(This lightly treads themes involving existentialism and loss of self, please read with caution if these themes are sensitive to you.)
The mundanity of life was a theme commonly played upon.
It would be the topic of conversations, it would be joked about in shows and movies and books were filled with fantastical worlds where everyday people were pushed into unlikely situations far stretched from any form of reality...and all with good reason.
Life was boring.
It was dull.
People could strive to fill their lives with whatever made them feel fulfilled but these feelings were only fleeting and soon, perhaps sooner than they'd ever admit, they would have to find something else to temporarily fill that dark reality that they tried to avoid.
The truth that life, by all means, was absolutely worthless.
At least, that's how you felt and that was the line of thought that you had been stuck in for a long time.
Too long, in fact.
This depressive and lonely rut refused to lift and you found yourself, over the course of dragging months, involuntarily isolating yourself, wandering within your own loneliness in the hopes of finding a way out and yet seeing no end in sight.
Instead, you pushed from day to day, keeping distracted with work until it was time to go home and pray that sleep would come to you that night and then rinse and repeat until the cycle was broken.
It was tiresome and lonely and so exhausting that it pulled you deeper into the void, further away from your goal.
You were drifting, as though you were lost at sea with no land on the horizon.
The water was dark, cold and pulling you deeper the more tired you became.
You felt heavy, hopeless and like your lung were filled with water.
But, much akin to the miracles of an unlikely boat happening upon a survivor floating out in the ocean, you met someone who, as ironic as it would turn out to be, brought life back to you.
It had happened on a cloudy Wednesday.
You were sat at a bus stop, waiting for your ride home that was, as per usual, at least ten minutes late.
So you waited, ass going numb from the cold metal bench, hands in your lap as you blankly watched the cars drive by and the people heading to whatever lives they lead, likely somewhere more fun than the empty home you'd be returning to after a day of being rushed off your feet.
The others sat around you were busy in their own lives, noses in phones or parent's entertaining children until they could get home and rest for the night, everyone oblivious to one another.
Until they walked over and took the open seat on your left.
No one else batted an eye, blinked or spared a glance at them but you, you couldn't control an undignified gawp at the newcomer.
For the first time in a long time, you felt something beyond numb.
Dread, confusion, fear and uncertainty bubbled in your stomach the longer they were sat there and it had only been a couple of seconds.
You shifted in your seat, mouth still agape as you glanced to the others waiting for the bus but no one else reacted, the usual sounds of the roads and streets were undisturbed when they should have gone completely silent.
Did no one else see it?
The long, flowing black robe.
The lifted hood with a tendril at the back that curled unnaturally behind the hidden head.
The strange grey mist that seemed to swirl around their feet and contained a mystery as to whether they truly walked or if they glided everywhere.
The bony hand poking out from the bell-sleeve of the robe, clutching onto a scythe that was too large and likely too heavy for any human to carry.
You could attempt to rationalise it.
Perhaps they were coming from some event, an event that involved immaculate costumes.
Maybe it was some elaborate advertising scheme, like a hidden camera bit that would be shown on TV, but nothing else seemed out of place.
No explanations made concrete sense, but they all seemed more likely than facing a truth that you, at this ordinary bus stop on a typical evening of waiting for a bus at the end of a mundane day, were sitting next to the Grim Reaper.
"Staring is rude," a collection of voices said, some whispered, some hissing venomously but all in unison with a dreariness that echoed as if they were coming from a fading dream.
Though one, with a deep baritone, was stronger and clearer than the others.
You found yourself unable to respond, your mouth floundering as a strange ringing began to fill in your ears.
"I see, you are able to see through my disguise."
"What?" You asked dumbly, the first thing you were able to get your mouth around.
The apparent Grim Reaper chuckled, looking out towards the road as cars flew by, at least...that's where you assumed they were looking.
"Seriously," you pushed, "what do you mean?"
Their hood tilted as though they were looking down at you, then another inhuman chuckle chilled your bones.
"I can tell by your reaction that you see my true self, unlike the others here who merely see me as another passenger for the ride."
Your brain faltered for a moment, the screeching sound of old internet booting playing in your ears before you snorted a laugh.
"Really? What kind of YA bullshit is that?"
"You are the special one here, you tell me."
"I see, Death is a sassy one."
"You would be too if you spent the many decades I have dealing with your kind."
You shrugged and looked towards the road again, giving a small nod.
"I've worked with them for less than half of my life and I already know how you feel."
"Of course."
A few more cars flew by before you found yourself shifting and looking back up to the intimidatingly tall cloaked figure.
"So wh-"
"I'm here to do my job, of course," they cut you off, the tone hard to determine from the mixture of ethereal voices, though the deeper one sounded bored.
"Wait, someone here is going to die?" You asked, looking down the line to your right and then leaning forward to look past them to look to the few on the left.
"Not in this line, not that it should matter to you."
"It matters to me, I don't want to see someone die."
"Many don't."
"Comforting."
"I'm not here to be your inspirational talker," they said, their otherworldly voice sounding both monotoned and amused.
"That's a shame, I could really use some right now."
"Oh? For what?"
"Anything."
"I see, you've reached that point, as many beings are prone to."
"They are?" You asked, your voice coming out quieter than you had intended as you looked up at this cosmic being beside you.
"Naturally, it's not unusual, just very unfortunate."
There was a loud screech of tyres against tarmac and you found yourself tensing up, anticipating the inevitable.
Your hands reached to grasp the edge of the bench as nerves settled in but the being beside you merely chuckled, shaking their head...you thought, though it was still hard to tell.
"Perhaps when I'm done here we can have a discussion over your mood as of late," they suggested, looking down at you. "Does that sound sufficient?"
You took a long breath, tearing your eyes away from the road and up to stare into the darkness of the hood, still not understanding how you could see nothing inside.
"Are you here to take me?"
"It is not my job to say," they replied, rising from their place, "but we shall continue this conversation one way or another, whether I am or not."
You watched as they drifted closer to the road, scythe still held tightly in their skeletal hand and a pit of dread in your stomach started to mix with excitement.
A literal date with Death, even if you weren't caught in a world of lost thoughts and uncertainty you definitely wouldn't have seen your day taking this turn.