Death in the City

by Kyle Giroux

  “So you’re going to pay for this one, right?” asked Tim.

  “Oh, I don’t think I can,” said Death. “A man on the subway took all my money.”

  “Great,” sighed Tim. “That’s just perfect.”

  When Death opened the door to his apartment, Brian was lying in the middle of the floor, his legs outstretched, a backwards baseball cap perched on his head. He looked at Death with squinted eyes, smiling and laughing when he came into focus. “Hey buddy,” he said in a raspy voice. He was squirming slightly.

  “Hiya,” said Death. He took off his suit jacket and sat down at the kitchen table, expecting conversation. But Brian just lay in the middle of the floor, blinking dumbly. “How…uh…how are you?”

  “Pirates won it, man. The Pirates won the, uh, game,” he said slowly and stupidly. “Had to, uh, celebrate.” He rolled on his side to face Death, a large grin covering the entirety of the lower half of his face. “I don’t know, man. My toleration, uh, no. My to-ler-ance, it’s, uh, really built up the last few weeks. I can drink, and drink, and drink,” he began swaying his head back and forth, causing himself to giggle, “and nothing. If I drank this much a few weeks ago, I’d be dead. Now, no dead.” He closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

  “Huh,” grunted Death. He looked at Brian, unsure of how to feel.

  A Meeting

  “You’ve really done it now,” said Pestilence. He was standing at Death’s door, leaning against the frame. “The big man wants to see you. Satan isn’t too happy.”

  “Lucifer’s mad?” asked Death.

  “Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, Kitty, whatever you want to call him,” said Pestilence. “He’s not too happy now that he’s found out you retired. He wants to see you.”

  “Okay, come on in first. Let me mentally prepare myself.”

  Pestilence sat down as Death put on a pot of coffee. He placed the mugs on the coffee table and sat down beside him. “So how have you been?” he asked.

  “I’ve been well,” said Pestilence. Certainly can’t complain. I just—“ Brian burst through the door of his room, cutting Pestilence off.

  “Hey Brian,” said Death. “This is my friend, Pes—“

  “Wait, stop talking,” said Brian. He was clutching his stomach and his face was positively green. “I need some Rolaids or something, I feel awful.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Pestilence.

  “And I’m itchy,” said Brian, clawing at his neck. “I have these red spots all over me. Holy crap, it’s happening. I’m dying. Derek, I am dying.”

  “I can leave,” said Pestilence.

  “Oh my God,” shouted Brian. Sweat was pouring down his head and he was beginning to foam at the mouth. “What’s happening to me?”

  “Brian, it’s fine, we can just leave now.”

  “No,” screamed Brian. He looked up at Death with sunken eyes. “I need you to scratch my back.” He turned his back to Pestilence.

  “My new thing is making people delirious, my mistake,” said Pestilence.

  “Do it, please, please do it,” cried Brian. Pestilence shrugged and put his fingers to Brian’s back. Immediately upon contact, Brian wretched and blew a thick stream of yellow vomit all over the coffee table, knocking the two mugs of fresh coffee to the floor.

  “Oops,” said Pestilence. Brian fell down and passed out.

  “I guess we can just go now,” said Death. He reluctantly followed Pestilence to a gate of Hell.

  “How have you been, anyways?” asked Death again as they walked down the street.

  “Fine,” said Pestilence. “I have a new thing going in Australia. Poisoned some seafood. They won’t see it coming for a while. You’d love the work I’m doing with this one. It lies dormant for three weeks then it strikes. I just keep getting better and better.”

  “You really do,” said Death. They turned at the river, across a bridge, and down a side street. “Very impressive.”

  “Although, I wouldn’t mind having a little help,” said Pestilence, shaking a small worm from under his fingernail. “You know, what good is disease without death?”

  Death did not answer, but when they reached the mall, a dreadful nervous feeling like someone was yanking on his insides overcame him. The two walked inside and Pestilence led Death to the elevator. “This is new,” said Death.

  “Oh yeah, he’s done a lot with stuff like this,” said Pestilence. “All you have to do nowadays is go into the elevators in these mall things and press the big red button. The humans think it’s some sort of emergency button, but emergencies never happen on these things. It’ll send you right to Hell.”

  “Wow,” said Death, opening the elevator doors and stepping in. “Technology these days. Beats the older times of saying incantations in church basements, huh?”

  Pestilence nodded and chuckled lightly. “Good luck, buddy,” he said warmly. “Why don’t you give me a call sometime? I’ll be in Australia for a while, but maybe we can get some coffee soon. I’d love to hear about what else you’ve been up to.”

  Death nodded. “I’d like that,” he said. As Pestilence vanished, Death scanned the row of buttons until he saw the red one labeled “Emergency Only,” and pressed it. Immediately he was hooked by the neck and sent spiraling downward.

  Death descended into the bowels of Hell, flames licking up and singing his eyelashes, demons swirling around him, menacingly licking their chops, damned souls being tortured, their screams echoing across the great chasms in the scorched ground. Satan had really cleaned the place up since the last time Death visited, in 1692 (when they had a good laugh about the Salem Witch Hunts). The flames were brighter, the demons clean-shaven. The lake of fire had no trash in it like it always used to, and more damned souls were smiling. Ever since Satan realized he needed to attract more people to Hell to build his army, he worked to make the place look downright spiffy.

  Death found his way to a reception desk that was situated in front of an office door that read “L. Satan, Prince of Darkness” on the window. He rung the bell on the reception desk and a receptionist appeared before him, a pretty, skinny brunette woman with large breasts. Half of her face looked as though it had been chewed away until all that remained was meaty texture over bone and cartilage. Satan always did have a taste for the ladies.

  “Hello, can I help you?” asked the receptionist with a smile.

  “Yeah, I’m here to see Satan,” said Death.

  “Ah, well do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist. A demon flew up to Death’s ear and began buzzing frantically. He swatted it away and said,

  “I didn’t make one, but he’s looking for me. My name is Death. I think he wants to talk about my retirement.”

  “Oh, goodness, of course,” said the receptionist, standing up and nodding. “I didn’t know what you looked like. Forgive me; I’ve only been here for sixty three years. Please, go ahead in.”

  Death walked up to the door and opened it. In front if him stood Satan, dressed in red suspenders and a silk tie, wearing a pair of gold Oakley sunglasses and practicing his putting.

  “There he is,” he said, smoothing out his jet black hair. “Please, sit down. Want a coffee? Something to drink?”

  “No, that’s okay,” said Death. As he sat down, Satan rang a buzzer on his desk.

  “Candice, bring my friend Death here a coffee, cream and sugar,” then, as an aside to Death, “Great isn’t she? You got her in an ostrich attack on a farm. Nice work.” Candice the receptionist brought a coffee for Death and left, still smiling.

  “So,” said Death, clearing his throat. “How have you been?”

  “Oh, me?” asked Satan, leaning back in his chair and revealing a great, toothy smile. “I’ve been great. Just building up my army, torturing damned souls, practicing the old golf swing for the tournament next month
. How about yourself?” His voice was warm but Death knew his true intentions.

  “I’ve been fine. I, uh, retired. You probably heard.” Satan nodded solemnly. Death continued. “I suppose that’s why you called me over?”

  “Is that what you think?” asked Satan. “I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while. I can’t just call you to catch up with an old friend?” His voice was so sincere that Death actually felt guilty.

  “Oh, I guess so,” said Death. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

  “No, no, no problem,” said Satan, waving his hand in the air. “But...hm.” He stood up and rounded the desk, his hand on his chin, his brows furrowed in thought.

  “What?” asked Death. “Go on.”

  “I just figured, now that you mention it, we could talk a little about that,” said Satan, crossing his arms and smiling.

  “I knew it.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I just figured we could talk. I haven’t seen you in some time and I was just wondering why you wanted to leave your post so arbitrarily, at such a crucial moment in history.”

  “It wasn’t arbitrary,” said Death, crossing his own arms and unable to bring himself to look Satan in his deep red eyes.

  “I just wanted to know, what happened? Why retire now?” asked Satan. He sounded more concerned than anything.

  “I just...hm,” said Death. He knew he would be faced with such a question, but never quite knew how he was going to respond. “The humans, they look so happy and relaxed. I was constantly working, never any rest, never any time to do anything I wanted. And they used to hate me up on earth. Now I actually have friends.”

  “Deathy baby,” said Satan, laughing with his arms outstretched. “It’s not a matter of having time. You have all the time in the universe. But we all have places in life, and yours is dishing out death.”

  “It’s not what I want,” said Death hastily. “I want...peace, and...quiet...ness...” He could not find the right words. Satan only laughed.

  “Death, come on now,” he said as though he were trying to convince a child. “Just because something is different than what you’re used to doesn’t mean it’s better. I knew a girl once who complained constantly about a college she went to. When she transferred colleges she hated that one. She transferred again. Then when she got a job, hated it. Got a new one, hated it. Meanwhile Famine is running around in third world countries, and here is this girl who is complaining about the colleges she attends.” He looked up, seemingly having lost his train of thought. “My...uh, my point is, sometimes you’re in a certain spot for a reason. You can’t just find something new for the sake of it.”

  “But you aren’t getting it,” said Death. He was being more adamant than usual, and it made him feel good. “I enjoy what I’m doing right now. I don’t even know how long I’ve been working. It’s been ages. Now I just want to settle down, enjoy the rest of eternity.”

  Satan let out a deep sigh and sat back down in his swivel chair. He decided to try a different angle as he folded his hands and gazed deeply at Death. “Look, you know about the feud between God and me.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Death. “Been going on for quite some time.”

  “And we’re trying to build our armies here, so one day trumpets can blare and we can wage war on the earth and whatnot. But without you, no one goes to Heaven or Hell. They just rot. What’s going to happen, people are just going to stay on earth, overpopulating until it becomes unbearable? Then they lose their mental states completely as their bodies deteriorate?”

  “No,” said Death quietly. He did not want to admit it, but Satan was getting to him, putting pictures into his mind of men and women, hundreds of years old with tarnished bodies and lost minds. But he shook off the images and pressed forward. “Look, I’m not going to be a pawn for your little feud.”

  Satan put his hands up in defense. “Whoa, whoa, I never said that. Look, Death. Boopee.” He had a great smile on his face, which vexed Death. “We don’t want you picking sides. We made that very clear when this began. You’re more powerful than both God and I combined. Hell, you could reap anyone at anytime, even us, if you tried hard enough. We understand that. And we’re happy. You’ve been cooperative through the whole thing.” Death took a sip of his coffee as Satan rubbed the side of his chin with his palm. “The point isn’t to give me more soldiers. Even though--let’s face it--I’m simply better at convincing people than God is. God’s a little out of touch these days, huh? When he had His son it made him a little soft, I think. But the point is, the universe needs you in order to function properly. Without you, the entire system breaks down.”

  Death considered Satan’s points for some time before saying, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

  “Things on earth aren’t great, anyways,” said Satan. “You’ve got hatred and terrorism. Oil spills. Environmental damage. People are cruel creatures, Death, so cruel they’ll rip that heart of yours right out while it’s still beating. I’ve seen it before.”

  “No, people are good,” said Death matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen it. They’re helpful and friendly. Some are out to get everyone else, sure. Some can be petty and ignorant, in their own little bubble. But if you look for the right ones, you’ll find them.”

  Satan laughed and shook his head. “They go away too, Death. Everyone goes away. You just don’t know that yet.” Death was silent. “Come on, then,” said Satan softly, encouragingly. “Do what’s right. Set the universe back in order. Then you, me and the other Horsemen can grab a sandwich and a beer. God can even come; we know he’s not doing anything these days, am I right?” He laughed and winked at Death, who did nothing but stare out Satan’s window at the flames of Hell as they spurted up around the infinite horizon. “Death?” asked Satan. “What are you thinking about? Talk to me.”

  “I just...” started Death. He sighed. No one was on his side anymore, and he felt very alone. “I just like where I am. I don’t know if I can come back.”

  A mix of fury, rage, and terror washed over Satan’s face. But the glance was gone in a flare, so fast that Death wondered if he imagined it. Now, Satan was smiling a forced, twisted smile.

  “I really hope you change your mind,” he said, his voice dark and strained. “This is...frankly...absurd.”

  As Death ascended back onto the hard earth, back to the human civilization that could be cold and harsh but beautiful and mesmerizing all the same, he thought of what was next for him. Whatever it was, he felt an empty, hollow, peculiar victory, the cause of which he could not quite determine.

  A New Suit

  UNDERWATER SOCIETY AT WAR

  New Atlantis, Michigan – The cult group that refers to themselves as “God’s Chosen Sea People,” have declared a schism in their faction, resulting in a civil war.

  Weeks ago, members of GCSP found that they could breathe underwater without the expected result of dying. They subsequently built an underwater society at the bottom of Lake Huron that they called New Atlantis. It seemed to be a freshwater utopia complete with a post office and a church. But last week, a rift occurred within the group.

  “We couldn’t agree on the matter of using sea creatures for our own needs,” Leonard Domino, leader of GCSP ‘Freedom Fighters,’ said. “They wanted to abuse the fish and use them for food and transportation.”

  The differences in ideology split the six-person cult into two groups of three. GCSP ‘Republiservatives’ are standing their ground in New Atlantis, while the Freedom Fighters broke off and may be planning an attack. “We’re not saying we’re going to attack,” Domino said. “But you should see our cruise missile. It’s awesome.”

  “They tried to say that, because fish had heartbeats and very general problem-solving skills, that they should have all the same rights as humans,” Reverend Dick Stool, leader of the Republiservatives, said. “I say that’s a reason that they shouldn’t have rights, because it prov
es they’re stupid.”

  “The fish are our brothers, and are even smarter than humans because they learned to breathe underwater before we could,” Domino said in a clear misunderstanding of evolution. “We owe them. It isn’t the other way around. Ask the fish if they want to be eaten. I doubt they’ll say yes.”

  The fish of Lake Huron had no comment, because they are fish.

  “I guess I’ll get out of Africa eventually,” said Famine. He and Death were sitting on the couch at 55 Macci Street, sipping tea. “I never really feel like moving around. I don’t know how you and Pestilence do it.”

  “I guess it’s just expected,” said Death.

  “Oh, yo guys,” said Brian. He stumbled out of his room and stood staring at the ceiling for several seconds before clutching his stomach and saying, “Man, I’m starving.”

  “Sorry about that,” said Famine. Brian walked to the kitchen area and began searching through drawers.

  “I need to make an egg or something, I can’t even think straight,” said Brian. “Hey, what’s your name man?”

  “His name is, uh, Frank,” said Death.

  “Mind helping me with the pan up there? I can barely even lift my arms. Oh my God, am I dying? Derek, am I dying?”

  “No, definitely not,” said Death. Famine walked into the kitchen and reached up to get the pan from the top shelf of the cabinet. But he lost his grip and it hit Brian between his eyes, opening a bloody wound.

  “Dude, what was that for?” screamed Brian, clutching his forehead.

  “Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” said Famine. He and Brian bent over at the same time to retrieve the pan and head-butted each other. Both fell backwards, Famine safely into the cabinets. Brian hit a cutting board with a used knife on it on the way down. Death watched as the knife twirled elegantly in mid-air before slashing Brian’s arm. In a daze, he ran to his door, fumbling with the knob. “Let me get it for you,” said Famine as Brian clutched his arm.