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“Are you ready, my child?” the protagonist stared up at the thick white cloud above him. He had worked so hard, just to be faced with death yet again. This time felt different. More… permanent.
“I think so,” the thought barely formed in his mind before the protagonist passed out.
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He didn’t know how long he had been passed out, but when he awoke the protagonist was in a rolling yellow field. Despite the fact that he had been presumably asleep for hours, there was no grogginess when his eyes creeped open. Pushing himself up, the protagonist looked around to see a simple pink house, the exact same one he looked at every day. Besides that it seemed to be rolling fields as far as the eye could see. Was he dead? It seemed safe to assume yes. But was this heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Some other plane of existence that religion couldn’t fathom? It was hard to tell.
The tall grass crunched under the protagonist’s feet as he made his way to the house. Other than the crunching, there was no sound other than a gentle breeze. It seemed that the man was the only being here, as not even death followed him here. That is what he wanted, right? To be alone, to finally escape everyone and everything from his past? This was the reward the man got for doing everything right.
The house was old, although that might not be the correct word for it. This place seemed to be outside the passage of time. The house looked at least 200 hundred years old, the pink paint on it slowly peeling back to reveal the sickly brown underneath. The porch creaked under the man’s weight, though it did not seem like it would break.
The protagonist placed his hand on the brass doorknob, and turned the handle. The door creaked open, as a wall of dust attacked the protagonist’s sinus. He looked around and it looked similar to his old home. There was a calendar that was one page, “Immortal day”. The couches and chairs were in the same positions, but were covered in thick layers of dust as if this house hadn’t been used in decades. Why would death replicate his home? The protagonist walked to the kitchen and noticed a more recent refrigerator. Odd. When opened, all that was inside was a single mushroom. He wondered if it was edible, but decided against running experiments on his…body? For now.
The closet was filled to the brim with boxes. Unlike in his old home, where the boxes were filled with family memorabilia, all of the boxes here were filled with… dirt. It was odd to find that. The bathroom was more of the same, although the mirror was covered by cloth that the protagonist decided to keep on.
As the protagonist headed towards the last room, his bedroom, he felt something odd. He couldn’t prove it yet, but he knew something was in there. He crept towards the door, placing one ear gently against the splintering wood. He could hear faint… breathing. He wasn’t alone. Was death in there? Was there someone else he knew there? A thousand thoughts ran through his head, each causing more panic to rise up in his chest.
Breathe. He forced himself to breathe. The protagonist went back to the kitchen and opened the drawers where silverware would be held. A single bread knife sat, waiting for him. Not ideal, but it was better than no knife. The man crept back to his door and placed his hand on the knob. His other hand was gripping the knife, he was ready to lunge at whatever was sharing this house with him. His heart was pounding in his ears, louder and louder as he finally opened the door, ready to fight.
“Howdy,” the protagonist was met with a familiar sickly grin. A tall…man is the closest shape he could think of… a tall man stood before the protagonist. The man’s chest was wide as it narrowed down to his thin waist. Bones were awkwardly jutting out, similar to an underfed dog. The man was completely hairless except for the greasy hair on top of his head. The pale man had plagued the protagonist for weeks during the apocalypse. The man was a constant threat to his safety, always willing to snuff out the protagonist’s life if his demands weren’t met. This was the last face he was expecting to see.
“Why are you here?” The protagonist held the bread knife in front of him defensively, knowing damn well it wouldn’t do anything.The man took a step towards the knife, clearly not afraid by its serrated edges.
“Why wouldn’t I? Do I not deserve a place for my soul to rest as well?”
“I was supposed to be-”
“Alone?” The man placed his cool hand on top of the protagonist’s. It was clammy, and there was dirt heavily caked underneath his fingernails. “You know she wouldn’t want you to be alone,” the man yanked the knife out of the protagonist's hand.
“Why send you?” out of all of the visitors she could’ve sent, he was arguably the worst.
“Now you have found a question that I cannot answer. I merely do what she tells me, and she told me to join you here.” The garish man stepped back and dropped the knife with a deafening clatter.
The protagonist paused at that answer. He stared at the man in front of him, trying to calculate what to say next.
“Did you…die?”
“Did you?”
Of course, the protagonist must have died. But to what? His life ended talking to a cloud. Maybe he breathed in poisonous gas? Or maybe the fall down the hole killed him, and in his final moments he hallucinated? But what if he wasn’t dead, what if this was a sick dream, where the man would awaken again, stuck in his house with people he barely knew. That was the true hell.
The tall man walked back up to the protagonist and placed a hand on his shoulder. As the man leaned down, the protagonist could feel his face flush as the touch of another person. (Years of isolation can do that to you.)
“How about we go have some tea?” The man’s face was inches away from the protagonist’s. He could see the man’s eyes even better, although for some strange reason… they weren’t red.
“Yes, fine!” The protagonist quickly walked away from the grip of the man, trying to gain control in the situation. The man followed suit to the kitchen.
As the protagonist sat down at the kitchen table, he watched the man pull out a kettle and two tea cups that were caked in dust. The man leaned over to the sink, and pulled the handle, after a long thirty seconds a small trickle of water dripped from the faucet.
“How long have you been here?” The protagonist needed to know how the man knew his way around this house.
“That’s a difficult question to answer. It’s hard to keep track of time here. I thought you would’ve figured that out,” the man said as the kettle was finally full enough to put on the stove. The smell of burnt dust wafted through the kitchen, like an unpleasant candle.
“How do you know your way around?” The protagonist pointedly asked.
“I took the time to look around before you arrived,” the man chuckled as he went to grab a bag of what was assumed to be tea. The man opened the bag, only to reveal there were just dead tree leaves in it. He opened the kettle and dropped a few in, before shutting it once more.
“I don’t think that’s tea.” The protagonist tried to hide his disgust.
“It’s the closest thing we have, isn’t it. When this is the only thing around, it’s best to not be picky.” He turned his neck in an uncanny way, staring at the protagonist. It was hard to keep eye contact with… him.
The tea was finally ready as the kettle started to let out its high pitched whistle. The man poured two cups of…tea. He picked one up and blew on it to cool it down before gingerly placing it down before the protagonist. The protagonist looked down, to see clumps of dust still floating at the top. It reminded him of leaves that would fall into pools during the autumn months.
The man sat down with his own cup, taking a sip of the liquid. He looked expectantly at the protagonist who had yet to drink. The protagonist swallowed his pride, as he set the cup to his lips, taking a small sip. It didn’t taste like much. It was practically hot dusty water. The protagonist was expecting it to taste a lot worse.
“So, do you like it?”
“Honestly, it’s better than I expected,” the protagonist looked up at the man, and while he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, he swore that the pale man’s smile was genuine. Like he was happy to make something that the protagonist liked. But that was ridiculous. The protagonist was sure the man couldn’t have feelings like that.
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While the sun did not set here, the world outside seemed to be… darker than before. Both the man and the protagonist took this as their sign to sleep.
“What are you doing in bed?” The protagonist asked as the pale man laid down, snuggling up under the woolen blanket.
“Well, this is my house too. I was expecting to sleep on our bed.” The protagonist sighed, staring at the large figure in the bed.
“Then where would I sleep?” The protagonist decided to humor the large man, especially since he might have to spend all of eternity with him. He shouldn’t have been surprised when the man patted to the other side of the queen bed, like it was as simply as two pals sharing a motel bed. The protagonist laughed at this, he couldn’t help it. To see such a large monster who would once crack his neck like a twig, simply patting on a yellowing mattress was too much for him. The man did not seem as amused. His classic grin turned neutral.
“Why would you not sleep here? It’s not like I can kill you here.” The man stared at the protagonist, who eventually gained his composure.
“I don’t want to share a bed with you. Two weeks ago you would’ve crushed my skull if I said the wrong words to you. I don’t think your presence would create a restful slumber.” The protagonist’s words were cold, but he didn’t want to give the man any more leanway than he deserved.
“Where will you sleep?” The man asked, genuinely curious about his new roommate.
“The couch,” The protagonist walked away before the conversation could continue. He felt so awkward telling the large beast that he wouldn’t share a bed with him.
Just sitting on the couch released another cloud of dust into the house. The protagonist made a mental note to at least attempt to get some form of cleaning done in the… morning? Whenever he woke up. There wasn’t another blanket, the only one in the entire house was on the bed that the man was using. The protagonist would rather be cold than to share a bed with him. As the protagonist laid down, using an uncomfortable decorative throw pillow, he pondered what this was. It didn’t seem cruel enough to be hell, but it sure wasn’t heaven. There was no way the man could make it to heaven, after what he had done to all of those people. The protagonist stared at the ceiling. Would he be stuck here for eternity? Did this count as a punishment for the actions he had committed? Would he be stuck with… him forever? That seemed more like a punishment than anything else. A cold breeze entered the house, though the protagonist could not pin from where. He simply curled up, hoping to give himself some form of warmth.
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The sun seemed to go back to its normal light, peering through the thin curtains of the house right into the protagonist’s eyes. He slowly opened his eyes, but didn’t want to get up, he was so cozy under the woolen blanket. He was about to fall back asleep before he realized…
He quickly got back up from the couch, and went to the bedroom where he was the man simply staring out the window. The protagonist knew he should probably say something to the man…
“Uh, thank you. For the blanket, that is. I didn’t realize how cold it would get at night-” the man didn’t seem to respond, like he was too preoccupied with what was at the window. The protagonist walked up behind the man, and peered over his shoulder, but it didn’t seem like there was anything unusual outside. There were simply miles and miles of fields.
“I’ve never gotten to see the world from this angle. I can see why you all like it. You get to view the outside whilst enjoying the protection of the four walls.” He looked over to the protagonist, who was now side by side with him. “It’s a shame you didn’t like your house though. Did it remind you of your father?” The protagonist looked at the man. The question he asked was loaded, but he asked it in a way that didn’t seem hurtful.
“It’s complicated." The protagonist wanted to back away from the man, but was paralyzed from his gaze.
“Oh you humans always think these things are complicated. It never really is that complex is it? Either you like him, or you don’t.” The man smiled way too wide for his face to the point where the protagonist was worried they might bruise.
“It’s much more complicated than that. He was a bad man. He did bad things- no-he hurt me. But-” the protagonist paused, trying to figure out the correct next words.
“But—” the man prompted him.
“But I think he did it because he cared. It’s hard to prove that.” The protagonist broke eye contact with the man, “That doesn’t mean I regret what I did. He was a bastard who deserved to die. There are better ways to teach a lesson than to hurt people you love,” the man sighed, pressing his fingers onto his temple.
The man didn’t have a wise proverb or quick witted response to that. The two stood together for ages.
After what felt like ages, the protagonist was able to ask something to the man,
“But what about you?”
“What about me?” The man smiled, looking out the window.
“You must have someone.” The protagonist decided that if he was going to be stuck with a monster, he might as well know the monster’s past.
“I’m like you in a lot of ways, although my memory is a lot hazier. There is a lot of blood on my hands, blood that stains far before death took pity on me.” He chuckled softly, echoing decades of unspoken regret. “Lady death is strange. I too isolated myself, wanting to be alone after the horrendous things I had done. She would not have it. I tried to end it once, although I can’t remember how. All I remember is ‘not yet’. She wanted me to meet you. Maybe I am a warning. Maybe a twisted mirror. Maybe, just maybe, a companion, someone who can finally echo all of the words etched silently and deeply on your heart. But whose to say. I do not speak for Lady Death, I was merely used by her, and I have fulfilled my purpose.” The man’s voice wavered slightly at the end. The first time he had felt seen was by a deity that could not see him outside of what he could provide. Lady Death was the pinnacle of both mercy and cruelty.
The protagonist stared at the man. His smile was long gone. It had been replaced with a simple scowl. The man stared longingly outside, and for the first time the protagonist understood. They both had similar woes. Lady Death had sent the man to him, not just for the protagonist’s sake but for the man’s as well. The man was not a monster, Lady death had simply given him the body that his mind reflected. If Lady death had done the same for him, he imagined it would be a similar case. The protagonist placed a hand gently on the man’s large boney back. He could feel the ridges of the man’s spine pushing against the skin, but he wasn’t disgusted. It fit the man, so many inner demons fighting to be released. Maybe eternity with him wouldn’t be so bad.
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It had been a few cycles of light. (Neither the man nor the protagonist could tell whether or not each cycle of light was a day or not). The two had fallen into an odd little schedule. The man would wake up first and make tea. The protagonist would go out into the fields. After some careful examination, he realized what was growing was wheat. He would pick some wheat, to then be grinded into flour. Neither the man nor the protagonist needed to eat, but it was nice. The two would sit together, chat, and eat their hard tack. It wasn’t great, but it was enough to bring some semblance of normalcy to their lives. One night, as the protagonist chewed through his hard tack, the man asked him a question.
“The other day, you said that even though your father was a bad man, you didn’t think he wanted to hurt you for fun. Do you think the same of me?” The protagonist almost spit out the flour and water mixture.
“I mean, that’s a complicated question,” The protagonist began before the man cut him off once more.
“I did what I had too. Most deaths I have caused I am not ashamed of. I did what my lady told me too. But every time I threatened your life it was different. Most humans don’t affect me. They could do whatever they want, and I would not feel more than just pity. But you? I couldn’t bear to think of strangling you. I’m glad you were never alone.”
The protagonist got a good look at the man. There was more than just companionship behind his eyes, it was clear there was longing.
“I- I don’t think I could hate you. That might be stupid of me. I don’t believe you would’ve killed me if you didn’t have to. Maybe I am just as soft as my father thought I was.” The man stared down at the hardened disc of wheat beneath him.
“Thank you.” The man ate the rest of the disc, before pushing his chair into the table.
“Wait!” The protagonist shouted without thinking, he didn’t want the conversation to end. The man turned back, and stared at the protagonist, expecting something.
“I don’t think you're a monster. I mean, I guess if you are then I am too.” The protagonist smiled at the man, who smiled back.
That lowlight period, the man decided to offer once more like he had at the beginning.
“I won’t force you, but would you be willing to share the bed? It’s easier if we can share the blanket.” The man seemed so much more human than before.
“I guess it won’t kill me,” the protagonist resigned, following the man to bed. There was a slight indent where the man had been sleeping during the last… while. The protagonist took the opposite spot, turning his back to where the man slept. The man followed suit. It was odd, but for a creature that seemed to be so… cold before, he provided a lot of warmth. It was almost like sharing a bed with another person. It was nice.
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The two shared the bed many times after that. Every passing light rotation, the two seemed to grow closer and closer. The protagonist saw the man as a friend. One morning, when the protagonist woke up, the man was not by his side. Out of all the emotions that could have run through his body, fear was one that was still unexpected. There was no need to worry, of course the man would be in the kitchen.
The kitchen felt hollow. He was not there. Nor was he in the living room, or the closet, or even the bathroom. The protagonist was alone. For the first time in a long time, his breaths were the only ones in the house. That fact was far scarier than whatever else could’ve shared this space with him. Did Lady Death take the man away? Had he done something wrong? Had the man done something wrong? Was this some sort of sick punishment?
It couldn’t be. The protagonist refused to believe that Lady death would take him away now. The protagonist opened the door with a creak and looked around. There was a long trail of bent wheat that had clearly been stepped on. The protagonist knew there was nothing left to do, but to follow the trail.
The man must’ve gone late in the night. The protagonist followed the trail for what seemed like hours. He could feel his legs growing heavier with each step, threatening to give up under the near constant use. It was the most used they had been since he had gotten here. The sun had grown dim, when the protagonist could see the familiar tall figure in the distance. The protagonist pushed his muscles farther, to run towards the man, needing to prove that he was real, to prove that the man truly wasn’t alone.
The protagonist caught his breath right behind the tall man, who refused to acknowledge his presence.
The protagonist puffed, “What are you doing out here?” heavy breaths forced his chest to heave, as he placed his hands on his knees.
“Why did you follow me?” The man was looking out still, a sickening scowl covering his face.
“Answer- my question.” The protagonist finally caught his breath.
“This place is destroying me. Being with you- is destroying me,” the man refused to look down.
“What? That’s ridiculous we both know we can’t die here-”
“I’m not dying. I’m growing weak. You are making me weak.” The man turned to the protagonist, giving him a face he had only seen way back when he would see if the protagonist was alone. “I can’t keep doing this, I-”
“Well where else would you go?” The protagonist was not fearful of the man, unlike before.
“I don’t know. But if I stay with you, I will surely decay,” the man struggled to make eye contact with the protagonist.
“How are you decaying?” The man stood as tall as he could, he was here on business.
“I feel weak around you. I feel like I need you, but surely Lady Death would not have put me here for my own selfish desires. I must deny myself of my wants for her teachings.” The man’s voice was meeker than the protagonist thought was possible.
The protagonist walked up to the man, grabbing his warm hand into his own.
“Leaving me is selfish. Far more selfish than whatever you think Lady Death would think.”
“That’s ridiculous. Two weeks ago, you would’ve considered me a threat and stabbed me if you had the chance. How would it be selfish to leave now? Clearly you have learned what Lady Death had wanted,”
“But have you?” The protagonist looked into the man’s rapidly moving eyes.
“What?”
“I am just as much a teacher for you, as you are for me. For you to leave before the lesson is over, would be far more disrespectful to lady death than any other action you may or may not do.” The protagonist grabbed the man’s chin, forcing him to look down at him. “I think I’ve learned my lesson. But what do you think Lady Death wanted to tell you?”
“I… I don’t know” the man was being far more vulnerable than he ever had before.
“What was so scary that you had to run away from me? And why did you want me to find you?”
“I didn’t want you to find me-”
“You’re smarter than to leave a trail of bent wheat leading exactly where you’re going. Try again.”
“I- I have grown in love with you. I didn’t think I could do that. And I know you don’t feel the same-”
The protagonist leaned in, on his tiptoes, as he pressed his lips gently against the man’s. Without much thought, the man kissed back, grabbing the man’s back to pull him closer. The man’s lips were warm and soft, which was rather surprising given his appearance.
As the two left each other’s embrace much later, the protagonist smiled.
“If you were to tell me that I would kiss you and enjoy it, I don’t think I would've believed you. But now, I can’t imagine a world without you.”
“I can’t imagine a world where I would be glad to be weaker, but I suppose if my love for you makes me weak, then I will proudly be weak.” The man picked up the protagonist, embracing him in a tight hug as he headed towards the house.
The protagonist smiled in his boney arms, for the first time ever, he was finally not alone.