Death Angel

Chapter 2: The Choice

There are times in people’s lives when the very essence of who they are is challenged; times when they are forced to dig deep inside themselves to overcome the trials that they face. I remember the death of my father as being one of the most trying times in my life.

I was only fifteen at the time. I remember how much we used to talk as a little girl. My mother died giving birth to me, and Dad never remarried, so all we had was each other. I would cozy up to him onto the couch - I remember it was bright red, and I never let him hear the end of it, and just spend time with him. Come to think of it, that old couch was rather tacky, but Dad kept it around because he said it reminded him of Mom.

Even as I grew older, I would always come back to the couch and have a chat with Dad - he was such an amazing person. There was never anything that came between the two of us. I shared all my secrets with him. He was my world.

I remember when I was asked to deliver the eulogy. I dressed up in an elegant black dress, with a large satin bow in front. The shoulders were far too wide for someone my age, but the skirt went all the way down to just below my knees in wonderful frills, complementing my black stockings. My grandmother told me I looked beautiful despite the occasion. I’m not sure I really noticed back then, but it certainly stood out in my memory. 

It’s funny what we remember under such strange circumstances. I remember standing in front of everyone, ready to read out the speech I had prepared the night before. I couldn’t get past the first two sentences. I fled the service, running as fast as my legs would carry me, as the whispers grew louder. I didn’t  care much to speak to anyone, and I really just wanted to be with Dad. But such a thing was impossible now.

I realized back then that every person had the power to overcome their circumstances. They just needed to reach deep within themselves, to find the strength that they needed to keep going. 

Nothing in my nineteen years could have ever prepared me for my own death, however. Especially when it came so quickly. 

I now found myself staring right at this stranger, waiting for what felt like an eternity, staring at his eyes. His body seemed to disappear in that instant, his silhouette turned hazy and I wondered if my eyes were playing tricks on me.

“I am known by many names,” the stranger said softly. “Memitim, Samael, Azrael, Anubis, Thanatos, Santa Muerte.” The Shadow bowed again before me and smiled, his dark eyes were piercing. It was very uncomfortable to look into them.

“But I believe you’ll recognize me most as the Grim Reaper,” he said with another soft smile. And what blood I had left within me chilled as it suddenly dawned on me who it was who faced me in that moment.

“You’re Death,” I said looking straight at him now. I clenched my fists. I didn’t really know what to do. “So you’re here then, to take me to the afterlife?”

Death chuckled. “In a way, yes, Cherie. But there are, I should say, complicating factors in your particular situation.” He tipped his Fedora at me again, but the illusion was completely ruined now. He was no longer attractive or mysterious. I now felt a strange revulsion looking at him.

“What complicating factors?” I asked, curious now as well. I felt  the narrow alley we were in begin to close down upon me, the shadows growing ever taller. I was never claustrophobic, but here, in this dark corner no one knew about, I felt trapped, hemmed in. The weight of the realization that I was dead coupled by this strange encounter with a being no one ever wants to come into contact with, was too much for me.

“When it is time for someone to go, it is my responsibility to take them to the afterlife where they are judged,” said Death in a strangely monotone voice, then frowned. “But when someone goes before their time,” he said, as he motioned toward me to come closer. “There are certain things that must happen before you ascend to be judged.”