by Kyle Giroux
On the way to the city square, Death ran into Tim and Maria outside of Clarke’s Antique Shop. “Hey, guys,” said Death.
“Hey, buddy,” said Tim. “We were just looking for some…uh, old farming tools.”
“Tim was looking for a teapot for his mother,” said Maria.
“Shut up. I wasn’t, Derek. She’s kidding. It’s a joke we made up.”
“Oh, okay,” said Death. “You two want to come with me to city hall? I want to tell everyone about my retirement.”
“That’s great,” said Maria. “We’d love to.”
Death was about to voice his delight when Pestilence walked out of the antique shop holding an old guitar with no strings and a burnt headstock. “This thing will be fun to fix up,” he said. “Oh, hi, um, Derek.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention we met your friend,” said Tim. “Peter?”
“No, his name is Pestilence,” said Death. When he saw Pestilence’s face he said, “It’s fine, Satan told them. They know who I am.”
“Oh, good,” said Pestilence. “If you’re still wondering, Maria, that’s why that guy puked on you. I was just looking for you. I wanted to see if you’d like to get some coffee.”
“That would be nice. But for now, why don’t you come to city hall with me? I’m going to make an announcement.”
“So now we’re friends with two Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” asked Tim.
“Basically,” said Pestilence, wiping a few red ants from his eyebrow. “Wait until you meet War. He’s a real card.”
Death and his friends arrived at city hall. They gazed up at the great golden dome towering high above them. People filled the city square, shopping in the open market in the warm summer air. “I’m going to sit on that bench and play,” said Death.
“Good luck,” said Maria. Death sat down and began with a few sharp strokes of the bow across the strings of Satan’s violin. The music carried, grabbing the people’s attention. Then, he really began playing. The swirling notes reverberated across the square, interrupting the city folks’ routines. Those seized by the melody were soon entranced by it, and walked towards it as though it were calling them.
Death swung his head back and forth as he stroked the bow across the strings, each staccato and legato booming across the square and hypnotizing the citizens of Hair. The faster Death played, the more people gathered, and soon everyone in the plaza was circled around him, moving along with his music. Old women jigged; old men threw down their canes and took young ladies for a dance; children skipped about happily and swung each other by the arms. Tim danced with Maria, who laughed, and Pestilence looked on while tapping his feet.
And then, the fiddle burst into a fiery column that spiraled upwards into the clouds. It twisted about, singeing all those who were close to it, and the fiddle shattered to pieces on the ground. Death could hear the faint, booming laughter of Satan beneath him as the crowd let out a collective “Awwww.” Then, like the mechanisms of a finely tuned watch that only needed to be reset, they began to disperse across the plaza and continue with their day.
Death looked at Pestilence, who shrugged. Then he stood up on the bench and held his hands out in front of him. The people, upon seeing the gesture, focused their attention back to him.
“Good people of the city,” he said. He gazed at the wide eyes of his audience and basked in his current position. “I would like to make an announcement.”
The crowd grew into a lull, a happy wave of anticipation splashing across their faces. Death held his arms higher over his head and the people grew silent again.
“I just want to announce that I am Death. After two billion of years of existence, I have finally decided to go into retirement. Therefore, no one will be dying from this point forward. If you have a terminal illness, have no fear. If you find yourself in a dangerous situation, don’t worry. If you are an inch from death, you will not pass on. I promise.”
The crowd erupted into cheers. Death saw Tim give a thumbs-up.
“But what about the potholes?” cried a woman from the front row of the crowd. The cheers died down.
“Potholes?” asked Death. With the question, his broad grin disintegrated. “Which potholes?”
“The potholes plaguing the city,” replied the woman. “Everyone comes in here saying they’ll fix the potholes, but they never get around to it once they’re elected.”
“Oh, and will you be making more jobs?” called out a man from the middle of the crowd. Death lowered his arms and began to feel anxious. “We have families we need to feed.”
“Come on now,” said a young man from the right side of the audience. “Did you see how he looked into our eyes while he was talking? He means business.”
“And so eloquent,” yelled a young woman with dreadlocks and ripped jeans. “The man can give a speech, no doubt!”
“Truly an inspiration!”
“Agreed, he has my vote!”
“What are you all talking about?” asked Death rather quietly, so that no one heard him.
“He’s much better than Greenwich! He’s old, and even has a stutter!”
“He’ll get my vote over Greenwich, for sure!”
“Wait,” shouted Death. The crowd fell silent. He cleared his throat and said, “Did any of you even listen to a single word I said?”
Some people looked down as they shuffled their feet. Others looked at one another, and some peered up at Death’s perplexed expression. Then a young woman with bright pink hair that spilled over a pair of Ray Bans screamed, “He’ll be our future mayor, for sure!” and the crowd’s attention was lost in its own head-spinning applause. Death sighed, and got down off the bench. The people were apparently unaware of his absence as they continued with their noise-making. Tim, Maria, and Pestilence were smiling awkwardly.
“That probably could have gone better,” said Death.
“Perhaps,” said Maria.
“Don’t sweat it, buddy, you’ll get them next time,” said Tim.
“I should get going, pal,” said Pestilence. “Keep me updated on the whole retirement thing. I’d stay awhile but the Croatians are in the middle of finding a cure for my super-flu so I should get down there to help it mutate. We’ll grab a coffee some other time.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Death. “Good luck.”
Tim and Maria also said goodbye and left. As Death began walking back to his apartment with his head down, he had to dodge a man who was approaching him. As Death walked past, the man turned round and shouted to him.
“Hey, you,” he said. Death spun around and stared at the man, his eyebrows raised. He knew he had seen him before, but he could not remember where. He was an older gentleman who wore a suit, and his long grey hair was slicked back. His face was clean-shaven and clear.
“Uh…hi,” said Death. “How are you?”
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked. His voice was gravelly, but jovial. “I’ve changed a bit since you last saw me. I never really introduced myself before. Name’s Barry. Barry Gregory. You probably remember me as that guy outside of the grocery store. You kept giving me those checks, remember?”
“Oh…oh, yeah of course,” said Death. Memory of the old man jingling his change inside his battered tin cup came rushing back to him. “You’ve…changed.”
“Sure have,” said Barry happily, running his hands along his lapel. “I can’t even tell you, sir, you’ve really changed my life. What’s your name, sir?”
“De—Derek,” said Death. “Derek Derek.”
“Well gee, Mr. Derek. Still can’t thank you enough. With all that money you gave me I was able to get back on my feet again. I kicked the old drinking habits and used the money to open my own winery. The success has been like nothing I ever dreamed of. And it’s
all thanks to you.”
“Oh, wow,” said Death, smiling. “That’s really great to hear.”
“Listen, Mr. Derek. I heard your speech in the square just now, and it was great. I think you really got a career in politics.”
“Oh, no, that was just—“
“I would be really honored if you would let me sponsor your campaign team. Whaddya say?”
“But I wasn’t—“
“I’ve got plenty of money these days, and I really owe you one. I’d be real honored.”
Death wanted to explain the situation and decline, but Barry wore this hopeful expression that Death just could not say no to. “Yeah,” said Death. “Yeah, that would be something else.”
“Great,” said Barry loudly as he did a small dance. “You’ll be in office soon enough, I guarantee it. I’ll get on the phone with some folks. Here’s my business card. We’ll be in touch. Get ready, because we have a lot of work ahead of us.” And Barry was gone, walking brusquely across the square and down a side street. Death turned around to go back to his apartment to ponder how on earth retirement could possibly be more stressful than his old line of work.
A New Mayor
SHELLOCK ASPIRIN REASON FOR IMMORTALITY
Penachuck, Pennsylvania – Researchers at Shellock Labs have discovered that Shellock OTC is responsible for the immortality phenomenon.
“After careful study we have found that Shellock aspirin has a certain chemical in it that causes immortality,” Dr. Daniel Stump, lead researcher at Shellock Labs, said. “It is a pure coincidence that it happens to be our brand of aspirin that does the trick, but we’re really stoked about it. Because of its life-saving powers, that is. Not because of the money.”
Another pharmaceutical company, Altruist Incorporated, tried to claim responsibility for the immortality phenomenon, but their headquarters were mysteriously destroyed in a bombing case that was declared by authorities to be accidental.
“Yeah, yeah, that was really weird,” Dr. Stump said. “They were lying anyways. We’re not.”
In completely unrelated news, Shellock has seen a 16,000% increase in stock value, and Dr. Stump is currently planning his early retirement.
Barry Gregory used the profits from his winery, Sangio Petto, to fund Death’s campaign through the primaries to become the Republican nominee for mayor of the city. Death was assigned a set of aides to accompany him wherever he went and whisper in his ear about how he should conduct himself. The redheaded one named Izzy nudged Death when the time to give his first speech came around. Death gazed up at a large blue sign in the crowd that said “VOTE DEREK DEREK, AMERICA’S TRUEST HERO,” and looked down at his prepared speech card, which he had never read before now.
“Fellow citizens,” he began. “I stand before you, humbled and touched by your support. I can recall being a young boy living on a quaint farm in Massachusetts, helping my father--a true working class hero--in the fields.” Death looked back at Izzy, who gave a toothy grin and ran his fingers through his hair. Puzzled, he continued. “He would turn his strained, sunburned face to me and take my hand in his gnarled, overworked fingers. He would say, ‘Son, one day you will grow up and do everything you can for this beautiful country. You will make a difference.’ Even now, so many years after his tragic death, I have not forgotten his words.” The crowd erupted into a massive round of applause. Some elderly women cried while younger people hooted and pumped their fists. Death was happy, in an uneasy sort of way.
“One of the most terrible yet inspiring memories I have is my father losing his job because of a particularly dry growing season, putting all of us out on the street.” Death cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “I saw the pain in his eyes first-hand. That is why, if I am elected mayor, my first priority will be to create jobs for the people. Together, we can create a zero unemployment rate, and make this beautiful city the most economically sound place in Massachusetts.” Death shot his fists into the air (which Izzy had instructed him to do often) amidst chants of “Derek! Derek! Derek!” Children danced. College students whooped. Then, silence again.
“Our lack of jobs, especially in the police force after the terrible cafe tragedy weeks ago, is not the only issue we face together, as a city and a nation. We must eliminate the deficit and get Joe Plumber back on his feet again. As mayor, I will distribute wealth to the needy and open animal shelters and organic farms on every major street. I will fix every pothole, so no more of our children will end up like little John Corbane, who broke both of his arms after hitting one with his bike last summer.” A collective ‘aww’ from the crowd. “Vote for me, Derek Derek. Together, we can make the world an incredible and beautiful place, one city at a time.” He shouted the last sentence over booming roars.
When Death was finished with his inspiring words, the polls opened, and that day the city had a new mayor. Death won by a landslide (with 92% of the votes over Greenwich’s 7% and 1% for write-ins) and soon found himself in a meeting with his advisors, laughing and whooping and popping open hundred-dollar Moet et Chandon in celebration.
“Congratulations, Mayor Derek,” shouted Izzy. “Here’s to a great term for our newest public figure. And I swear on my mother’s life that I will not try to have you overthrown in order to take your place.”
“Thanks,” said Death, beaming with tears in his eyes. Life could not get easier or happier than this. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
Death slid out of the election party when Izzy was opening the fifteenth bottle of champagne and took a walk down Maine Street. He wanted to relax after such a demanding morning. So, he went to Freepay.
By observation, Death saw that people enjoyed buying things. In fact, it seemed to be their absolute favorite thing to do, even more than talking or thinking. So he wheeled out a cart of his own and began in the frozen foods section. Mounds of fish sticks and pizzas and chicken and burgers stood before him. He instinctively went for the most colorful packages he could find.
Then there was the cereal aisle. Rows of brightly colored boxes sat upon the racks, and Death chose all his favorite colors: red, black, orange, and purple. In his excitement he stood on the crossbar by the wheels of the cart and rode it down the aisle. He soon lost control and fell off, landing on the back of his head.
“Excuse me, sir,” said a woman. Death sat up and looked at her. She was pudgy and had a round lumpy head, upon which sat a mess of tangled black hair. “Your runaway cart hit my child.” Death peered around her to see a young boy lying in front of the cart, holding his arm.
“I’m really sorry,” said Death. “I lost control of the basket.”
“Say, aren’t you Mayor Derek?” asked the woman.
“Yes, I am.”
“Say hi to the mayor, James,” said the woman, patting her freckle-faced child on the back. “You were nearly concussed by the nice public official.”
“Oh, but I really didn’t—“ started Death.
“Hi, mayor,” said James.
“Hi James,” said Death. “Sorry I almost broke your legs.”
“I just wanted to tell you how honored I am to have you as our new leader,” said the woman. “I voted for you, and I’m proud of it. I know you’ll do a great service for this city.”
“I will?” asked Death. “Oh, I mean yes, of course. I’ll fix…potholes and…stuff.”
“I’m off to teach my boy how to ride a bike,” said the woman. “Isn’t that right, James?” James looked up at his mother. “We need to buy a helmet first, so we’re off to Cosby’s Sporting Goods. Safety always comes first, or he’ll get hurt or even worse, he’ll be dead. Isn’t that right, James?”
“Oh, no need to worry about that,” said Death. “There is a zero percent chance little James here will die, so you won’t need a helmet or anything.”
&nb
sp; “Excuse me?” asked the woman, her smile vanishing.
“I just mean, there’s no such thing as dying anymore. So he should be good.” He looked at James and smiled.
“You’re telling my son not to wear a helmet while riding a bike?”
“Yup, exactly.”
“And what if he falls, moron?” she snapped. Death felt a sudden tension in his forehead. “What if he hits his head on something? What if he gets hit by a car?”
“Well, it’s just that you mentioned him dying and—“
“Clearly you enjoy the idea of children who are hurt and in pain,” said the woman, crossing her arms.
“But I thought dying was the worst thing that could happen to humans,” said Death. “Isn’t that what you people are always worried about?”
“Come on, James,” said the woman. “We have no time for people like this. I never would have voted for you if I knew you didn’t even have good Christian values”
“Christian values?” repeated Death. The woman took her son by the shoulder and led him away to the vegetable aisle. Death shrugged and proceeded to the checkout line.
“That’s going to be three hundred and forty-seven dollars,” said the young pimple-faced man running the register. “Went a little heavy on the cheese balls, huh sir?” He pointed to five oversized tubs of generic brand cheese balls, which were a delightful shade of unnaturally bright orange.
“Oh, uh, here’s my money,” said Death. He handed over the twenty thousand dollar Freepay check and left the store. Back on Maine Street, he took in the sight of his rainbow of a shopping basket. “That was fun,” he said. He left the cart on the sidewalk and walked back home.
“You really socked that Greenwich guy,” said Tim. Death had called him and Maria to his house early in the afternoon for a chat and coffee in the kitchen before another scheduled speech in the park. “Talk about a landslide. You must have put a lot of effort into that one.”
