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“Death.” I whispered softly, completely drowned out by the torrential rain beating down on me. “My life is worth nothing to me now so take it.” A tear rolled down my cheek as my confession left my lips, only to be swept up by raindrops. I’d found myself at a bridge, after endless wandering, searching for a destination. By the time I arrived at the bridge, my legs, achy and weakened, protested further walking so I had stopped. Perhaps, Death was already commanding me. Taking the first steps to guide me to the afterlife.
The bridge itself was unexciting. It was plain and generic, with little to offer other than the seaview it boasted although now, as night dominated the skies, even the sea had been enveloped by darkness. This bridge wasn’t illuminated either, and clearly never was. The only flickers of light here came from the distant spotlights of the city, as the lights of both homes and looming skyscrapers marked bustling nighttime activity. From where I stood though, they all seemed so distant, as if I was in my own world. Alone.
I wasn’t alone long, however, as someone ran past me clutching an umbrella close to their chest as it threatened to invert and blow them away. They didn’t acknowledge me as they careened into my shoulder, shoving me against the railing as they passed. Why would they? They clearly had something to return too: a house or at least a home and hobbies. Perhaps someone too, a family, a lover, children perhaps.
My home had no warmth. My house was a cramped box owned by a greedy, heartless man who shut off the heating when he felt like it to save money. I lived with people too, but they were just other tenants, strangers who wanted nothing to do with me. I wasn’t proud of my home. It was cheap and available, and I rarely got to make a choice about my life anymore. I just went through the motions.
Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence I had found myself here.
A minute passed with only the occasional car speeding past wielding blinding lights that made me feel exposed standing on the bridge by myself. I don’t even think anyone knew I was here. Not that they’d care. As cars passed, they kicked up the puddles forming against the side of the road, drenching me with dirty water like I wasn’t even there. It had been raining during my whole walk so I could hardly see myself getting any wetter.
I leaned onto the railing of bridge, no longer fazed by the metal’s cold, damp caress on my skin through my soaked clothes. ‘This is stupid’ I thought as I watched waves crash against the pillars of the bridge, ‘What was I even waiting for? An answer to my cries? Was I really expecting Death themselves to be listening to me, ready to give me a sign that they would take me? I was already going to die tonight, was I really afraid to jump to my death now?’
“I’m nobody.” I mumbled to myself.
The sky looming above was an ominous grey. There was supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight. I didn’t mind though. Thunderstorms scared people with something to lose from being struck down. I too had feared thunder once. Now, I would welcome it if it turned its attention towards me.
But if all this was my reason to overcome my fear, I would rather still be terrified of it.
“Death…” I whispered a little louder but there was no reply. I looked both ways, as if giving someone, anyone, a chance to change my mind. When nothing happened, I said, “My life is over already. Could you at least grant me the kindness of killing me rather than making me do it?”
I paused, my knuckles turning white from the tight, but frozen, grip on the railing as I spared one last look towards my destination, my body tensing as another wave slammed into the bridge.
“Please…” I whimpered, “Despite everything, I’m still scared.” I collapsed on the floor as my voice squeaked. I sobbed against the damp concrete as I clung to the railing like a loving embrace.
Eventually, I composed myself and, with all the strength I had left to muster, I hoisted myself over the railing until I was on the ledge, looming over the violent waters below.
Would death this way be painless? Would it even kill me? I shuffled in place as my toes dangled over the edge and stood there for a while, listening as the water rose and fell like a heartbeat, holding onto the railings, and my life, with shaky hands.
It would certainly be a slow drop: the air rushing past me, the world rising out of the ground as I flew further and further, the water growing closer and closer, ready to pick me up in a cold embrace. How poetic - my fall into the water would probably mark my descent into hell. My mind raced to people that had once been in my life, wondering if any of them still thought of me and would maybe even miss me when I was gone. I thought about my childhood as well, how wonderful and colourful it had been. They were the best years of my life; I wish I’d never had to let them go. Yet, through it all, I thought about how little my life had surmised to and I steeled myself, not allowing myself to back away or fail to commit.
I took a long deep breath, savouring the final rush of crisp sea air - tasting the salty sea spray - feeling the cold wind dive down into my lungs. I loosened my grip…
I turned my head to see a stranger leaning against the railing much like I had, with a lighter in one of their gloved hands and their other sheltering its weak flame as they lit a cigarette hanging from their bottom lip. Without even acknowledging me, they took a breath and exhaled a fog of smoke that was quickly swept away with a strong gust. They wore a long flowing trenchcoat that tickled the puddles at their feet. It hid their figure away well, although I could see traces of the neat white shirt and dark tie they wore underneath, betraying their lanky shape. I couldn’t make out their face; a wide-brimmed hit hung low concealed his features, making it impossible to read their expression.
They reminded me of a detective from those old film noir movies I used to watch as a child, even sharing their monochrome palette. I hadn’t even heard them approach.
We stood in silence for a minute as the stranger nursed their cigarette. Eventually, against my better judgement, I decided to break the silence.
“Can I help you?” I asked hesitantly, eager to break the silence, or at the very least, draw their attention to me. I winced as my words croaked, my throat still hoarse. Would the stranger even bother to acknowledge me? Would they say something or just shuffle away quickly? Did I even want them to see me at this point?
I had half a mind to simply let my impulse of curiosity pass by and let go of the railing but something about them kept my grip tight. The stranger didn’t answer at first, taking the time to wedge their cigarette in between two fingers and let it hang over the edge, dripping pellets of ash into the darkness below.
“I don’t know. I could ask you the same thing,” Their voice was hollow and blunt yet held age behind it. If they knew my intentions, I didn’t hear it in their tone; they sounded calm, “You were the one who called me.”
The first grumbles of thunder rang overhead. The rain was growing stronger, displeased with my sudden hesitation, changing direction to slap me in the back like it had decided to push me off itself. Nothing could force me to let go though, not even the cold pricking my hand. I was completely frozen.
Their clothes were only lightly soaked from what I could tell, as if they’d just put them on and they weren’t shivering at all. In fact, they were eerily still. Not even their chest moved with each breath. Was it actually them? Was it actually-?
“You’re…Death?”
“You could say that.” they answered, waving their cigarette, “Death is not really a person, you see. It is strange you humans assume that. Although I suppose humans always find comfort in putting a face on the unknown.” They spoke with a fairly posh accent, articulating each syllable delicately.
“Are you here to take my life?”
“Perhaps.” Death lifted their head, finally turning their eyes to look at me. Or their lack of eyes, for the face hidden underneath was nothing but a hollow skull, staring back at me through empty sockets that held a blank gaze. I didn’t feel afraid of them though. The lack of expression made their look soft and gentle. I felt safe in their presence.
They tilted their head to the side as if they were examining me before returning to their cigarette. They didn’t speak again for a while. I frowned.
“Well…” I replied, inching towards them. “Take it.”
“Isn’t this planet beautiful?”
“What?” was all I could muster as Death extended a hand in front of them, catching droplets of rain in their outstretched palm, “I…I don’t understand. Are you going to claim my soul or whatever? I’m ready.”
“There is something about the night which makes colours feel…alive. As if you do not just see the colours, you feel them too. The colours consume the emptiness and fill it with its own, in a way. Humans find the dark so terrifying because of that nothingness that you conjure up nightmares and fears to fill the space instead as if it is so incomprehensible that such a thing as a blank space can exist. Personally, I find that void tranquil. Peaceful, even.
You know, you humans spend your whole lives moving. You let the world pass you by as a blur because you are always so focused on some start and end point that you forget to appreciate the journey that gets you there. It is nice to take a moment to slow down and enjoy life’s frivolities.” Their bones scraped against each other as their mouth shifted into a small smile as they peered over the bridge to the sea below. A gentle smile, “You certainly will not see views like this at the bottom of the sea.”
I winced, worried I had annoyed Death with my pleading, but their voice never betrayed such emotion. They spoke every word carefully like they were too precious to waste, and their voice was enchanting like a mother telling a story to her children.
“But I suppose that is a part of life you humans take for granted.” Death hummed, “What is that thing humans say? ‘You do not know how much you miss something until it is gone’. Something like that.” They shrugged their shoulders, “I only visit the living world every so often. Allow me to savour the feeling.”
And with that, Death returned to cradling their cigarette, gazing over the horizon. At first I waited patiently, perhaps waiting for them to finish their cigarette but eventually, seeing no further movement from them, I decided to follow their gaze.
Through the roaring of thunder, the moon was poking out of the clouds, bathing the sea below in a light sparkle like performers under the spotlight. It was a pretty sight; I could admit that. In fact, as the sea came to life, so did the city beyond. In the frigid gusts of wind, the distant lights glowed a warm amber like little flames or fireflies in tall grass. Despite how distant they felt, they also felt inviting like I could find shelter from the cold if I followed their beacon.
Yet, it barely distracted me from the thought bouncing around my mind.
Were they trying to convince me not to kill myself?
“Can I ask you something?” I said, leaning against the railing more carefully now.
“Of course, human. You hope to die; our time is not precious here.”
I licked my lips, “Is death…peaceful?”
Death chuckled softly, before taking another drag from their cigarette.
“I suppose you are hoping I will convince you that your death will bring you more peace than your life can? Are you hoping I will push you over the edge? Tell you that you have made the right choice and whisk you away before you can doubt yourself? That is quite cold, is it not?” Their tone wasn’t demeaning or criticising, their words neither snappy nor condescending. To them, it was simply an observation. “But I suppose how could I be Death - as you say - if I did not at least, tell you that?”
Death straightened, and looked up at the sky, their face unmoving as rain pelted against their skull. They didn’t speak for a while, as if pondering their answer very carefully before they tipped their hat over their face, shielding them from the rain.
“Death is neither like those who fear it nor those who crave it imagine it to be. It is neither nothing nor everything. It is no perfect paradise for the good nor eternal torture for the cruel. Death is the last chapter of your story being written before the book is complete. It is the last breath you take, the last beat of your heart, the last time you truly feel but, as you drift away from seeing what tomorrow brings once the sun rises again, you become the story you created, the people whose lives you changed, the imprint you left on the world that has changed it permanently. Life is a long and arduous process. You put all of your time and effort into shaping it into something you can be proud of. It would be cruel for everything you slaved away for to slip through your fingers when your time to shape it is up, no? There is no need to fear death because, like the stories humans have created, a finished book will be read for centuries after it is written.”
“Of course, humans fear death anyway because it is difficult to let go of your story and life feels so infinite that it feels cut short, as if you were taken away before you could experience everything you were created to experience. You invent the most fascinating tales of your lives continuing in a perfect, never-ending paradise or even starting anew. A new clean slate, a new blank canvas, ready to begin life again so it never truly ends, just changes.” Death smiled to themselves as they spoke, “I have seen many humans in their final moments. Some find the journey pleasant and accept it with open arms. Some find the journey terrifying and cling onto their life as they drift away from it.”
Their smile faded, and they made a noise that almost sounded like a resigned sigh as they took another drag of their cigarette, pausing to gaze at what little remained of it as the paper burnt away.
“It sounds peaceful…” was all I could muster in response.
“Perhaps it is.” Death nodded, dangling the last stub of the cigarette in front of them, “Your lives are so busy and loud, that you might welcome the experience of nothing. At first…” In an instant, Death loosened their grip on the stub and watched it fall into a puddle, sizzling as it finally extinguished, “I…dislike meeting souls that are not ready to leave. Those who feel their life was worthless or incomplete often find the thought of losing that business and noise agonising as it slips through their fingers.”
There was a long pause as Death went silent. We stared down at the puddle quietly, watching the cigarette dissolve into the water. It was a strange feeling. I almost felt empathy for the stub discarded on the ground as if it was a life extinguished before it was ready. My throat tightened as I thought about how I would feel when I became nothing more than the story I left behind. Would I find death peaceful or agonising?
“Do you want me to claim your life?” Death asked after some time, tilting their head as they bored into my eyes, “Because you could die here today, tomorrow or in a hundred years’ time and it would make no difference to me. I will always be here to lead you away. I am patient, you see.”
Death watched me patiently, with a gaze so intense it made me shuffle from foot to the other. To say I had been excited to see them would have been a lie; the best I could muster at their appearance was relief. I had certainly hoped that, when Death appeared, they would simply accept my life gracefully and I would drift away without a second thought. I never felt like I had any control over my life but perhaps I could control my death.
“…And you would just do it?” I asked, “Just like that?”
“Unless you are particularly keen to tip yourself over the edge…” Death answered coolly without moving a muscle.
I hesitated for a moment, something that surprised even me. I was finally being given a choice and one in which I could die peacefully at that…and I paused, taking a deep breath and tasting the salty sea spray again, a bitter reminder of what should’ve been my final moment. But eventually, my answer was clear:
“Yes, do it.” The words came out with such certainty; I felt tears build up in my eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I said, but with more uncertainty, “Please, just do it.”
“Why?” The word startled me a little and I fumbled over my words trying to respond. Was Death asking me why I wanted to die? What did it matter to them why? Hadn’t I offered them exactly what they wanted?
“…What?” was the only response I could manage.
“Why do you want to die?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose not. You can call it morbid curiosity if you would like.”
I studied Death cautiously, unsure what to say or do. I should’ve felt cheated as I stood on this bridge, shivering all over from the cold wind beating rain against my body, where I should’ve died minutes ago. This couldn’t be Death if they instead decided to talk about the value of life and try to convince me not to fall into the water. Yet, their company felt tender. As I looked into Death’s eyes, I saw a figure who understood every facet of death. A figure who had visited both those who had died unexpectedly and those who had withered away over months and years. A figure who knew some lives would be short, gone before they could be realised. A figure who had seen humans kill each other and themselves and understood them. A figure who had seen regret and guilt and grief and bliss from those who had died.
And while I did not believe Death mourned those they carried away, Death pitied them.
I had always thought Death was merely the itch I felt to let myself drop. The looming presence that whispered of one’s danger and demise to drag people away from their perfect lives into misery. Yet the figure before me felt more like a spectator. I had heard tales of Death appearing before those who had died to guide them to the afterlife, responsible for overseeing the final stage of life rather than being the swipe of the scythe, and I now believed that was the true image of Death.
I took one final look over the edge and shook my head. With trembling hands, I pulled myself back over the railing, although my arms and legs strained from the effort. I collapsed onto the concrete of the bridge I thought I’d never feel again with a muddy splash as tears flooded down my face. If it was what Death hoped I would do, their stoic stillness hid it well. They hadn’t moved an inch as I struggled to stand back up on shaky legs, neither to help nor hinder me. They only watched me as I cried so hard I dry heaved.
I suppose, in their own words, it made no difference to them.
After a few agonising minutes, I wiped the tears from my face and slouched against the railing uncomfortably as metal poles dug into my back. I looked down at my feet:
“I feel like I’ve spent my whole life searching for my life’s purpose. I had to be born for a reason, right? Otherwise, there’d be no point to all of this…right?” I paused, anticipating a comment or reply but receiving nothing, not even a nod. At first, Death was so still I wasn’t sure they were listening at all but, as their hollow eyes bored into mine, I could feel an intense attention on me, so I continued, “It’s just…always felt like whatever I thought my purpose was would be just out of reach. Like the universe was telling me I was on the wrong path. When I was a child, I thought I would become a beautiful princess and marry a handsome prince. But then I realised I was just lost in a fantasy world so I decided I would become some superhero and save the world. I suppose that meant I wanted to help people. You were allowed to want like that at that age. To be whatever you wanted.”
I smiled as I thought back to the child I used to be. So full of hope and optimism. The memories were overwhelming as they flew past me, but they felt so invigorating, washing over me like a cold shower. So bittersweet.
By the time I reached the present though, the memories of the past felt so far away from me, they no longer felt like mine. Like I was watching someone else’s life instead of my own. It felt like climbing to the top of the hill just to fall back to the bottom. How had things turned out like this? What would the child of my past think of me? Would they even recognise me?
If they cried, would they cry for me or because they knew their life would lead them down the same path eventually?
“Eventually, when adults asked, you had to have a good answer. My parents never wanted me to be an artist or a singer, they always said it wouldn’t work out someday. And they were right, that dream didn’t last long once I had rent due and bills to pay. When I turned eighteen, all I cared about was being successful. Getting a job I loved, making enough money to live comfortably so I could finally paint and sing, marry my soulmate and raise a perfect family. It seemed simple. Realistic, more realistic than a princess or a superhero was, and achievable because I didn’t have to dream big or take those gambles I would’ve taken to become a singer. God, I feel stupid for saying that now.
I can’t get my dream job anymore; everyone is fighting for it and they have so much more to offer than me, so I work in an office seven days a week and it’s boring and unfulfilling and I haven’t loved anyone since I was a teenager because I’m not attractive or particularly smart or particularly interesting. Not like I can do much to change that either, they’re just parts of me. My life feels so bland and…unimportant. Like I’m just living the template I was supposed to turn into something.”
The waves below crashed and roared, reaching a monumental crescendo as if reminding me why I had been here. I didn’t dare to look down though, in case Death took that as making a decision and left me to die.
How am I supposed to enjoy my life when all I have to look forward to is the same routine every day with no hope of being able to change anything or make it better? The way I see it, my purpose was always meant to be being…average, just fulfilling some status quo because clearly someone has to. But, if life is so valuable as people say, then surely everyone would have some grand purpose prepared for them. So that must mean my goal has been set up for me my whole life and I’ve just failed to rise to accomplish it. I can’t even know how either, that’s the worst bit. What mistakes meant I could never rise above working just to live to see the next day and loving people that never truly wanted me enough not to break my heart?”
I croaked as the words came to me, rubbing rain out of my eyes as it batted against me.
“What I fear most of all though is that there was never a purpose at all for me…because it makes everything I’d ever done worthless. Was the rest of my life going to be chasing dreams that aren’t meant for me because I have none to chase myself?”
My lips trembled as a sob erupted from my throat, but I couldn’t cry anymore. I curled into a ball and stared down at the dull grey concrete of the bridge numbly.
“No matter what I choose to believe my life means, there’s no future for me. I’m in a maze with only dead ends. I fear this is all my life is going to be now, so what is there to keep living for?” I looked up at Death, their face still unmoved, “I’m ready to stop running now, Death. I just want to sleep.”
I felt ashamed of what I’d said but I hardly cared if it meant Death would take me away from this meaningless existence. I tucked my knees tighter against my chest and waited for a response.
“Life is so cruel, sometimes,” they said, pulling their gloves tighter around their hands, “It is so paradoxical that some people spend their whole lives looking for the thing they were supposed to be spending their life on, and yet life just keeps dangling it out of reach. It is confusing to me.” I nodded, unsure how else I could reply.
Death cocked their head and crouched in front of me, so our eyes were level with one another.
“But I ask why you want to throw your life away because you chased dreams.”
“You’re not making any sense. You are Death, right? Why are you trying to stop me?”
The pause was short, but it felt like it stretched on for centuries.
“I do not like seeing a life go to waste.”
“You ask me why Death would care so much about the living…” they continued, “as if the living are not Death’s business too. Death and life are tightly intertwined, after all. If you never lived, you would never die. That part is simple to understand; a candle cannot be extinguished if it was never lit after all. But death is not just the end of life but it’s the part of life that gives it its value. Death is the part of life that makes humans seek out the beauty and adventure of the world while they can. Death is the part of life that brings humans close together to love and care for one another because someday you know you will not see them again. Death is the part of life that memories are made for so that you live on as fragments of other people’s lives even when you’ve left it.
A life that went on forever would grow stale eventually because you would never cherish the feeling of being alive because that feeling would blend into the landscape if there was no alternative. There would be no worth in forming and appreciating memories of those you love or the beauty you’ve seen in the world if you knew that in the endless cycle of time, you would make those same memories a million times again eventually. Even love itself would grow as dull and monotonous as breathing or blinking. If you asked me, if you never died…”
“Then you would never live.” They clapped their hands together, surprisingly making a very humanlike slap.
“Death seeks not to remind you of your finite lives to scare you but instead to ensure you live every moment of your lives to their fullest, whatever that may look like. As much as your life is mine, it is also yours, after all. Whether you live a good life or a bad one, death is a constant. An unpredictable but inevitable constant. I would rather you live a life that nourishes and fulfils you then a life that comes to an end marred by regrets and doubts. Your life will always be mine to claim either way, why must I be dissatisfied if it is bountiful?”
“So the purpose of life is…to eventually die?” I asked defeatedly.
“You talk often about the purpose of life…” Death responded quickly, “Does life need a purpose?”
I paused, opening and closing my mouth many times. The answer seemed obvious to me but the way Death had asked it made it feel like a trick. Not knowing what else I could say otherwise, I chose to take the bait, “Well…yeah. What’s the point of any of this otherwise?” Death raised a gloved hand to stroke their chin and, for a second, I believed Death had no answer for me. However, eventually he spoke up, softly as always,
“Life is full of meaningless wonders. You build monuments of all shapes and colours for no reason other than their beauty. Plants produce flowers made of millions of colours, but would they not survive just fine with only one?”
I grimaced, “But that’s buildings and plants. This is the meaning of life we’re talking about.”
“If you will humour the irony of allowing Death to comment on why I would live…” The words were spoken with such care, they hardly felt humorous at all. With some difficulty, I stood, leaning against the railing to support despite the cold shiver the metal sent up my spine. Death didn’t offer a hand, but I wasn’t sure I wanted them to.
When I finally felt stable on my feet, Death pointed a finger up at the sky.
“How does rain make you feel?”
Water ran down my spine and dripped from my hair, falling into my eyes so that I struggled to see. My clothes clung to my frame tightly, so every movement felt stiff and sent new waves of cold rippling across my skin. I barked a bitter laugh as I finally acknowledged the humour of those words, although I doubted Death intended for it to be funny.
“I don’t know…miserable.” I scowled, crossing my arms as if it would keep me warm as, for the first time this evening, Death chuckled. It startled me how human it sounded. I couldn’t imagine they even felt the rain. Their clothes barely seemed damp even now.
“Maybe it does now, as the clouds weep endlessly like this, caught out in the open without shelter in sight, but surely rain has its pleasures when you are shielded from it?”
“It makes the trees sparkle,” I tapped my foot on a puddle, causing it to splash over the tip of my shoes, “The concrete too.”
“I always thought it sounded pretty.” They added, pointing to the railing, “Perhaps, when it’s gentler than this. Like soft tapping when it hits a window.”
They tapped a finger on the metal in time with the rain, joining the symphony with a musical ring. I still wasn’t sure whether there was a body underneath the suit they wore but their taps sounded hollow like there was bone underneath their gloves.
“What’s your point?”
“If I was to live, I would wish to live so I could hear the rain tap its rhythm against my window. To step out when the rain passes and admire the sparkling trees. You never really see how magical rain is until it finally starts again.”
I stared blankly at Death as they idly continued to thrum against the railing. It made them look almost childlike, finding simple joy in the rain. It didn’t distract me from what they had said though. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, “But that can’t be my purpose-“
“Perhaps it is not. Perhaps, instead, you live to laugh with your friends again or see a sunrise. It has been many years since I have been able to watch a sunrise-“
“No, I mean…that can’t be it?”
“Why not?”
“It’s too simple.”
“Does it have to be complicated? Life is crowded with feelings and stimuli and connections and things. If you tried to connect them all into a path to a greater goal, you really would be searching forever. Or worse yet, you would convince yourself that every small joy life has offered you was a distraction from the path and confuse your bliss for wasting your life away.
I never understood why things could not exist for the sake of existing. Like yourselves. Why clean something if it will eventually become dirty again?” They nodded at my clothes, “Why dry clothes if they will become wet again when the next storm comes? Is it not liberating knowing there are no expectations of how you life your life? Does it not feel freeing? Your life is not a tool to forward a goal or a job you are in service of, otherwise it would be plain foolish to let you drift with no instruction. Your life is a gift. An opportunity to breathe and love and care and experience. Eventually, all life will rot and decay and seep into the earth where new life will take its place, regardless of whether you ‘succeeded’ and accomplished greatness or stopped to smell the roses instead.”
“But I can’t just live for rain or sunrises forever! I want…to be proud of my life. To accomplish greatness. I want a future I can look forward to. All I’ve managed to do is plateau. Now I’m just spinning in the same circle…like a broken record player, the disk spins but the music doesn’t play. How can I feel fulfilled in life without direction or a purpose?”
“That is why you dream. Dreams are made to hold your hand as you walk towards your future and point you in a direction so that you do not walk blindly with no destination. And you will have many dreams. Some dreams will guide you to the next day or week, a simple pleasure within arm’s reach if you know where to go. And you will dream big, bigger than you could ever think possible to cross, so that the day your dream comes true feels otherworldly. And perhaps you will dream impossible dreams or dreams you never quite see become reality, but is it so wrong to chase impossible dreams? Dreams are the soothing lullaby that humans sleep to, and dreams are the rising sun that you wake for every morning. Dreams are not born to be completed; they are born to inspire you. If you choose only to dream in the realm of probability, then even the simplest dreams can become impossible.
Besides, you may never become a beautiful princess and marry a handsome prince, but you will have fallen in love and pursued your passions, not because it was inevitable but because you let your dreams guide you. Surely, you cannot believe the love you once felt was wasted time?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again as memories of my school days rushed to the surface. Memories of boys that I had found impossible to take my eyes off. Memories of dates in places I had hardly found magical before those nights.
“Do you remember the ones you once loved?”
“You know, I still do sometimes. Call it nostalgia or longing for a time when guys…liked me, but I still do. There weren’t many of them, but they felt like such different loves. I remember one of them was this poetry fanatic, he promised to ‘take me to the moon’ when we were still young and in love, I think he even wrote a poem for me, but I never got to hear it. I, uh…” I paused, fidgeting a little, feeling a strange sense of embarrassment like I was that young lovebird again, “still own the locket he gave me for my birthday once, is that weird? I think it’s still empty inside. I just haven’t figured out what to put inside it yet.”
“You all leave your imprints on the people you are surrounded by. Have you ever considered how your lives would have been changed irrevocably if you had never felt that love? You would not clutch onto an empty locket, and he would never know what to do when he reaches the moon. The memories they keep of you, the sight of the moon, the sound of poetry. Just by being in someone’s life, you changed the way they view the world. Who knows whose life you will change the next day? There have only been so many tomorrows since you were a child, after all, and even now you live in the dreams that child had, as you hope you will live in your dreams someday.”
Extending a hand to feel the rain on their glove again, Death’s other hand reached into his inside pocket and retrieved a small hourglass, peering at it intently before releasing a soft hum.
“It looks like the rain is slowing. Perhaps, the world will begin to sparkle soon. I would enjoy it while it is here. There are only so many times you will see such a sight again.” And with those words, Death retrieved a cigarette from their inside pocket and gripped it with their teeth as they sparked a lighter and let the flame singe the end. Without another word, they turned their back to me and begun to walk away.
“Wait!” I said, far louder than I had expected, “One more question. How will I know if I’ve lived a good life?”
If Death had been particularly startled by my raised voice, they didn’t show it. In fact, they only seemed to relax further as they pulled their trenchcoat closer over themselves, as if trying to stay warm. It was clearer now with the moon out how thin they were. It was unnatural enough that it was unmistakably inhuman like a corpse picked clean of its flesh.
“When I come to collect you, I will ask you the same thing. You can tell me if you think you have lived the life you wanted to live.” They dipped their hat towards me and stuffed one hand into their trouser pocket.
The rain had all but died down now, reduced to a light drizzle like the sea spray that caressed my cheek. The night was still young, however. The moon was perched at its highest point in the sky, still piercing through the cloudy sky. It was a full moon tonight and as the rays of light kissed the bridge, everything around me sparkled. Perhaps, I could stay out here a little longer, I thought as I stood there, the moon wouldn’t shine as brightly for a little bit when it wanes. Let the world grind to a halt for a moment more.
I hadn’t noticed how quiet things had become. There had been no cars nor people passing by for a long time now, as if Death and I had been in our own world. Even the waves washed up against the rocky shores below quietly, creating a smooth rattle as they moved over the pebbles and shingles. It was only then that I realised how exhausted I felt, with only the cold wind against damp clothing jolting me awake as I began to drift.
I stood there for what felt like hours, thinking about all that had been said tonight. Death’s suggestion had felt so…abstract. ‘Living for the sake of living’ felt so unhelpful and yet it coloured things in a way that I hadn’t been able to for some time. Or perhaps, it was the feeling that the almighty Death themself believed my life to be so significant even when it felt like I had done nothing with it. The value of my life had always felt so grand it intimidated me, having expectations to live up to that I wasn’t sure I could meet, but seeing life’s value be simplified to nothing more than a chance to live felt…
Perhaps, I could see what life could offer in just a few more days. Death would wait patiently to meet me at the end again if I changed my mind. They would understand.
Right now, I dreamt of getting out of these soaking clothes and warming up at home. As best as I could. That sounded like a dream I could live in.
I smiled weakly.
“Thank you.” I started to say as I turned to watch Death’s departure.
But there was no-one there.