O Death

1 - Who Am I?

What are you doing? You, reading this? Are you sitting inside your car, on your phone? Maybe curled up on a couch, or in bed. But you’re comfortable. You’re safe, you’re happy. You are not fearing for your life. Over 7 billion of you on earth, going about your daily lives. Did you know every 12 seconds, someone dies? Every 8 seconds, a human being is born. 4 seconds is the difference between the human race’s population exploding, and slowly dying out. Now. Where do I come into the picture, you’re asking. Why did I even ask about you? I’m in charge of those 12 seconds.

The Grim Reaper. He Who Rides a Pale Horse. The Angel of Death. Or, my most universal name... Death. Just to keep it simple. I’m everywhere. Your media is obsessed with me. Magazines and Hollywood have spun so many stories about me I can barely keep up. It’s curious, really. How every second, even in the seconds you’re reading this, your life is ending. Tick, tock. Getting closer and closer to the day I’ll come to visit you. And the scary part? You have no idea when I’ll come knocking. I don’t even know. Yes, you heard me right. I just read the List. My duty is not decide when you die, no. Common misconception, don’t worry about it. My duty is to make sure lives end when they are supposed to. Everyone is given a set amount of time on this world, I’m just the one in charge of making sure everything keeps running... smoothly.

And you hate me for it. You loathe me, you’re terrified of me, and for the life of me, no pun intended, I cannot figure out why. I don’t write the List, my friends. I just read it. Death is a part of life, there is no need to be afraid of it. The majority of you? Will more than likely be visited by me in your sleep, or on a hospital bed in your old age, after you’ve lived long, full lives. Some of you, I’ll meet in a car accident, a plane crash, a bout with a disease. I can’t control where I meet you. You curse me for taking children from you, your grandparents or parents brothers and sisters, your lover. If I could feel remorse, dear mortals, I would. Believe me. But I don’t. I’m merely reading the List. And you know, honestly? I’m not that terrible of a fellow.

I read, in my spare time. Sightsee. Earth is a beautiful place, you know. And it confuses me to why so many of you choose to not go out and see the wonders there are. I’m coming for you eventually, you might as well make the time before than interesting. As to what I look like... I’m going to tell you right now. No, I am not a skeleton And no, I don’t have a scythe. It’s bulky and a pain to haul around all the time. My looks depend on what I’m feeling. Most of the time, I’m around middle aged. 40-ish. Yes, it’s cliche, but the black suit brings out my eyes. I think. It doesn’t really matter what I look like, anyhow. You’ll find out when the time comes. And I doubt you’ll want to sit and chat about my looks. You tend to ask a lot of questions, when I find you. Most of the time, you’re standing there looking lost, gazing down at what used to be your body. You’re confused, and I don’t blame you. Occasionally I’ll get lucky and find someone who is ready to go. Calm. Rarely, however. Sometimes you’re hysterical, especially if your body was badly mangled. Sometimes, my methods are messy. Ever seen any of the Final Destination films?

Don’t give me that look. I’m being honest.

You almost always panic when I walk in. You’re demanding, you want to know what’s going on, ask if you’re dreaming. And so, I go on, and I gently explain what’s happened, if I feel that you deserve a gentle explanation. Chances are, if I made you fall in a woodchipper? I’m not feeling that friendly towards you.

You tend to cry, then. After I’ve explained. Ask for second chances, try and make deals... and sometimes, I wish I could give you back. Sometimes I wonder why it was your time, but all I can do is read the List. Occasionally, you get what’s... sort of a typo, I guess. A mistake on the List. You’re gone, you’re with me, and then suddenly everything is chaos, and I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, and it’s noisy and violent, and all the sudden you’re back in your body and surprise! You’re alive! It happens a lot in hospitals, nowadays. Revivals. And then people go off and do their interviews, their 15 minutes of fame, about how they saw the light, sometimes how they saw a person. (Me!) And I move on, to the next name.

You stun me. You amaze me. You... your ability to love, to cling so firmly to life even when I’m standing right there is baffling. Human beings are my favorite species on Earth. I handle all the other deaths, too, you know. From bumblebees to wildebeest. Death is death, no matter who or what you are. But humans... humans are incredible. You feel to such an extent it blows my mind. I have seen human’s give up their lives, the most precious thing you have, for others. Strangers. Sometimes, when you and I are standing there, looking down at your old body, I ask questions. Because sometimes Fate intervenes with the List. I don’t make a soldier throw his body down over a grenade to save his companions, or a man push a child out of the way of a bus. That is when I’m the one asking questions.

But look at me, I’m rambling. And I’ve much to do, yet. I’ll be back soon enough, dear reader of mine. Maybe sooner than you’d think.