Death, Actually: Part 2

Part 1

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Joseph rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes while he tried to comprehend what was happening.

"Yes, yes. I know. The initial shock is something that’s difficult to deal with. But trust me, you’ll get over it." said Hades.

"Get over it? How do you get over being dead? Why can’t I remember anything except people saying my name and what’s happened in this… this… place?" he blustered.

"Well for starters, when you come across, your memories are masked from you. This is done for many reasons. First and foremost it helps keep the peace. Secondly it teaches patience and forgiveness… or at least that’s the intention." Death explained. "I mean, think of the chaos that would occur if people popped in here with full recall and a hot grudge against someone left on the other side. Some folks would nurse that like you wouldn’t believe. The next thing you know you’ve got all out conflict over a generation old argument."

"But why did I see what I saw when you said my name?" Joseph asked.

"Some folks have memories that are closely tied to their being. A name is one of the most fundamental pieces of your self-identity. That’s why it hit you like a shitwagon on it’s way to pump a honeypot when I said it. It’s not always just words though. It can be music, smells, a chain of thought leading you the right way, or the way the sunlight hits a flower when you are looking at it from a certain angle…" he trailed off, lost in a thought. He quickly regained his composure though and carried on, an almost embarrased look on his bearded face.

"The rest of your answers will all come in time though. For now, we’ll just sort of, you know, hang out together." Hades smiled as he said this. "So you can learn the ropes and learn to get around. The afterlife isn’t what most people expect."

"Hanging out. With Death. Right." murmured Joseph. "Well is there anything else you can tell me now?"

"Yes. Don’t be concerned about your memory. You already know what you need to know to get around and you’ll remember what you  need to remember soon enough."

"Now," Hades said "let’s get something to eat. Who’s up for chinese?"

Death, actually.

He awoke to the sound of silence more than anything specific. That subconscious droning of Brownian motion that the inner ear picks up then magnifies like the roar of freight trains. His eyes opened and he sat up rather suddenly, taking stock of his surroundings. His heart was racing, pounding in his chest. Rattled half-memories spun around inside his head as if he were waking from a bad dream then faded into that post-waking nothingness that follows sleep.

He was on a plainly dressed cot in a small room. The walls were a sickly off-white and yellow color. The bed and sheets all echoed the same shades. There was no visible light source in the room, yet it was adequately lit. This resulted in a slightly disorienting effect as there were no shadows. It was hard to tell where the cot ended and the walls and floor began.

He ran his hands through his hair and yawned as he examined the room. There were no doors, no windows. Just he and his bed. Well that’s rather odd he thought to himself.

He was clothed in soft robes the same color as his surroundings. The fabric was smooth and fine with the texture of suede but was light and airy. He wore no shoes and his bare feet felt no chill from the floor. It gave the sensation of imparting no warmth nor stealing any.

Where is this place? He thought. Where am I?

Who am I?

“Ah, you are aware. Good.” said a pleased voice from behind.

The man turned and found himself in front of an old man sitting in a leather chair. The chair had not been there before and it was that same damnable color that was starting to itch in his mind. He looked around and his bed was gone, as were the walls. It was just he and the old man in this sickly tract of nothingness.

“There’s really no need to be afraid Joseph” the old man said and he smiled. “Oh and watch out, what you’re about to experience is a bitch.”

Joseph. That’s my name. The name echoed through his mind and triggered a flood of memories. His field of vision became a kaleidoscope of images. Faces looking upon him with care and compassion. Others with derision and hate. He heard a chorus of “Joseph” over and over in his mind. He fell to his knees and held his head in his hands as the scenes played out before him.

The old man knelt on the floor with him and touched him on his shoulder. A feeling of warmth and compassion came over him. “Yes. The first revelation is always the most painful. That’s why I choose to reveal the name first. It will get easier” he said. The old man patted him on the back a few times as Joseph lay on the floor, dazed.

“Who are you?” Joseph said. “Where am I?” He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Who do you think I am?” said the old man who somehow managed to look mischievous and somber at the same time.

“I don’t know. God, maybe?” asked Joseph.

He smiled a wry little smile, then winked. “Close. Death, actually. God is a little busy at the moment so he asked me to pinch-hit for him.”

“Pinch-hit? Death? I’m dead? I’m fucking dead?”

“Now now, watch your language. We can’t have just anyone dropping the f-bomb around here. God might get a little pissed.”

“God gets pissed?”

*thwack!*

“I said watch your language” muttered Death as he cuffed Joseph across the back of the head.

“You don’t look like any kind of Death that I’ve ever heard of.” Joseph grumbled as Death resumed his perch in his chair.

“Of course I don’t, you’re on the other side now.”

“Ah of course, the other side. God, it all makes sense now. Thanks for breaking that down for me.” Joseph said as he stood up and shot an evil look at Death.

“No problem.” Death said. “And to clarify again, I’m Death, not God.”

“Whatever. Look, Death…” Joseph started to say.

“Hades, please. My friends call me Hades.”

“Right. Hades. Look, I can’t be dead. Just five minutes ago I was sleeping and woke up in this place. I should be…” and a blank look crossed his face.

“Yes?” smiled Death. “You should be what Joseph?”

“I should be… somewhere…”

What is happening to me? Joseph thought.

“Yes, yes you should be somewhere.” said Hades.

“You should be sitting right here listening to me tell you what’s going on.”

Waiting On The Water

The little boy sat on the front porch and watched as his mother mowed the lawn.

The hot early afternoon sun pounded down on him, and he felt the rough concrete of the porch scrape his skin as he shifted positions, trying to stay comfortable.

The short awning over the front porch offered little in the way of shade. The sun was at such an angle that nearly all of the concrete surface was bathed in the afternoon light. He felt the top of his head and it was hot to the touch.

The little boy swallowed hard, having little moisture in his mouth to help him. He was thirsty and tried waving to his mother to get her attention. She was rather intent on mowing the lawn and did not see him.

He stepped out into the yard and waited for her to make another circuit. Around she came and saw him standing there. She slowed the yard tractor to a crawl and disengaged the blades. Throttling down she asked him what he wanted.

“Mama, can I get a drink of water? I’m thirsty.”

“I can’t unlock the house right now honey, I need to get the yard finished.”

“But Mama, I ain’t had a drink all day. I’m really thirsty.”

“No, you’ll just have to wait. I need to get this done.”

And with that she throttled the tractor back up, re-engaged the mower deck and set about her task of finishing the yard, leaving the little boy standing there watching as the tractor rumbled and rattled away.

He turned around and looked at the house. He had already tried the front door and it was locked. The garage door was closed and he didn’t have a way to open it as it was much too heavy for such a small boy to lift on his own. Trying to walk around the back of the house and go over the fence would only make Mommy come after him. He didn’t want Mommy to be mad at him for a drink of water.

Despair welled up in him as he walked back to the front porch and sat down again, the hot concrete stinging the exposed portions of his legs. Tears began to fall from his cheeks as he sat there and waited. He wiped his face and tasted the salt on his fingers. That helped at least a little.

He lay on the porch in the sun, watching his mother go around and around in her mindless task.

Silently he wept as he watched.

He was crying even harder when she finished and pulled up to go in the house.

“What’s the matter?” she said, obviously annoyed.

“I’m thirsty Mama” he managed to sob. He was hyperventilating slightly as children do when they are upset.

“Well then, get in the house we’ll get you a drink.”

She opened the door and they made their way into the kitchen so he could get his water. He drank greedily from the glass when it was offered, then asked for more when he emptied it.

She gave it to him and he made his way into the living room to sit in the floor. Tear tracks were still on his cheeks as his mother turned on the television to watch her afternoon soaps, then made her way to her chair.

The little boy sat alone on the floor with his water, forgotten. He picked at his tennis shoes while he sipped from the glass.

His mother sat in her chair and watched her show, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

The little boy cried as he made his way to his room, still sipping his water.

Curvature

A work of fiction by Christopher R. Adams

It was a beautiful spring day.

Wisps of cloud traced their way across the light blue sky while birds circled overhead, trilling their songs. The sun shone ever so brightly, and the trees cast long shadows on the courtyard as students hurriedly made their way home after a long day at school.

One boy in particular was doing his best to avoid being noticed. Light brown slightly disheveled hair fell down into blue eyes that scanned the courtyards nervously. Young Isaac was taller than average for his age. This coupled with the clumsiness that accompanies the pre-teen and teen years earned him his fair share of teasing.

Isaac was weaving between the various social cliques, keenly aware of several sets of eyes on him as he moved. Occasionally he would hear a snicker or laughter and he would cast his eyes downward in shame or embarrassment.

He saw his friend Sam moving towards him out of the corner of his eye, and stopped to wait for him. Sam came running up with a big smile on his face. “Hey Isaac, you wanna come over to my place tonight? I got BMX Rush for my GameCenter.”

“Sure, I gotta ask Mom, but you know she’ll be okay with it” he replied.

“Alright, that’s cool. I’ll see you later then.”

He took the steps down from the courtyard to the street level three at a time, passing many gleeful seventh graders along the way. Jumping from the next to the last step, he hit the sidewalk running. His untucked and unbuttoned flannel shirt flapped like a cape behind him as he landed. Just like Batman he thought and permitted himself a smile. Isaac decided to head around the far end of the courtyard in order to avoid any problems with the other stronger boys who looked for thrills or a good time after school.

No such luck.

He rounded the corner in time to hear a mocking “Isaaaaaaac…” behind him. He recognized the voice as Tate’s. One of Will’s friends.

He hit the ground, pushed from behind.

Arms came from nowhere and seized his. His backpack was ripped off and thrown to the ground. Tate was to the left, some other kid whose name he couldn’t remember was to his right. Isaac yelled, “Tate, let me go” while trying to pull free. Strong arms held him tight and refused to let go.

Trapped.

He felt his pulse rise. It rose further when he saw Will walk from behind a group of shrubs.

Will looked him up and down with a sneer on his face. “Where d’ya think you’re going Isaac?” You gonna run home to your Momma?”

His friends laughed and Will’s expression never changed.

Isaac simply looked at him and said “I ain’t got time for this Will. I gotta get home.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Yer gonna make time for me now.”

“I don’t wanna hurt no one. Just leave me alone.”

Laughter. Sneers.

Isaac felt his pulse race faster as the situation started getting more complex. Will moved closer to him to where the younger boy could smell his breath as he spoke.

“I think someone is going to get hurt Isaac. And that someone is you.”

Isaac felt his breath whoosh out as his stomach was replaced with Will’s fist. He lay on the ground, vision spotting and going black. He felt someone pick him up… Will? No. It was Tate. He picked him up and held Isaac by his left arm, the other kid was holding his right again.

Crap, I’m gonna hurl he thought, but didn’t have time to finish it as another punch landed on his jaw. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as they dragged him out of sight.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” fell from his bloody lips.

“Yeah well I want to hurt you” Will said through a sneer.

Will’s fist popped into Isaac’s jaw again and he felt teeth loosen. He spit blood on the ground while the older boys laughed and jeered.

His heartbeat raced, and his consciousness seemed to dull. Sharp pain rippled across the back of his skull. His head spasmed involuntarily, eyes staring at the sky.

His eyes rolled back until the whites showed. His back arched. A scream came forth that seemed to start at the ground, and move up his body until it erupted into the sky.

Will stared at him, his eyes growing wide.

“What tha hell?”

Tate and the kid with no name let his arms go as Isaac’s body shuddered and fell to the ground.

Tate looked at Isaac, “Jeezus Will…”

Will’s eyes were wide as he whispered to himself. “I didn’t do nothing to him that he didn’t deserve! I just kicked his ass is what I did! Kicked his ass…”

Isaac stopped his spasms and began to lie still. He groaned.

Will stood over him. “Get up.”

Isaac just lay there.

“I said GET UP!” followed by a kick to the ribs.

Isaac coughed and spit some blood out of his mouth. He sat up and cradled his head in his hands.

“Will… stop it. The pain…”

“That’s RIGHT you little shit. It’s gonna hurt a lot more now.”

Will’s fist whistled through the air and came in contact with nothing. He stumbled and fell to his knees. His friends laughed at him as he swore to himself. He picked himself up off the ground and began to dust off his pants.

He started to make another violent promise to Isaac when he realized that Isaac wasn’t there anymore.

He wasn’t anywhere.

Will and his friends stopped and stared, mouths hanging open.

From nowhere he heard a whisper say, “Please stop the pain…”

Will whirled around to empty air.

“WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!?” Will screamed.

Will’s friends had stopped laughing and started to back off. They were the smart ones now, thinking about running home to their Mommas.

The voice came from behind him.

“I’m right here Will.”

He turned. Isaac was staring at him, but not with human eyes.

His eyes had become smooth crystalline spheres and seemed lit from within like stars in the nighttime sky.

His skin had gone ghostly white and his hair was completely black. His flannel shirt rippled in some unsensed breeze as he floated above the ground.

Isaac hung there for a few moments, his gaze piercing Will. The bully’s jaw hung slack as he tried to understand what was happening.

Time seemed to have stopped. No birds chirped. No trees moved with the wind. Nature held its breath.

Isaac raised his right hand in front of him and held it straight out, pointing at Will. He moved his finger to point at Will’s right shoulder, and then drew an unseen line from the right shoulder to the left hip.

The boy screamed. Pain erupted across his chest and waist. He could feel his skin split and blister under the invisible touch, even though the younger boy was still ten feet away.

His friends, Tate included, bolted and disappeared into the trees surrounding the school.

The world seemed to fold in on itself, like a box turned inside out. The color faded and became blurred and muted shades of gray. Will tried to run, but his body had stopped obeying his commands.

Please Will, stop the PAIN.

The bully felt more than heard these words. It skittered across the inside of his skull like spiders crawling across a stone surface.

Will screamed, thrashing against whatever force held him there.

Isaac’s head tilted to an angle. He quizzically looked at Will as he was immobilized there.

No emotion touched his ashen face at all.

Will stared at Isaac, then began to beg. Spittle fell from his lips as he blubbered senselessly. He made promise after promise, pleading for his very young life as he knew it.

Isaac only stared, unblinking.

Will closed his eyes and thrashed about, trying to break the invisible bonds that held him.

No luck.

Isaac held his hand out again, this time palm up.

Will whimpered.

Isaac slowly closed his hand into a fist, and Will felt his heart explode in his chest.

Blood spurted from his mouth, a bubbling red geyser.

The invisible bonds that were holding him slipped away, and Will slumped to the ground, blood running from his nostrils and mouth.

The world unfolded. The brushed and blended shades of gray became sharp and vivid once again.

The pain is gone.

Isaac dropped to the ground and collapsed, unconscious.

A breeze stirred, and on it faint laughter could be heard. It was a dry, cackling sound.

Then a voice like sandpaper.

“We have found him.”

“Yes. He is young.”

“You were not much older when we found you.”

A grunt of affirmation. “His will is strong. Can he be shaped?”

“He will be shaped and he will be molded to our way. There is no other alternative.”

“If he turns?”

“That has not been seen.”

“It is not an impossibility.”

“You border on heresy.”

“Forgive me.”

“Then let us fetch him and be on our way.”

“Agreed.”

Waiting On the Ghosts

The little boy sat alone at the top of the basement stairs, staring down into the darkness below. The dripping of the faucet in the small kitchen and the barking of the dog in the garage were his only companions. As he sat there, he heard sounds in the living room. The television blared loudly with the bells and wild applause of the Price is Right, and the voice of his Mother as it echoed around the corner. She was having her daily conversations with the air. The little boy wondered why she talked to the air, and wondered if the other kids’ parents did the same.

He sat there at the top of the stairs, and looked down into the darkness, wondering what was down there. What strange beasts and creatures lurked there when the lights were off? He looked up at the light switch, wishing he could turn it on but it was too far away. It was too high for his little hands to reach.

As such, he sat there and waited. If he didn’t, Mommy would be mad.

Normally the basement was a place of refuge and safety when Daddy was home and the lights were on. The boy would sit with his father by the wood burning stove and watch the logs crack and pop as the flames consumed them. His father would pass the time by whittling a piece of wood with his knife. The little boy would stoke the fire or play with his toys or do one of a hundred other things.

But today was about waiting and listening.

And then it happened.

The phone in the basement rang.

The little boy sprang into action. He ran into the front room and breathlessly said "Mama… the phone’s a ringin’ mama.."

It took a moment or two before he got his Mother’s attention. It was rude to interrupt one having a conversation after all. After an achingly long time she looked at him, finally comprehending what the little boy had been repeatedly telling her. She said "Well plug the phone in then. Hurry!"

The boy scrambled behind the couch on his hands and knees. He looked at the plug for the old rotary phone and tried to fit it into the wall. The plug was oddly shaped, with three blades each turned in different directions. He screwed up his face in concentration as his little hands tried to match up the blades with the holes in the outlet and push the plug into the wall. All the while his mother was screaming at him to plug the phone in as she was expecting Daddy to call.

Frightened, the boy managed to get the plug into the wall and the phone screamed to life. His mother lunged for the phone and answered it with a sickly sweet "Hello…"

The little boy sat there and watched as his Mother talked to Daddy.

Yes, everything was fine.

Yes, both were doing well.

He was playing and she was watching TV.

Yes yes.

I love you too.

Bye bye now. See you tonight.

His mother hung up the phone and looked down at him coolly. Knowing what to do, he once again crawled behind the couch and pulled the plug out of the wall and sat it on the carpet. He carefully laid it there so he could remember how it was supposed to fit into the wall next time Daddy or someone else called.

He crawled back out onto the carpet and tried to watch TV.

"No, you need to go wait for the phone to ring."

"But Mama… why cain’t I leave this one plugged in?"

"Because then they can come and get me. You need to keep that phone unplugged and go listen for the other one at the top of the stairs."

"Who’s they Mama?"

"The ghosts. They’ll come through the phone and get me. Now get back out there and listen for that phone in case someone else calls."

The little boy made his way back out to the kitchen and once again sat at the top of the stairs. Wild thoughts ran through his head as to how ghosts could come through the phone. If they could come through the one in the living room, what was to keep them from coming through the one in the basement?

He sat again on the top step and stared into the darkness below. His only company once again was the dripping faucet and the dog in the garage. He sat and stared, ears straining, again waiting for the phone to ring.

And hoping, ever hoping that the ghosts wouldn’t come to get him today.

-End-