Death and His Old Friend

He was an old friend, you see. It had been such a long time since I was in his presence, the familiar scent comforting in a world where so little was pleasurable. Now, I had only met him twice before. It was during those times that I, the naive girl that I was, failed to understand the implication of the man being there. Either way, he became an acquaintance, a friend if I dared to label him as such. Even with it being only twice we met, it had been memorable enough to last a lifetime of separation.

I could remember it as though it was yesterday, the day of which I first met him. My parents had become deathly ill, their time here slipping away like sand through an hourglass. As the last grain of their dark sand had fallen, a towering figure had walked in. When the figure had come into my youthful sight, I made out a lithe man with sunken eyes, ghastly pale skin, and charcoal hair. The man's path was set towards my parents, his mysterious eyes gleaming in the dark as he approached them, his footsteps silent and unheard in the dark of the night.

Making his way to my parents, the man seemed not to have seen me hidden in the corner, sobbing into my petite hands. It was a mistaken thought, I realized, as I soon felt myself being embraced by chilled arms. Closing my eyes while tears continued to leak from them, I relaxed into the silent embrace and slowly calmed my heart. Bringing my head up to look into the eyes of my comforter, I saw the dark eyes of the angelic-like man. With a sad smile, the man hoisted me off the ground with surprising ease for one with such thin arms.

My young self, as I recall, looked sadly to her parents, the man seeing this and looking around for something unknown to me. Watching the strange man, I had watched him search and search until he finally found my father's violin. Taking it upon his shoulder, the pale man started playing a lively tune, fast and joyful. Soon, I was engulfed in the sweet melody, calm and glad at the same time. With a renewed sense of happiness, a smile had crept onto my face.

At the end of the song, the quiet man carefully placed the violin back in its case despite my pouting protests. With naive eyes, I had watched as the man gave a small wave to me while walking away just as serenely as he had come here. Waving back to the kind man, I hoped to see him again, remembering him throughout all the years until out next encounter to be my friend.

As fate would have it, that had been many years ago, when I was just seven. Growing to become the wife of my now-late husband, my old friend had faded into the background of my life-a slowly fading memory.

Many years later, it would seem, that God deemed it time for a reunion of past friends and dusty memories. Over time, as the trees grew and died in an endless cycle, it came time for my husband's cycle to come to an end as well. Myself sitting by the bed my husband lay dying in, I watched over him during the cold winter nights.

One late night, the end was more near than any other for my loving husband. Seeing his breaths become more ragged, tears slid down my cheeks and my eyes closed as I realized that this was the last night I would ever see my husband alive.

As I came to this knowledge, I felt a hand, cold as ice, reach for my face and wipe away the salty tears. Opening my eyes, I saw the man from many years ago, my friend who had become a distant memory. With his reassuring aura, I was comforted in knowing that I wasn't alone. Watching intently as my friend made my late husband more comfortable, a sad smile crept onto my face as memories of my parents came to mind.

Now, with the wisdom of age to guide me, I looked to my friend. After he was finished with my late husband, his head turned towards my shivering form. Upon seeing me, there was a light of recognition in my friends' eyes. Turning himself towards me completely, my friend swiftly moved across the wooden floor, the usually creaking floor without a sound as he glided across it.

Simmering coals met with weariness as his eyes met my own, myself just then realizing how much I had changed since he had last laid eyes on me. Seeing my tears, of which appeared to be present each time he saw me, my friend wiped them away with his hand, smiling once my care was clear of them. Looking to see that it was almost midnight, my friend started to walk away once again.

Seeing him walk away again, I took it upon myself to regain a sense of comfort. Beginning the hum of the song which played within my head whenever I was down, I hadn't noticed my friend halt at the door, his hand on the knob and his head tilting in my direction. Continuing my humming, I was lost in my own world, unknowing of reality in that single moment of time. As my hummed melody continued, I was surprised when another voice jumped in alongside my own- the voice of a violins tune.

Looking towards the sound while continuing my own, I saw my friend playing a violin. It was the violin of my father that had been in the foyer, the same violin he had played those many nights ago. My friend was grinning like a fool, with a bounce in his playing, as he watched me hum the melody he accompanied. With a sudden realization, I recalled that this was the same piece he had played for me before, the tune he had played for the little child who had lost her parents.

Standing up from my seat, my friend and I continued out little duet as we began a dance. Walking around each other, then stepping back and forth, we lightly danced to our song. On a crescendo up, we played our hearts and, soon, we were in our own world. A grin formed on my face as I danced and hummed with my friend, embracing the lively atmosphere he brought forth to me.

As our song came to an end, so did out little jubilee. Bowing to each other, like normal for partners of a dance, we each laughed at our joyful reunion. Seeing the time to be much after midnight, my friend was about to wave and leave just as before, only for me to stop him this time. Taking his hand in mine, my friend looked to me with a question stirring in his gaze. Softly, as I looked into his eyes, I spoke a question of curiosity, a curiosity that had been developing for since the night we had first met. I had asked for but one thing; a name.

For years I had known this man, referred to him as a friend even, all without knowing a name. Names had meaning, thus without knowing his name it felt as though I didn't fully know him. My friend took his time, his precious time, to answer my inquiry. After those moments of deathly silence, he replied in a whisper so low that it could have been lost in a breeze, Macabre.

With my curiosity satisfied, I embrace my friend, Macabre, before he left. Then, with a wave, he was once again gone. That was only a few years ago, you see, only a few year ago that I learned the name of my old friend. Even so, that didn't make him any less of a friend, it was just something that made us closer.

Now, you may ask how I know that Macabre is to visit me now. The answer is simple, truly. Feeling his aura surround me, just as it had during my parents and late-husbands' deaths, I felt a sense that he was coming. Feeling my old bones creak, my sore back ache, and my sight failing, it was inevitable for my friend to visit me one last time.

Knowing this, I slowly inched towards the room of my daughter, peaking in to see her fast asleep and so peaceful next to her husband. Creeping towards her, I used my cane for support and stopped next to the bed. Bending down despite the pain, I placed a soft kiss against her temple. With a sad smile, I slowly made my way out of the room and towards where my grandchildren slept. Slipping in, I made my way to my two grandchildren and patted each on their shoulder. Sighing, I left that room as well and made my way to the foyer and took a seat in the rocking chair. Closing my eyes with a smile, I awaited my friend.

Then, there was a gentle knock at the door as it silently slid open, "Hello, old friend."