There was a defining moment in time when my life turned to someone quite peculiar. The universe, in chaos rumbling, partook the path with me. As condescending as it was the few months adjusting to his cloak wrapped around my feet, I was in a café when, what I used to consider as a weight to carry around my shoulders, he became a part of me so vast I couldn't paint my portrait without mixing his color with mine.
I was terribly lonely when he knocked on my door for the very first time. It was raining outside and the ruckus of the pelting rain drops on the roof of my house resonated in my ears and I realised I had a phobia of hearing my heartbeats echoing through the walls of my flesh, I nearly ripped my skin apart with my nails. Yet, I did not wander far into the bay of darkness, instead, it came to me, with roses, chocolate and smooth caressing hands that took my own and kissed them.
I couldn't help but feel at home.
Soon, he was with me on the first day I went back to school to face a crowd that came with judgements and he would tell me how worthless they all were standing next to me. He came the second day too, as I was lying down to go to bed and insisted on me to stay awake to talk about a world where he and I could reign; although I persisted on being his equal, he would cut it off, "You stand above me."
What do you say to a man who wants to fight the whole world for you? How do you feel about a being who looks at you the way you are meant to be looked at; not a masterpiece in an art exhibit, nor a book treasured in the hearts of many, but a driving force of nature which without he wouldn't exist?
I said on a lonely night as he engulfed me in his arms, I love you.
He replied, I am not if you are not.
That's what I ignored and in so, I suffered immensely when he left me...or rather, when I erased him.
Writing about Death was not hard, I didn't create him. As such there was no backstory to be invented, characteristics to ensure or any personal development a character demands in a novel. As any living, breathing, walking person who talked to me, Death was too. He came to me on starry nights, cloudy nights, stormy nights, any nights really for just a little bit of company. For two souls like ours, lost in a time period we don't belong in, we felt quite lonely. The option of being lonely together ironically felt warmer than staying under covers wondering about the turning of Earth's axis as the world goes deeper and further more towards its doom.
Death was cursed to see, one too many a great things, some he would tell the tales of and others, his eyes darkened and he would imminently storm off quietly. Yet, there were rare moments where the burden was too heavy to bear and on my shoulders, he sought out relief. His eyes were two stones of green, one paler than the other. I find myself often comparing them to the marbles laid out on display in my living room as decoration. He would scoff at me. Silly girl, he'd mumble under his breath. He knows I have fine hearing maybe, finer than any mortals he has had the audacity to approach. Yet, his ever fearless nature, as he so humbly puts it, seems like an act to me. How long can a soul who has lived to see empires built to only fall to ruins stay on earth without feeling miserable? I've only been on this blue ball we call the earth for nineteen years and yet, I find myself thinking about my end every time I have free time. Peculiar, a few days from this, one of my friend enquired if I was depressed. Was I? I said no. But does thinking about how my life could end in different daydreams with different timelines mean that I am suicidal? My answer was no then. My answer is no now. I don't believe that Death is a choice. I never asked for Death to come to me.
Thing is, Death cannot, for the love of god, stay away.
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