Death's Life

by B Latif

  My assumption about Rose neglecting me had now been proven wrong.

  “COME BACK, YOU COWARD!” She shrieked.

  Coming to a halt, I looked back sharply, “Go home, Rose.”

  The battle of emotions was still going on inside me.

  “YOU KILLED MY HOME! YOU KILLED HIM!”

  “Miss Rose.” the officer walked to her with a gun in his hand, infuriated now, “You have no proof that someone murdered him.”

  “I have!” she was so hysterical and wild at the moment, no less than a wolf, “She wrote you are going to die, and she left roses on his grave. Only she leaves roses whenever she comes!”

  “That isn’t proof. I’m afraid we have to go back now.”

  The roses on the grave. My final act of kindness had turned against me. How unfortunate.

  Raising her finger, as if she were admonishing him, she said, “I won’t go anywhere without her. I’ll avenge my husband’s murder.”

  Anger was dominating all her feelings now. Typical human being. Yes, she was one of them. “Go, Rose.”

  “NO!”

  The sun had set, and it was dangerous for them to be there now. Wasting time and provoking my anger. I knew she would never leave just like that.

  “GO!” I shouted this time, the anger controlling me.

  Black birds gathered in the sky, crows, bats, vultures, and ravens. The noise was remarkable. I had summoned them to scare away the humans. The men looked above, frightened, but Rose didn’t.

  I raised my head proudly. If she thought I was evil, then let it be evil.

  She kept her expressions intransigent, glaring at me.

  The ground trembled with an earthquake, the winds howled, and black clouds covered the face of the moon. The men were looking around in panic while Rose and I were too absorbed in each other’s eyes, malice in hers and anger in mine.

  The noise of the black birds grew louder, as they circled in the sky and the earth rattled again. The officer grabbed Rose’s arm to move her away, but she wouldn’t budge.

  In the spur of the moment, she snatched the gun from his hand, pointing it at me, gripping it with both hands.

  “You’ll pay for this,” her whisper was hardly audible in the noise of the birds and the howling of the gale, “Now, come with me!”

  Ordering Death, it angered me to the peak. I glowered at her, “NO!”

  The officer looked at the girl pointing the gun at nothing, her hair flying in every direction.

  “We have to go, sir. A storm is coming.”

  “Miss Rose,” the officer tried again, loudly over the noise, “Come on!”

  “MOVE!” she ordered me again.

  “I SAID,” I thundered, “NO!”

  The earth shook for the third time, sprawling men on the floor of my realm. The castle tumbled down like a house of cards. The men helped each other, fleeing now.

  But only one soul held her ground like a warrior, Rose.

  And then, in the noise of black birds and thunder, screaming men, screeching wind, and the roaring sound of the falling castle, only one sound was audible. The sound of a gunshot.

  I never noticed the bullet passing through my chest, causing me no harm.

  But it killed me.

  Rose had shot her mother. Rose had killed her mother. I trembled with anger. Breathing heavily, the gun dropped from her hand and she stared at me in shock.

  No blood.

  Didn’t she know I couldn’t die? I could not die! Her husband’s arrow hadn’t killed me!

  And the moment a daughter shot her mother, the black birds scattered, the sky became clear, the wind remained silent, and the earth remained still.

  Only a whisper rang in my ears before the officer took her.

  “You are dead to me.”

  ***

  Sitting on the heap of obliterated castle, staring at the full moon, I was lost in thought.

  OBSERVATION No. 40

  Nature seeks vengeance.

  I had sought vengeance from Henry for stealing my daughter, and Rose had sought vengeance from me for stealing her husband.

  The scene kept rewinding in my mind, over and over, Rose was shooting me.

  How can a daughter shoot her mother? And her final words kept echoing in the forest. You are dead to me.

  No tears came this time, but the words were piercing me, deeper than a knife.

  I had brought her up, I had taught her everything, I had taken care of her, then how could she not believe me?

  I was wounded. I needed stitches. I needed someone to breathe life into me so that I could go to her, and everyone could see me, which would satisfy her. But no one could breathe life into me.

  And I couldn’t go to her.

  You are dead to me.

  Once again, a battalion of emotions began in my mind. This time, it was just two: anger and hurt.

  Even when the wound hurt like hell, I got up and started walking beneath the weight of tons of memories. And the battle stopped, anger won.

  I had never felt such anger in my life before, not even when I had taken the life of the greatest sinner.

  Not even when I had taken the life of Jason or Henry.

  This time, Rose had played the part I was meant to play, the role of Death. And she had taken life out of me, her very own mother.

  The black birds sensed my anger and came to me again, crows, ravens, bats, and vultures.

  Her presence still lingered in the forest even when she was gone, and I wanted it to remove it from my realm. Because of her, the castle was destroyed and there was no place to call home now.

  Among the noise of the black birds, I could hear wailing and mourning of all the souls I had taken, and the howling wolves. Because someone had died, and Rose was responsible for that. A daughter had killed her mother.

  The sound of gunshot pierced my ears again.

  The black cloak swept the forest floor as I walked toward the place destined to be her mother’s final home, the graveyard.

  I knew she wouldn’t ever leave me alone. Even when she was gone, I knew she wouldn’t ever leave me alone.

  After all these years with her, I wanted to be alone now. I was never meant to be her mother.

  My pleasant life had gone.

  As I walked, all the memories came back, one by one from the beginning, hitting every part of my body like pebbles. It was hard to stand. It was hard to even think.

  There she was wrapped in Aisha’s headdress. In the next moment she was in my lap and I was her mother. I had never slept, watching over her.

  I had always known that humans couldn’t harm me, but no one had ever hurt me like this.

  I was chasing her, a little girl in the forest.

  At once, I broke into a run. I couldn’t cry so I ran, trying to escape from her memories. And the black birds followed me, and I just ran.

  It felt as if I were falling from the sky and hitting the cold, hard earth again and again.

  She stumbled, but I caught her, and didn’t let her fall. At every stage I caught her when she was about to fall.

  And then I stumbled, hitting the ground hard, my cheek rubbing against the soil. I clenched the earth with both hands, several pebbles in my fist. Getting up, I let it slip through my fingers and left only the pebbles in my hand.

  With the stones in both hands, I ran faster this time, all the way to graveyard.

  There it was, Aisha’s grave with the words ‘You are going to die’ on the gravestone. I stared at the words in anger.

  It was all her fault. If only she hadn’t given me her baby that day. The vulture landed on her gravestone. The air was still and silent like a tomb.

  “You ruined my life,” I whispered in anger.

  Dropping the stones, I started digging beside her grave. My hands shook, alone on my own. I had made mistakes and it wasn’t possible to start over.

  I dug more, kneeling, I dug with my bare hands. And even then, her memories were haunting me.

  I was ge
tting the result of my mistake as I wasted away. And as I dug, the black birds came with pebbles in their beaks, circling everywhere.

  I dug deeper. Her words were echoing in my ears; you are dead to me.

  Dead… dead… dead… dead…

  How I wished I was dead from her gunshot. I was done with digging the grave. I had dug my own grave.

  I stood up as the pebbles began to rain down on me. I crouched, picked up one, twisting it in my fingers, watching the scene clearly as it had first hit my eyes.

  “Where were you, Rose?”

  “I was out, making something for you.”

  “Let me guess, a drawing?”

  “No. I made you a crown of flowers, Mama.”

  I shot the pebble in the grave with as much force as the bullet had passed through my heart. I picked up another stone.

  “I was looking for you.”

  “I was sitting on the tree, Mama.”

  “Don’t you leave me like that!”

  “We are always together!”

  And the stone landed in the grave.

  And another memory. Another stone.

  Another memory. Another stone.

  Soon, the grave was full of stones. I watched all the memories in the grave. They had turned hard and cold like stones.

  I could never be whole again. She had killed her mother and it was her mother’s funeral, only black birds were invited.

  I was the only one at my funeral.

  I was the only one to say the eulogy for my death.

  No flowers, no tears, no life.

  I was only a crack in a human’s life. All memories were dead.

  “Goodbye,” I said to myself like a dead man singing. I lay down in the grave, saying farewell to everything.

  Now I was only Death, no feelings, no life.

  Rose’s mother closed her eyes.

  Chapter 18

  SIX YEARS LATER

  The wind was different, so pleasant, making my hair fly, granting freedom. The grass swayed with the wind. The grey clouds invaded the sky, announcing the arrival of rain. The sun, as if afraid of the rain, sneaked behind the clouds, trying to pour some rays of light before vanishing.

  The wind tried to move everything, trying to make everything notice it.

  Nature was communicating. Wind with grass. Grass with butterflies. Butterflies with flowers. And flowers with trees. I communicated with nature now, not humans anymore.

  I communicated with the stars and took long, lonely walks in the moonlight. It felt good to talk with nature.

  I walked in the meadow, my hand passing smoothly over the golden grass. The distance had to be covered between the meadow and the cottage.

  It had been years and I never went before time now. I went to take life when the person was dead, no more palaver or observations.

  My golden eyes passed on the grass as it slipped beneath my palm. I cast my eyes once on the cottage as the screaming started because of the fire there. How did the fire light up?

  I didn’t want to know.

  I kept ambling in the grass that was reaching my waist, and the shrieks kept disturbing my serene time.

  It would be over soon.

  The cottage was the only one of its kind in the area, no houses anywhere. A lone place. The fire reached up to the sky, I watched it trying to touch the sun.

  It ate up the wooden cottage like a mite eats wood. Even the wind was unable to extinguish it.

  The flares were hitting the ground from every direction, like drops of splashing water. After some time, the screams stopped but the fire didn’t.

  Drawing near, I stared at the fire, the ashes falling like snow now. Without wasting time, I stepped inside.

  The fire caught my clothes, lighting them up like a candle’s wick, but nothing could burn my skin. My golden eyes searched for the dead human.

  The wood from ceiling fell and the fire roared, sending up tongues of flames.

  I turned right, there was a door. maybe the human was trapped inside and couldn’t get out in time.

  My searing hand opened the door, and yes, there was a young man, dead on the floor, half burned. My golden eyes stayed at him for some minutes, as if I were the one responsible for the fire.

  He opened his eyes and looked startled, sitting upright, moving back from me.

  “You are on fire!” he cried, warning me.

  I didn’t reply and just kept staring at him.

  “Let’s get out of here!” he was in utter panic.

  He got up and began to run out of the door, but the beam from the ceiling fell, blocking his way.

  “How am I going to get out?” he was talking to himself now.

  The only thing that mattered to him was his life. Not even a burning woman caught his attention, only the wish to live somehow.

  He turned toward the window, grabbed a chair, and hit it on the glass, shattering it. but the fire covered the window, blocking his way. He ran back, coughing and panting, but couldn’t find a way out.

  Finally, he gave up, slumping in one corner. Then he realized I was also there, he stared at me in horror.

  “You are burning!” he told me in terrified voice. I didn’t answer, just stared at him.

  “You – are – going – to – die!” he stressed every word as if I was deaf.

  His eyes widened. I was burning but my skin was all right. It frightened him even more.

  “What are you?” he cried.

  I had no interest in conversation now. I widened my golden eyes, it frightened him, and he grimaced as pain hit him.

  In a moment, the man was twitching on the floor like a moth lured toward a flame.

  He was gone.

  For a second of two, I stared at the dead human, then I remembered I had other business as well, other lives to take.

  The schedule was busy. I walked out of the cottage, and the wind blew, extinguishing the fire on me.

  Once again, I moved on, in the meadow.

  ***

  Beautiful lies.

  The world is full of beautiful lies, most of which humans create themselves.

  Standing in the center of the city, among the tall buildings, I recalled the schedule in my mind.

  There were thirteen murders, twelve suicides, seventeen executions, nine death penalties, thirty accidents, six hundred and seventy-eight deaths in hospitals, fifty-six natural deaths and nineteen extras.

  Very busy, no time to think about anything, no time to waste. I walked among humans, crossed the road and went to the building. Took three lives. Went to Cuba, then Japan, Mexico… in fact, I traveled the world. The last country was Norway.

  The streets of Oslo were packed with snow. No one in their right state of mind would come out that day. I was alone, leaving no footprints in the snow as I walked toward the hotel.

  Inside it was warm like summer. Some humans were there too, reading newspapers or eating and talking. I had to go to room number 394.

  The elevator was packed, so I took the stairs. The room was on the third floor of the hotel. That part wasn’t crowded, every now and then, an attendant would pass.

  Looking at the doors, I stopped outside room number 394. I was early and had to wait. Standing outside, I could hear voices.

  “What would you like for dinner, honey?” it was an old woman’s voice.

  “I’m not hungry today,” the answer was of a weak old man.

  I frowned. His voice seemed familiar. I stopped pacing, moving my ear closer to the door. I tried to hear more.

  “Very well, I’m also not hungry,” there was a pause.

  “Give me that book.”

  Yes.

  The male voice was definitely familiar. I wondered who it was, I could hardly see. I had never heard any familiar voice for the past six years. I had never gone back in the forest or to the castle.

  I had never even seen someone familiar.

  “I wish we had never come on this trip,” the female spoke again,” it’s all snow for a week.
I guess I should go and call the airport.”

  “Yes.”

  When the door opened, the woman came out, and I slipped inside the room.

  Oh, this man. I stopped.

  And the words ‘Take this girl home’ fresh in my mind. It was him, Henry’s father: Fernando Cavills. I kept looking at him, he was old and weak. He looked torn by his illness, no longer a president.

  He was reading a book. After a minute, he put it down, took off his glasses, and got up slowly. He paced to the shelf and it was clear from his expressions that he wasn’t feeling well. He rubbed his left arm, then stopped, holding his jaw and frowning.

  Before he could go to the door, his hand moved to his heart and he flinched, holding the wall.

  The heart attack seemed severe.

  He dropped to his knees, clasping the front of his shirt, trying to speak but no words came out.

  Eyes closed, he sprawled on the carpet. It was the time to take his life. When he opened his eyes, he looked around, dumbfounded.

  We were out, in the snow, he was barefoot, wearing short sleeves and yet not cold. Getting up, he looked around and saw me.

  “Mr. Cavills.”

  I wanted to hear something, to ask something, but didn’t know what.

  “How do you know my name?” he asked in surprise,” Why am I outside? Why can’t I feel the cold?”

  “I am Death,” I answered the question he never asked. This was the first time I had spoken to a human for six years, “And you are dead.”

  Before he could show his disbelief, I continued after a short pause.

  “Only one question: why didn’t you attend Henry’s funeral?”

  I could see, standing on the snow, the red roses that I had placed on his grave. And his parents weren’t there.

  “Do you also attend funerals?”

  “No. Answer my question.”

  Folding his arms as if he were feeling cold, while in reality, in that nothingness, he wasn’t. He hesitated to give an answer, “Because I didn’t know that my son had died. Not until his wife came and told me.”

  “His wife? Who?” I asked forcefully.

  “Of course, you don’t know her, his wife, Rose.”

  “She came to you? When?” I frowned.

  “Why are you surprised? Why are you interested?”