Death’s Diary

Okay so admittedly, that was a bit rude, leaving you (or me? this is a diary) on a cliffhanger like that. I hope you didn’t tell yourself; ‘I’m going to read until the end of the entry, and then I’m going to bed.’ Because that would suck (I am laughing at you specifically).

But genuinely, I became very concerned, where I had not truly worried about anything since that decibel, and even then, that was pretty minor. Also, I hope you caught the throwback to the slang from 2000s south of the United States. I’m pretty proud of that. But seriously, it was appropriate.

So basically, the universe is old. Like really old. Like really really really old. Like really. Are you getting it? The universe is so old that whatever you think is old, is actually infantile. It’s quite literally incomprehensible for humans.

So, some species are so advanced that they just don’t… let me in anymore, basically. They have become so immortal and advanced, given all this time, that I can’t even get to them. Which means that they can never die. This presents some issues for them, as far as I can tell, but their technology is advanced enough that it works out pretty well.
There aren’t very many of these peoples, no more than a few thousand, but whenever a new species achieves this, it makes me bob up and down with joy, and sometimes, I might even dance a jig. It makes me love my job even more, because someday I won’t even have to do it anymore, people will just get to keep living.

And for the first time in the incomprehensible and complex history of the universe, one of them just died.

I was so stunned I barely registered the new me that had formed on the planet along with that person’s Death.

Looking at her body, there was not a scratch. Anatomically, there wasn’t a thing wrong with her either. I, Death himself, did not know how this woman had died. This was a new experience, to be sure.

Her kids were starting to crowd around her corpse, starting to howl. Her dog was unceremoniously sniffing her foot. Where…?

I spotted her over in the corner of the kitchen, black stained tears carving down her cheeks, her back pressed against the blue paneled wall like she wanted to melt into it. I made everything but the room disappear, and slowly made my way over to her. More caution and… calmness, would be needed for her than my previous patient. I knew this because for one, she was already crying (bawling, if we’re being stingy), her Death had been unexpected, and her entire family was present. That wasn’t exactly a concoction meant for happy days and fond memories.
“Thalia?” I kneeled so that I would be on her level. When she didn’t respond, I tried again, just a little bit louder (I was already having flashbacks…), “Thalia?”

Her head jerked up and when her eyes met mine she stood, panicked. Odd. Almost always when guiding one of my new constituents I take the form of someone they trust, physically —or… astrally, I guess?— I look like whoever that person is, but I make it clear —through some magic (sort of) shenanigans— that I’m not actually that person. They pretty much just know. So, if whoever she was looking at was supposed to be someone she trusted completely, why did my face make her panic?

It’s (very) basically telepathy, but for the soul. Soulepathy. Whatever, let me live. I can just kind of scan her memories and assume whatever form I identify as the best fit. Her fists were clenched. (Hint: not good.) I switched forms to my natural one, which has had fairly positive reactions, I’m proud to say, so that whoever I had just been would not make her uncomfortable.

“Thalia? It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” I know, it seems pretty basic, but it actually works, a lot of the time. I backed away a little bit and stood. Damn, this false memory stuff was not looking good. And on top of that no Death markers? Surely not…

“To whom do I speak with?” Huh. Very formal, this world. Perhaps I should switch up my tactics just a tinge. Very unfortunate that I had no way of knowing that beforehand.

I bowed, “I am Death, Mrs. Margot.” Based on her reaction (or lack thereof) I could tell she already knew; she just wasn’t willing to admit it quite yet. Pretty standard, to be honest.

“I asked who you are, sir. Where are my children?” Okay so, I will admit, my first assessment of this lady was completely wrong, but on the bright side, doing something for the whole of existence makes you pretty good at it, like thinking on the fly, for example.

“Madame, I am Death. If you want to see your children, I can show you, but be forewarned that the experience will likely be an unpleasant one. If you care to take a seat, we can discuss the meaning of this…” She shook her head firmly.

I nodded. And another one of me sighed. I stepped out of her line of sight and revealed her corpse and her children crowding around it, each of them howling like dogs in pain. Her face did not shift an inch. Very odd. “I requested to see my children, sir. Not some wench’s.” This time I did frown.

Damn.
Damn.

In case you were wondering, that was me figuring it out right there. But you get to wait. One problem at a time, you see. And waiting does well for dramatic effect. What could it possibly be? You’re asking yourself right now. Good, keep wondering. It builds suspense, you see.

“Mrs. Margot, I request that you inspect the cadaver located just below these children here. You will notice, I believe, that the pair of you have the same faces. And when you wave your hand through these little offspring, your hand passes through them like mist.” I backed away so that she would feel comfortable approaching the little mob of depression. When she tried to pat one of the kids on the head, her hand passed straight through it, just as I said. But her face still did not change. Then she crouched (still a bit too dignified for my taste, but I try not to judge) over her own body. She sat there staring for probably an hour. It’s hard for me to tell, to be honest. Like I said before, Time gets wonky when you’ve been around for all of it.

Eventually her face broke and tears started cutting new paths down her face. I made them all disappear, approached her from the side, and caught her in a bear hug. For a moment she resisted, but then she relaxed and folded into my arms, and I just held her as sobs wracked through her.

To be honest, her reaction was a bit odd (if you couldn’t tell from my interjections). And I really had thought I’d seen everything (one of me was shaking my head at myself in shame). She was crying like she was sad about dying, or like she missed her loved ones, but the best I could tell, she wasn’t really sure who those people were. It was all jumbled up in her mind; some things were gone completely, some things were there that shouldn’t have been, and some things were just in places they shouldn’t have been in the first place.

After her tears started to slow down, I pushed myself gently away from her and looked her in the eyes. “Thalia? Are you ready to talk about this?” She nodded, not firmly this time. She looked away. “Thalia, look at me. Please?” She met my eyes, “You already know, okay?” She shook her head, her lip started to tremble again. I nodded instead, “Thalia, listen, I know. Yeah, I know it’s hard. You’re dead, alright?” She hugged her face into me and started shaking again.

Yeah, I know, not super flowery or fancy or even very nice, but still, to this day, I have not found a better way to say it than to just be out with it. Mostly it’s a tone of voice thing and the number of pauses or the speed with which you say it. It’s an art. Call me Picasso (that one was obscure, I don’t know if you’ll get it).

“How… how is it possible… that I have… that I have perished?” She asked between sobs. “It should not… be possible for me… to die.”

“I know. It’s hard, but once you go through that door,” I pointed toward the floor (the door was in the floor, no this is not that weird) in the hallway next to us, “It won’t even matter anymore. You might even be happy that it happened.”

“How could what lies through there…” she held back another sob, “provide happiness?” Huh. I really hadn’t considered the fact that her society wouldn’t have a concept of Heaven or Hell. Literally every single sentient society in the history of history has had one of those. I guess since they don’t die, they just don’t think about it. Odd. A lot of very odd things were happening today, unfortunately.

“Some have said it’s like an eternal paradise. Heaven? Have you heard of that?” She shook her head no. Still odd. “Well, no matter what, there’s nowhere else for you to go.” Now, admittedly (again) I was beginning to get a little impatient. Not with her, really, but with the situation. See, what I needed to do was (probably) time sensitive, and she was taking her sweet, sweet time to process this. Not really her fault, but (just a tad) annoying, nonetheless.

“Well,” she said and inhaled deeply, “best to be about it then.” Well, that was convenient. She stood and smoothed her… dress? Robes? Onesie? I have no idea, honestly. It was a lot of fabric though. I stood with her and said a few encouraging words. Her door’s light was green. Weird. I had never seen green before. Blues were fairly common, different shades of red and yellow. Even black or white on occasion. But never green.

“Don’t yank it, alright? Just pull lightly.” She nodded, bent down, and slowly (probably a little more so than necessary, honestly) hauled it open. And then she stepped down and was gone. Normally I would be very satisfied, but I was entirely too enraged to feel anything but pissed.
“Memoria, show yourself immediately or I will speak to Alan. You will not enjoy what comes next, in that case.”