hurt to die? Probably. Would it be worth embracing it in order to shed the burdens of this world? The tiniest, darkest voice of my thoughts whispers, 'yes'.

I watch the lights of Dubai in the velvet night. The city shines with vibrant hues of blue and gold, green and purple; tiny, yellow pinpricks of head lights moving along the network of streets like little ants. Towers boasting of elegant curves and sharp edges strain themselves around me, trying and failing to reach my height. To my right stretches the Persian Gulf and if I stare long enough to my left I can imagine seeing the Gulf of Oman over miles of undulating sand dunes.

A cold rush of emptiness overtakes me and I absently remove a golden pocket watch from my vest. It is a very unique watch, one that I am very fond of because it is one of the only things that were ever given to me before...before my world was lost to isolation and fear. I try not to think of the time before, not that there is much I can remember.

I close my eyes against the gold designs on the watch's case and listen for a moment. It is faint at first, but gradually I hear the ticking of billions of clocks turning at varying speeds. Their sound grows louder the longer I listen and I wonder how I can be the only one to hear it.

I'm not crazy. I can't be crazy, but they can't hear it. No one else can hear what I hear, the tick, tick, tick of life draining from the world around us. Why can't they hear it running out?

I hear one ticking clock begin to slow now and my eyes snap open. I open the timepiece and give it a quick glance. This is it. I can no longer ignore what I came here for. The time has come.

I grip my watch close and lift my face to the far away heavens. The moon is out tonight, its white face bulbous in the dark sky. Again the wind beckons and I step onto the balcony rail, no longer able to ignore its invitation. I teeter slightly, gazing down at the open city and feeling the soles of my shoes slip on the rail's plaster.

There is no one to see me, no one to catch and stop me, but that is no different than the rest of my life. I smile and chuckle to myself, noting a bit of hysteria in the sound of my voice; I've never done this before. My arms are stretched out to either side now for balance, but it does me no good as I lean far out over the ledge. I fall from the rail.

The wind flaps in my ears, no longer gentle and inviting, but frantic as it surrounds me with its wailing. I look up and watch the balcony rail shrink at an alarming rate, gravity yanking me away from its reach. A sweep of wind catches me beneath my outstretched arms, throwing me about, and I level with the surrounding skyscrapers where I can now hear the sounds of the city. Car horns blare from the streets, music from clubs on corners mixing with the chatter of pedestrians crowding the sidewalks and night markets.

I pretend that I am not falling to a world that will eventually crush me, that I am in fact flying and I crow madly into the night. Only a couple hundred yards separate me from the ground now.

"Come on!" I shout.

Time slows and I hit the cement.

Fragments of the world are thrown upward, glistening shards of splintered reality as the ground shatters beneath me. A howling vortex of time and space spreads from the jagged edges of a fragmented world and I close my eyes as I fall through the opened gateway. The ticking returns, louder and growing, ever growing until it consumes me. It beats in my hollow chest, filling the cavity in my midsection whether I want it to or not.

There is a sharp tug in my chest and I open my eyes; Jumeirah Public Beach appears, wavering like a mirage. I don't wait for the world to settle, crossing over the white sands to where the ocean laps towards the city. A man stands about fifty feet from the waters, his corkscrewed hair like a white beacon in the night. My watch assumes a sapphire glow the closer I come to the man.

It has been fifty three years since you came to this Earth, Kadeen, and now I have come for you.

The three legs of an easel are planted into the sand before the old man, a fisherman's box reconstructed into a painter's supply chest sitting to the side. Drawing closer, I inspect the long canvas he is painting. It is the shadowy form of a boat sailing beneath an angry night sky, pitching forward in a storm that doesn't exist. It's great, silvery sails billow before a wind and grey waves slap at its oak sides.

I compare the picture to the relatively calm Gulf waters, picking out the exact position of where Kadeen imagined the magnificent vessel. Cumulous clouds sit above the horizon, their windblown figures taking on the form of a pitching ship.

The man shivers when I pass close to him, his frayed brush pausing over the foaming peak of a wave. He looks around himself once, his eyes sliding over where I stand, and then back to his painting. Muttering a prayer beneath his breath, he finishes his wave and selects a narrow brush to paint his initials in the bottom right corner.

Heavy wrinkles creases his face as Kadeen slowly smiles at his work and I sling an arm around his shoulders. The shell falls over to its side, clutching its chest with a groan. Kadeen Abadi stares blankly ahead, his shoulders stiff beneath my touch and his expression frozen in shock. After a moment he blinks slowly and appraises me with apprehension before staggering away.

"Who are you?" he questions hoarsely.

"My name is James," I reply, but it is clear that he doesn't accept this.

He knows who I am, intuition conjuring up images of a skeleton in a black cloak, carrying a scythe. They all know who I am when I come for them.

"I am the master of Death," I tell him. "And it's time to go."

Kadeen does not relax when I finally admit who I am and his eyes grow round with fear. Fear, the very sight of it in the old man would taste sour in my mouth—that is, if I had taste buds to taste it with.

"No," he whispers. "No, it's not my time."

"I hear you, Kad," I say. "Trust me, I do, but you can't exactly decide when it's your time."

He turns to run only to find that the world he once knew is dissolving around us. The sand remains beneath our feet, but now we are surrounded by marble pillars and a white void. It is the Departure Platform, the place where I leave my collected souls before returning to Earth.

The old man takes in the platform with a blank expression, turning around in dazed circles.

"Is this it?" he asks.

"For me it is," I say. "Just wait."

It doesn't take long and it begins at his sandaled feet, his body becoming transparent and then disappearing altogether. Kadeen panics, flapping his hands down his torso as if he could stop it from vanishing. He looks up with wide eyes and I wiggle my fingers in a mocking farewell before turning away.

"Wait!" he cries after me. "Where am I go—?"

"I don't know," I say to the recently deserted platform. "It doesn't really involve me."

I set my pocket watch to fracture back to Earth for my next appointment. Closing my eyes I step into the splintering gateway and careen through howling space, listening to the drums of ticking clocks throughout the world. The vortex screams around me, but I resist the urge to open my eyes, knowing that doing so will cause the most pain I have ever felt as an eternal creature of darkness.

One of the ticking clocks slow and I open my eyes. Her time is coming.