6:14AM, WELLINGTON ST. BUS STATION, PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA
It was the lowest temperature ever recorded. -0.9°C and he was shivering. He was snuggled in a thick, grey jacket, soiled by grease and mud. His faded cargo pants had the same stains and little splatters of two-day old blood spots that seeped through from his knees. He had a bad fall on the rough concrete when he decided to jump off the roof of an unsuspecting Honda CRV. It was a funny sight for me but definitely not for the owner who was swearing his head off for this sick man to get off his immaculately white, brand new car. Ah! The passion and care these humans invest in their material pride never fails to astound me. Interesting how intensely it has evolved through time.
Kurt was without a care. The profanity did not affect him one bit for he was immune to it. The first words he heard when he was born were "Holy fucking mother of god!" when his worthless mother pushed him out. I bit my lip to restrain myself from a fit of laughter when I heard it. Oooh, I would have loved to see the reaction on the Creator's face right then. But then again, the Creator could be just as immune to the profanity as my dear Kurt. Every millisecond, there is at least a handful of humans out there, swearing and keeping God "involved". Times like these, I am happy to be myself. It is, after all, very rare for anyone, even myself, to hear, "For fucking Death's sake!" I do not think anyone has ever used my name in vain. What I do know is many people try to be me or wish to be me. "I swear to God, I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Awww! There was God again...And, sad as it is, there are many humans who act like me. Just like our dear Kurt here, who killed his darling girlfriend, April, in a drunken, high, jealous rage five years ago. Lucky bastard. No one knew and no one knows except for himself, myself and April.
I do not know whom I should feel sorry for. Should I have any pity for Kurt for being the low-life that he is? Living day by day with the crime he committed, no drug or alcohol can make him forget the guilt. Or do I feel sorry for April? Just like many victims, she got cheated out of life. It was not her time. To make things worse, her family and friends are unaware that she is dead. Their thoughts? She is still gallivanting around, indulging in her vices; thanks to her good-for-nothing boyfriend.
I watched the steam that blew out of Kurt's mouth like wisps of smoke. His shoulders were trembling in the biting cold. He glanced at the big, round clock that hung above the bus lane across from him. In his intoxicated state, he found the second hand ticking so slow as if it were in suspended animation. He licked and bit his lips in an attempt to moisten them. His own spit felt like acid to his cracked mouth. Nevertheless, it did soothe him somehow. Then he swallowed several times. He was starving and he attempted to soothe his hunger with his saliva as well.
"Stupid man," I thought as I continued to stare at him disdainfully.
Kurt has not eaten for four days. Yet, yesterday, he stole a watch from Dane.
Dane is a seventy-three-year old man. He came to the park where his carer would take him, along with the other old people from the aged care facility he resided in. He was seated on a wooden bench, watching the ducks that paddle in the murky, man-made pond. Dane's carer walked away to assist a colleague with the rest of their wards. That was an opportunity for Kurt to sit next to him.
"Beautiful day," Dane greeted him with a smile so pure that it was child-like. His wrinkled hand rested on a wooden cane. "I love the spring." It was actually winter. His fingers were calcified and they struggled to keep a grip on the cane. His skin was liverish. The plaid brown pants and oversized coat that he wore could not keep his frail bone structure a secret. One look, anyone could tell that he had a smorgasbord of ailments. It will not be long until I pay him a visit.
Kurt nodded to him. "Do you have the time, mate?" he asked. Obviously he did not waste any time in implementing his plan.
Dane raised his wrist slowly and squinted. The numbers on his watch were a blur to him. He smiled and turned his wrinkly neck to Kurt. "I'm sorry, I left my glasses." He moved his arm towards Kurt. "Could you read it?"
It was easier than he thought. While his left hand supported the old arm from underneath, Kurt's right gently held on to Dane's wrist, carefully moving the face of the watch as if he was trying to get a better view. "It's...It's–" He squinted, pretending to read the time with difficulty.
"This watch belonged to my great grandfather and has been passed down to the youngest child in the family." His voice was filled with delight. "Soon it will belong to my son. He will be visiting me soon."
Kurt was not interested at all with idle chitchat. While grandpa was preoccupied with his story, he managed to unclasp the lock with his left little finger that made the watch dangle around Dane's wrist like a bracelet. The old man didn't seem to notice this. He took a deep breath. "It's time to go, grandpa."
Shock took over Dane's face when Kurt skillfully yanked the watch off with his right hand. "No!" he yelled. He gasped as he felt the edge of the gold metal scrape against his skin, causing a laceration. He grimaced in pain as blood gushed out. "Stop! Thief!"
Kurt was quick to run as soon as he freed the watch from its owner. Former owner. Last thing he saw was Dane's carer running towards him to check if he was all right. He did not know if someone tried to chase him. He did not look back as he ran out of the park and boarded the next random bus that stopped by. He had the relieved smile of someone who has tasted victory. He pocketed his prize. He will have cash that day. And did he need that cash!
It was not long before he was in a pawn shop. He was very pleased to get three-hundred, fifty-two dollars and eighty-five cents. He felt like a lotto winner. Maybe his spirits would plummet as fast as hail would from the sky if he had known that he got duped–he could have gotten an extra four hundred dollars. But that was fine. He did not deserve it anyway.
"Hey, mate," he called the shop assistant. "Can I use your phone?" he asked her, eying the cordless phone beside the register.
She reluctantly handed the phone to him. She concealed her disgust when she saw his gritty fingers. She swore that she would be disinfecting the unit like a lunatic with obsessive compulsive disorder as soon as he gave it back.
Kurt rummaged through the crumpled cards and paper scraps that littered his wallet. He found what he was looking for and he was pleased to dial the number. "Hey! Where are ya?" He had a smile in his voice. "Let's meet up. I got me some cash and you know–" He laughed. The person on the other line understood what he meant. They made the arrangements to meet, and Kurt was looking forward to feast on a nice supply that would temporarily take him to his idea of heaven.
That night, he had three hundred dollars up his arm and into his veins. One shot and intense pleasure embraced him. The pains of hunger, bruised bones, and muscles escaped him. Heaven was a beautiful place–just as he was told. He reached out for a can of Jack Daniels from his backpack. Hooking a sooty forefinger in the ring-pull, he eagerly opened the can. The fresh sound of fizz was music to his ears. He drew the can to his dry lips and sculled the entire contents down. A smile of satisfaction filled his lips. He reached for another can out of the bag, then opened it. He savored the hissing sound. Like a beast devouring its prey, he sucked the liquid out of the can. The thirst that scratched his mouth and throat was quenched by that potion, which was more precious than gold to him. The same potion that has been poisoning his liver, and the rest of his body. He was very much aware what was wrong with him, but his health was the least of his priorities. There were many things plaguing his mind, yet he slept very well that night inside the tunnel of a park's play gym–very comfortably so. Tomorrow he will face the same disease that has been eating his body, mind and soul. Tomorrow he will suffer.
The temperature around him dropped while my eyes burned in anger as I looked upon this man who did not deserve to live. Life. What does he think life is? Just mere time to walk on the earth? A superficial process of nature? Birth. Growth. Death. Just like many humans, Kurt does not realise what a privilege it is to be alive. He will know very soon.
Kurt shivered again as the temperature around him dropped once more. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
I sat on the bench behind him, my right leg crossed over the other. I playfully wriggled my toes as if there was nothing better to do. I rested my hands on the sides and scratched the long nails of my forefingers back and forth across the steel bench with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
Kurt took a deep breath and exhaled a thick cloud of steam. He looked around him and noticed that no one else seemed to feel the biting cold as badly as he did. His shoulders shivered once again. He raised his hand to his forehead, checking if he was feverish. Despite his pounding headache, pains all over his body, and nauseousness, he did not have a fever.
The bus station was starting to get busy as people gathered at their respective bus stands like automatons in the bubble of routine. There was little chance of a crowd at that time of morning, but he prayed for a rush-hour like mob of bodies to populate the station so he could leech off their heat. A sudden sense of envy swept him. He did not know why but he wished he had their life. They obviously had more purpose than he did.
The temperature dropped another degree as I slid forward, closer to the edge of the bench. A man dressed in overalls of orange and navy blue propped himself on the seat next to me. He was clinging onto the warmth of his flask and enjoying the smell of coffee. Sometimes, I wonder how these humans would react if they knew that at some point in their lives, they were next to Death.
Kurt tilted his head back and took a deep breath that sounded more like a struggling gasp. His eyes widened instantaneously at the unfamiliar scent in the air. It was nothing like anything he had ever smelled before. He craned his neck around as he tried to trace the origins of this fragrance. His eyes stopped at a shop nearby, hoping to see the shopkeeper opening the doors and propping up fresh flowers to sell. Only the shop's closed facade met him. He looked around once more. He was certain it was not perfume coming from anyone who walked past. He closed his eyes again and inhaled the redolent sweetness in the air. Was it a new drug? He felt a sense of elation as the aroma entered his nostrils, creeping through every vein and nerve that lined his head. The sensation was better than the lifetime of pleasure that alcohol and substances had given him. He sighed, oblivious to the glances people threw his way and comments from frowning passers-by, saying he was stoned, and reeked with the stench of alcohol and body odour. Kurt did not care. His mind became detached from his body, which became a mere obstacle, standing where it was, wasting space. His consciousness slipped away from reality. He took another whiff of the perfumed air; this time, instead of euphoria, it brought him into a painful spasm of consternation. He knew.
"A-Are you here to take me?" Kurt asked in almost a whisper, still confused about how he had suddenly become aware of my presence, as if his sixth sense had been awakened.
"No." My voice was serene, but ominous at the same time.
He wanted to turn around and face me, but his fear of me petrified him. That was no surprise. Literature and hearsay in this world have defined me to be a hideous creature of the night. I have been represented as an entity with a skull for a face, and a skeleton for a body, hidden underneath heavy black clothing with edges ripped by flames. The Grim Reaper, they have named me. Kurt also expected me to be carrying a scythe, ready to decapitate him. "Wh-what...why?" His body trembled in my presence. He did not know what or how to ask.
If I were not there to take him, why have I come then? That was the essence of his question. "Why do you think I have come?"
He gulped. "It's my t-time," he answered reluctantly. He refused to believe that he was going to die. In an instant, he realised what he had wasted. It's not fair! He was only twenty-seven. He can change!
"No," I said nonchalantly. "Not yet." Without a word, I knew that he was screaming and begging for another chance to change. Most of them do. It still never ceases to amuse me how they carry on during their lifetime, only to realise that they could have done better the moment they face me. They realise that they have not done enough during their lifetime. More likely, they did not choose to do enough of whatever they wanted to achieve. The regrets surface. Most importantly they start yearning for what will be left behind.
His breathing relaxed. Relieved but his confusion increased. "I-If it's not my time...why–" A flash of the Ghost of Christmas Future came into his head.
I rolled my eyes, barely impressed. I admire the creativity of these humans, no matter how warped it may be. "Why am I here?" I finished his question.
He nodded in confirmation as he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. My fragrance was still in the air. He looked around and saw that the activity in the bus stop seemed to carry on. It was clear to him that no one could see me. No one could see him speaking with me. What they saw was an intoxicated man, standing in the cold with glazed eyes.
"To let you know that I will come back for you."
Kurt's chest heaved at the revelation. He opened his eyes and gathered his courage to look into the hallow gaze of his reaper.
My soft, pink lips curved into a small smile as I met his bloodshot, blue eyes. I saw his face contort into an expression of surprise. His impression of what Death would have looked like was ripped out from his head. I heard him gasp as his eyes saw me. He saw a girl with skin blushed by the warmth and glow of the sun. A heart-shaped face, framed by tendrils of hair so deeply red that it was almost black in the shadows. His eyes took a swift glance at the bare body that was hidden behind soft locks, which trailed past a pair of crossed legs that he swore men would gladly bow down to. Photographs and paintings of artists' impressions of angels would be put to shame if they came face-to-face with me. To him, I seemed no more than eighteen, but the sharpness in my eyes told him that I was timeless. He continued to gawk at me.
I stood up and and glided closer to him, holding his steady stare. I could hear his blood rush through his veins like the ocean crashing on rocks. His heart was a rhythmic drumming of fear. I raised my hand and he followed it with his gaze. Dainty. Delicate. I touched his chest. He felt a surge stab through his body. He thought he was going to explode. He gasped at the rush of conflicting sensations and emotions. He felt intense heat burning through his skin yet his hair stood up with the chills. Tears of sadness flowed while he broke out in laughter. He was not breathing yet he did not struggle for air. What are you doing? He clasped his hands around mine, trying to pull my hand off his chest, yet he wanted to cling on to me. "P-Please..." He did not know what to beg for.
"I will come back for you," I repeated, my voice, like a comforting lullaby.
He swallowed hard. "Wh-when?" His body started to calm down as my hand stayed on his chest longer. He was quick to get used to all the emotions and sensations coming to him simultaneously.
I beamed at him. "I will come when it is time." I let go of him. Stepping further away, I prepared myself to leave.
Confusion and frustration made him frown. "What's that supposed to mean? You show yourself to me, freaking the fucking hell out of me!" He pointed at my hand, "And you zap me with your fucking hocus pocus and abracadabra, only to say you'll come back for me when it's fucking time?" He shook his head and laughed. "What the hell?" He was yelling now. His arms flailed in the air. "You should have just left me alone and come back when you're actually fucking ready to fucking take me! Jeez!"
I followed him with my stony gaze as he paced back and forth. I have heard rants like these so many, many times. Nothing surprises me anymore.
"I know what's going on!" He waved his finger at me. "This is a joke! You're just an illusion!" He laughed harder. Everything he was experiencing, he blamed on his drugs. "Wow! Must be some improved formula they put in them!" He turned to me and I remained inscrutable. "Well, baby–" he paused and shot me a cocky look. "I can call you 'baby' right, Death baby?"
I never asked for respect, but his discourtesy was tempting me to make him suffer by my own hand. That, I will not do. How he led his life and how it will end is enough retribution for me. I broke into a sardonic smile that was acidic enough to wipe the grin off his face. "You can perceive this experience however you want. Blame it on your poisons. Mock me as you wish." My eyes narrowed on him, and I know that he saw them burning. "It will not change the fact that I will be back for you," I told him emphatically.
Kurt stepped back. His body shivered again at the realization that he has just pissed Death off. "L-Look, I am s-sorry."
I turned my back to him. "You do not have much time remaining, so use it very wisely."
He tried to chase after me but his feet felt heavy as if shackles grabbed onto his ankles. "W-Wait! Please! Tell me when you'll be back!"
I looked over my shoulders, piercing him with my sharp stare. "When it is your time." I turned around, and pointed towards him. "When the clock"–my finger slowly moved down towards his heart–"stops ticking."
He wrapped his arms around him. "Wh-What should I do?"
"Make the most of what is remaining. Do so wisely. Say your goodbyes."
"But if I don't know when you'll be back, I may not have much time to do what I need to–"
"Then do so with haste."
I was starting to fade away from his vision, and he felt his consciousness connecting slowly back to reality. "But–"
"One more thing," I cut him off. "You do not speak of me to anyone."