short stories and other things

a man who wants to live, a man who can't die.

They make an unlikely duo: an immortal who wants to die, and a man who wants to live forever.

(wow! another story about your fav immortal mark tan)

+

1995.

"i just wish i could live forever, you know?" he said to me one night whilst walking down the street.

he was a friend of mine. i'd just recently met him, through a new job i'd picked up for the fun of it. a waiter at a high-class restaurant in san francisco because, well, why not? it was one of the few jobs i'd already had in my life. the last was in 1920, before the great depression and before the wars. i'd missed being a waiter.

my friend's name was walter. he was an aspiring business owner. why, he never told me. but there he was, an attractive man with a stanford education, walking down a lonely street because he had nothing to go home to.

"why?" i asked. "living forever probably isn't as cool as it seems."

"you don't know that," he answered, stomping out his cigarette.

i sniffed. "if you wanted to live forever, you wouldn't be smoking."

walter frowned. "it's just a bad habit."

"just sayin'."

we walked under a streetlight, the sound of violin music becoming louder and louder. we were approaching a main street, towards the beautiful chaos that was union square.

"if i lived forever, i'd stay here forever. sure, it's expensive, but hopefully i'd already have my own business," walter said.

i chuckled. "so, a life where you're immortal already comes with the luxury of being a business owner?"

"of course it does, mark."

i thought for a minute. "i don't think i'd want to live forever. in fact, i'd be lucky if i got shot in the head right here and now."

"what? don't talk like that."

"i'm not kidding," i answered, to which walter just shook his head.

i most definitely was not. i'd lived through extreme poverty and too many wars to count. i knew the universe hated me, yet somehow it always managed to keep me alive. it'd been too long. i just wanted it to end.

"well, you're not going to die. not on my watch."

i let out a sigh. "i wouldn't die anyway."

walter stopped and looked at me. "that sounded sketchy."

"what do you mean, sketchy? doesn't that mean, like, if you see a ten year old holding a cigar? that's sketchy."

"i don't know. anyway, what's life not have that you aren't satisfied with?"

i shrugged. "everything, i guess? i'm just too used to it."

my friend raised a brow. "you're not even thirty. it's not like you've seen everything there is to see in the world. when you think you're used to something, there's always something else to get yourself familiar with."

"nope. don't believe it for a second."

"that's what someone who's either severely depressed or immortal would say."

i suddenly got this burst of energy and excitement. i said, "well, i am immortal."

he tried to hold in his laughter. "yeah, and i'm a mermaid."

my hands fumbled around my pocket as i tried to pull out my wallet. i showed him pictures i'd collected of myself. one of me in a marines uniform from world war ii, one of me shaking hands with teddy roosevelt in 1901, and one of me in a newspaper in 1962. i looked the exact same in all of them.

"that could easily be a grandfather or great grandfather," william said, unimpressed. i decided against informing him that it would be highly unlikely that one of my great grandfathers could be twenty-nine in 1901.

i shook my head. "i swear."

walter pursed his lips. "nah. you're crazy if you think i'm going to believe you. the only way you prove it is if you stab yourself or something."

you might not understand it, and walter might not have understood it, but i just needed to tell someone and i needed them to understand. i knew he would. so i made the stupidest decision i'd ever made in my life.

"dude, come here," i said, and dragged walter into an alley. i flipped open a pocketknife i kept with me at all times.

"wow, a knife," walter said with faux surprise. "if you stab yourself right here right now, you're going to die and never wake up, mark. i'm going to send you to the loony bin."

i turned the knife towards my chest.

"okay mark, what the hell, man?"

i took a deep breath and i plunged it in.

"mark!" walter yelped.

"pull out the knife." he did. "f-five minutes. if i don't wake... if i don't wake u-up, you can leave. five minutes," i pleaded.

"five minutes," he said shakily.

that was the last thing i heard before i died.

+

i woke with a start. i was on the ground, my head in walter's lap.

"mark?" walter asked. "what the hell?"

"told you!" i yelled, sitting up and snapping my fingers like i had just drank ten cups of coffee. "this happens a lot. energy bursts after i die."

my friend just stared at me, stunned, as i propped myself up against the wall. "there's blood on your coat."

i rolled my eyes. "obviously. look." i opened my coat and lifted my shirt. a scar near my heart, just next to a circular scar from a bullet. "i'm all good."

"you.. you don't die."

"well, i die. i just come back after."

he blinked a couple times. "if you can't die, why do you want to?"

"living forever isn't as cool as you think it is, walt. it means constantly losing friends to old age, seeing the whole world and realizing there's nothing new to see, relocating every so often, trying not to raise suspicion. it sucks."

"it sucks because you have it. i want to live because i'm going to die. you want to die because you're just going to live."

i shrugged, and we both sat there for a minute. "oh hey. you can't tell anyone about this, alright?"

walter smirked. "i won't, but you have to buy me a beer and tell me all about your great immortal adventures."

"deal."

i put on my coat. we got up out of the alley as if nothing happened. i bought him a beer.

and that night, i never wanted to live so badly.