Death's Wish

Alcohol

I found myself standing on a small street at night. Cars lined each side of the road, but the street was otherwise empty. A mixture of tall, short, young and old buildings cramped together filled my view. The scene itself was indistinguishable from many parts of the world, but it only took one look at the signage to figure out where I was.

France.

I really hate France.

Sighing, I made my way over to a drunken man having a heated conversation with himself. Not as in the man talking to himself metaphorically, but as in the man yelling at his body. It was pretty obvious who was losing.

Drunk people are stubborn. Especially those who drink their lives away, they tend to be too far gone. It's rare that I'm able to help a drunkard.

You cannot win an argument with yourself.

The French man wobbled onto his feet and eyed me suspiciously. The act was comical.

"Annnduh just who do *hehuhhhg* excuse me you think you are?"

I am your guide.

"So where weeee goin?"

Whatever comes next.

"Listen. I know this greaaat bar. It's just down the street over twere. First roundsss on me!"

With this last statement he pumped his arms in the air with a triumphant smile. However, this act overpowered him, and soon he was flat on the ground.

I am not here for drink. I'm not even sure I can drink. And you aren't going to get anymore, whether you like it or not.

The French man propped himself onto his elbows and glared at me with a drunken stupor. His words came out mixed but sharp.

"What ddid you say to me? Uh? Listen here you bastard, no one's ever stopped me from a drinkin, and no one's ever gonna! So just buzz off. You're wastin your breath, costume man."

This is no costume. I am Death.

"Like hell you are! You think you can stroll around 'ere at night in your pretty little robe and your dumb mask and tell people you're death? You'll need bigger stilts asshole!"

That is your corpse against the wall.

"That's just my buddy Marc. He ain't got nothing to do with me."

You're dead.

"Shut up! I'm done with your act clown, go find someone else to bother."

He fumbled as he tried to rise to his feet. After a few minutes of trying and failing, the French man finally rose on his untrustworthy legs. He then began to walk down the street, in the direction of the bar he had mentioned. He only passed a couple cars before running face first into an invisible wall.

"The hell? Maybe I should've laid off on the *heuuhch* the fruity ones."

You are bound to your body. While I am here, you cannot leave.

"Sooo whatcha waitin around for? Fuck off!"

I cannot. I need you to make a decision.

"Oh yeah? What's that? You want me to give you a little review for your act? Wait, ammm I on camera or sumtin?"

He began spinning around in circles yelling "You got me!" through heavy giggles.

You have three options. You can depart in peace to the next stage. You can stay here as a spirit, or I can Erase you.

"Erase me? The hell? If you wanted to fight clown man you should've said that. I've been fixin to get my knuckles in someones face again. Show myself I've still got it."