by Kyle Giroux
“No, not really,” said Death, shrugging and sipping his coffee.
“Well, you must have some great advisors.”
“No, Barry Gregory said they were the cheapest he could find.”
“Your promises must have really grabbed attention then.”
“Didn’t make any.”
“Your suit?”
“Almost,” said Death, leaning over the table. “Izzy told me it was all about the speeches. The key is to talk about nothing for a really long time and to make eye contact. And to keep mentioning that you’re part of the working class.”
“Oh, so lying,” said Tim, nodding.
“What?” asked Death.
“I almost forgot,” said Maria. “I picked up the paper for you, it was on your doorstep.”She held up the Evening Post and Tim took hold of it. “Oh jeez, Derek, what’d you do?” he asked, holding the paper up and scanning it frantically. “You hit some kid and told him that he shouldn’t wear a helmet when he rides a bike?”
“What?” asked Death. Maria glanced at the front page.
“Wow, you said you didn’t care if he died?” she asked.
“Is this in the paper?” asked Death, taking hold of the Evening Post.
“Yeah, check it out,” said Tim.
“That happened a half hour ago,” said Death. “There’s no way.” Sure enough, on the front page was the title: “NEW MAYOR OF HAIR HATES CHILDREN.”
“But I don’t hate children,” said Death. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You didn’t tell that kid he wouldn’t die if he didn’t wear a helmet?” asked Maria.
“Well yes, I did say that. But it’s true, he won’t die.”
“Well, we know that,” said Maria. “But if you aren’t ready to tell everyone then you can’t just mention it to people you don’t know. It’ll freak them out.”
“I guess you’re right,” Death sighed.
“Gonna be honest with you, Derek,” said Izzy, twirling a large silver coin between his fingers as he sat in his big leather office chair. “People didn’t really like that stunt you pulled at the supermarket.”
“But I didn’t do exactly what that woman said I did,” said Death.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re a public figure now. You have to watch every single move you make, or the media will eat you alive.”
“But why?” asked Death.
“That’s just the way it is,” said Izzy, standing up. “Luckily, you have me to set the record straight. I suggest that you start in right away with some legislation and mandates. People love that stuff. And you can trust me when I tell you that I am not using you in order to shift into your position of power at a later date.”
“Okay, great,” said Death, smiling and nodding.
Soon Death was standing at a podium in front of the citizens of Hair. He looked at his speech card (which he had never seen before now), and put his mouth to the microphone. “My fellow citizens,” he read. “Thank you for choosing me, Derek Derek, to represent this amazing city. It is my privilege and honor to be here today.” The crowd cheered. Death found his words to be distant, as though they were not even coming out of his own mouth. “First, I plan on filling in all the potholes in the city by the end of this hour. I already signed a form that will not only ban factory dumping in local rivers, but will also create or save forty-thousand jobs within the next month.” Death knew this was a lie, and it threw him off. “In the next two weeks I plan to hire two hundred new police officers, and to fund public programs that the previous mayor had to cut in order to make room for bars.” After a lengthy pause, Death cleared his throat, laughed nervously and kept reading.
“I have also put in some new policies for our many social and legal issues. Firstly, I will up the war on drugs to a full-scale attack.” Most of the people in the crowd applauded. “I will also work to clean the streets of smut. Our war on prostitution and pornography will be waged full out. This will not only create jobs for our police force, but will save our children from corruption.” The cheering grew dimmer, though still present. “I will also wage a war against terrorism in this city, and close off the borders to all potential terrorists.” The applause grew again, and Death felt better about himself. “I will do this by installing fences along all borders, racial profiling, and heightened security with secret police and special task forces.”
Death threw his hands in the air, but most people just stared. “I also plan on making this a dry city. No more alcohol, in any form. Families will no longer be corrupted by the drink made by the devil himself.” Death counted four people in the crowd who cheered as he wondered why Satan never told him that he invented alcohol. It seemed like something he would have bragged about.
“Um…yeah,” said Death. The crowd was eerily silent before a dim wave of inquisition flooded over them. “Well, uh, I have also noticed an abuse of the first amendment. Therefore, I will form a strict limit on free speech, press, and peaceful assembly. I plan to put a ban on any questionable radio and television shows, videos on the internet, and violent video games. I also plan to ban gun rights, tobacco, safe sex programs and contraceptives, cheap and effective nuclear power, immigration as well as emigration, and profanity, while at the same time raising taxes and creating more animal rights programs. Together, we will make this city the best place to live in the entire world.” A wave of boos and shouts of hatred crashed into Death’s ears.
“Okay, that one didn’t work so well,” shouted Izzy over the din. “But we’ll get them next time.”
“Why are we banning everything?” asked Death.
“Because they’re vices and people should not be doing them.”
“I guess that makes sense,” shouted Death. “But can’t people decide that for themselves?”
“No,” shouted Izzy as a rotten tomato from the crowd splattered onto Death’s turned back. “Bad vegetables, that’s really cliché.”
At home, War appeared next to Death, who was exhausted but did not want to be rude to his old friend. “Hi,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m doing fine,” said War, gliding his fingertips along the brim of his top hat. “I was just in the Middle East. Suicide bombers are having quite a time over there now that they realized they can’t die. So you’ve made this interesting, but I can’t decide if it’s more fun.”
“Interesting’s a start,” said Death.
“I need to talk to you about something personal, though,” said War. “I attended the speech you gave a few minutes ago. I don’t care about much of what you said, but you absolutely cannot abolish guns. People use the terms ‘war on drugs’ or ‘war on pornography,’ but they don’t particularly mean anything. Real wars involve actual fighting, winners and losers, and I simply cannot have—“
Brian cut War off by bursting into the living room. “I am so angry right now,” he shouted.
“Oops,” said War.
“Uh, why?” asked Death.
“I don’t know,” said Brian, walking over to the couch.
“I tend to do that to people, sorry,” said War.
“I’m sure it has everything to do with you,” said Brian “Or maybe it’s just because you keep bringing your creepy friends over, Derek.”
“Should I leave?” asked War.
“No,” said Brian. “I’m sure you want to maim me, or make me violently ill or something. But I won’t have it. Not this time. You stupid jerk.” He lifted his fist back and punched Death in the face. As Death felt the sting of the blow course through his face, Brian fell to the floor, dead.
“Shoot,” said Death. “I was trying really hard not to reap him. He was pretty funny.”
A knock came to the front door. War said “Think about what I told you, please,” before snapping
his fingers and vanishing. Death opened the door to see Tim standing with his arms crossed and Maria behind him.
“Oh no, you’re not mad at me too, are you?” asked Death. Tim uncrossed his arms and sighed.
“Jeez, Derek, it’s difficult to act mad at you when you always seem like you have no idea what’s going on.”
“Why, what’s going on?”
“We need to talk,” said Tim, sitting at the kitchen table.
“Go on, Tim, tell him what you told me,” said Maria.
“Derek, do you realize what you’ve done with all this legislation?”
“Banned everyone’s vices?” asked Death.
“Yes, exactly. Do you understand why this is a bad thing?”
“No.”
“Because vices are important. They give people a break from their mundane lives. Without vices, people go clinically insane. It’s been scientifically proven.”
“Oh, stop it,” said Maria. “Tell him what you told me. Derek, Tim is worried that if you make everything illegal, he’ll lose business in the red light district.”
“That’s not what this is about,” said Tim. “It’s not what it’s totally about. It’s only a little bit about that.”
“Which district?” asked Death.
“What you should be doing is making prostitution legal,” said Maria. “That way it will be safe for women and they’ll have a choice to do what they want with their bodies.”
“That’s not the answer,” spat Tim. “That will lead to the downfall of our society.”
“Derek,” said Maria. “I mean, that is, Death. Is anything on your mind?”
Death looked at Maria’s concerned face and, surprised someone was actually fishing for his opinion, said, “Yes. Being human is difficult.”
“But you aren’t human,” she said. “You’re Death.”
“But I want to be human, because not dying is what makes you happy.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes it does,” said Tim. “Not dying seems awesome to me.”
“Shut up,” said Maria. “It’s not what makes people happy, Death. Dying is what makes people happy, indirectly of course. Because without it, we can’t appreciate life. Afterlife or no afterlife, logical humans know that this is a very brief chance we get to experience something incredible. You don’t bring harm to people; you bring confirmation of their existence. Without you, no one would be able to understand how important living is.”
Death stood up and took hold of his jacket. “I think you’re right,” he said. “My last speech for today is in a few minutes. I’ll keep what you said in mind.” He put on his jacket and left.
“Is that a dead guy over there?” asked Tim, peering into the living room at Brian.
A Happy Death
“Okay, pal, this is it,” said Izzy. He was sitting beside Death in the backseat of a limousine, scrawling on a note card. “This is the big one. It totally won’t get you impeached. Do you remember what I told you earlier?”
“About your warts?” asked Death, looking out the window at the passing trees.
“No. The other thing.”
“About how if I get impeached then you get to take over because you’re second in command?”
“Yes, that’s the one. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Oh I know,” said Death, nodding. “You already told me.”
“Okay, great,” said Izzy. The limousine came to a halt and he handed the note cards to Death. “Knock ‘em dead, boss.”
“Er…right,” said Death. The driver opened his door and he stepped out into the peculiarly hot early autumn air. He found his way to the podium and looked out at the vast crowd before him. They did not look as excited as they were for his previous speech. Death looked back at Izzy, who gave a thumbs up, and put his mouth to the microphone. “Uh, hi,” he said.
He looked down at the note cards, then back at the crowd. As he wiped sweat from his brow he made eye contact with Tim and Maria, who were standing up front. Maria gave a thumbs up, which seemed much warmer and genuine than Izzy’s. With renewed confidence, Death put the note cards in his jacket pocket and spoke.
“I know you guys are probably a little mad at me. A lot of people told me to do things that I probably shouldn’t have done. And I realize that they told me to do these things out of power, and greed, and manipulation. But I can’t let that happen anymore.”
Izzy sidled up to Death and whispered in his ear: “What exactly do you think you’re doing? Read from the cards.”
Death continued as though he had not heard. “I need to set the record straight. I don’t actually believe any of this stuff I banned should be banned. What I believe is that you should be able to do what you want to with yourselves, as long as you don’t hurt other people. So, I’m lifting all the legislation I put into place earlier today.” The crowd erupted into cheers. “You can all go back to the way your lives were before. Drink. Make love. Look at naughty pictures of women. I have no place telling you not to.”
More cheering, louder than Death had ever heard before. He beamed at Maria and Tim, who smiled back. The world was almost back in order.
“Okay then, time for Plan B,” said Izzy. He took hold of the microphone from the podium and held his hand up to silence the crowd. “I have proof of something that Mayor Derek was hiding from us all along. I feel that you, as the great citizens of not only this city, but of this country, deserve to know. There was a reason he never revealed his religion to us. You see, Derek was and still is, embarrassingly, a member of the Lightscribe Gate Group that you see prancing around Maine Street.” He set the microphone down and shot a wry smile at Death before stepping back.
“Yeah, that’s true,” said Death, nodding. He did not understand the significance of this, but apparently the crowd did as it erupted into boos. “But, uh, I don’t really know how that plays into politics, so could we stay on topic?” The boos and jeers died down. “I also wanted to announce that I’m firing my aide, Izzy. I’m beginning to think that he was just using me this whole time, and that just isn’t right.”
“You can’t do that,” screamed Izzy. “I ought to throttle you, you insignificant little—“ He lunged at Death, malice laced in his dark eyes. It was the last image Death had of him before he attempted to strangle his boss. His fingers only barely touched his neck before the light left his blazing orbs, and he crumpled to the ground. The other aides circled around him, at a loss for what to do. The crowd dove into waves of murmuring and shuffling to get a better look at what just happened.
“I’m not done though,” said Death. “I—oh, damn—I have one last announcement.” He was losing the crowd now, so he tried to catch their last threads of attention. But before he could, lightning crashed into the middle of the throng. Screaming, running, diving, mayhem. Death crouched down behind the podium and peered around the top of it.
Laughter boomed from where the lightning had struck. Some people had been set aflame by the strike, others lay paralyzed. But the laughter had silenced crowd. Death knew the voice. Satan emerged from the rubble, his arms outstretched, looking good in bright red suspenders. “Howdy, everyone,” he said in his low, booming voice, a wide grin etched above his big square jaw. “Guess who.” Screaming again. Havoc. Satan snapped his fingers and fire spouted up in a circle around the crowd. They were trapped. Maria took Tim’s shoulder and brought him down to the ground as though to shelter him.
“Oh come on,” said Death, rolling his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Satan strolled up to the stage, his arms outstretched. “That’s right, you didn’t hear. The Apocalypse, old friend. The seals have been broken. I have arisen and whatnot. Time to party.”
“When were the seals broken?” asked Death.
“Like you didn’t see it happening,” said Satan. “Wars over oil. Pop music. People thinking losing weight will make them better in some way. The Disney Channel. The final seal was broken last week, when the entire town of Northampton went blind. Some idiot tried to start his own waste dumping company and got some nuclear waste in the water supply.”
“Oh, that might have been my bad,” said Tim.
“The world is coming to a close, old friend,” said Satan. “Human beings are overcome with pettiness and greed. This is it.”
“No, most of them aren’t,” said Death. “Well, most of them are, okay. But that doesn’t mean some aren’t good. You just need to know where to look.”
“Too late for that, Deathy baby,” said Satan. He walked up on stage and snapped his fingers again. Pestilence, War, and Famine appeared next to him. Pestilence was looking at the ground, shuffling his feet.
“Hiya, Death,” he said. “Nice, uh, seeing you again.”
“You too,” said Death. “You guys doing well?”
“Yeah, can’t complain,” said War.
“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?” shouted a woman in the crowd.
“Sure, I can,” said Satan. “You can all blame your friend here. What do you call him again? Derek? See, his retirement really peeved me. I was going to hold off the Apocalypse for a few decades, really build up the army, but now I’m just feeling spiteful. But here’s the special treat: since Death isn’t working anymore, he’ll have to watch every one of his precious human friends suffer over and over again. It’ll be fun to see where this can go.”
“Oh, okay,’’ shouted a man who was standing dangerously close to the wall of flames. “I think I get it.”
“I still don’t really get it,” shouted a woman.
“I think it’s a metaphor,” shouted Tim, standing up. “Or something like that.”
“No, are you people stupid or something?” yelled Satan. “This is the literal Apocalypse. I am Satan and these are the Four Horsemen and we are here to create Hell on earth.”
