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“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” Death demanded, tapping his boney foot.
I thought about it. Well, for one I’m a writer. Maybe not a good one, but you’d be surprised what people read. And they would be horrified to find out that their favourite author died slipping in the bathtub or tripping down the stairs. I didn’t have friends; I never liked people, but Death didn’t need to know that. I finally thought of something.
“Because, my family couldn’t go through another death. Not now.”
Death raised a non-existent eyebrow. “Your goldfish?”
“Yes! That would break their hearts!”
He brought up his knife above my head.
“Wait, wait! At least let me finish the new Stephan King book. I’m dying to figure out how it ends.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” He raised the knife even higher. “So if you’re dying, then let me end it.”
“You don’t understand! My fans will miss me!”
Death smirked. It sounded like his ribcage was creaking. “Fans? That’s why you’re dying in the first place. They don’t like how you killed off the female character in your book.”
“But she was too whiny! She was annoying the crap out of me.”
“And in about 90 seconds, your fans will stomp the crap out of you.”
“Oh please! Can’t you stop them?”
“I don’t make the rules, sweetie. I just carry them out. Besides, I’m getting excited to put this dagger through your head.”
I paused. “Will it hurt?”
He smiled. A ghastly sight that would give me nightmares if I ever slept again. “Of course. I hate beggars, and I hate your stories. So I’m not going to kill you until your “fans” are done with you, sweetie.”
“But-”
“No, be quiet. Don’t you want your last moments to be peaceful?”
I sighed, but my mind was racing. Could I escape Death? Did he know I was trying to?
“Thirty seconds, sweetie.”
I started to panic. I was going to be mauled to death by freaks that fell in love with someone who haunted my dreams with sexual innuendos. I tried screaming, but nothing came out. I looked around for help, only to see Death’s black pits for eyes looking down at me.
“Anything wrong, sweetie?” He cackled, his bones clacking together.
“Yeah, there is. Stop calling me sweetie.”
I felt so cleaver that I almost forgot to run. My legs finally got moving and I was bolting down the street. The “fans” were right behind me now. And they were fast. Faster than my main character’s sarcastic comebacks. Faster than the last sex scene I wrote. Faster than-
One of them grabbed my belt loop and pulled me down. I screamed and they grabbed at me savagely, accusing me of murder. Only that was what they were doing to me. No, that’s what Death was doing to me. I looked over at Death for help as a girl, who had just gotten gel nails, clawed out one of my eyes.
I screamed again, blood running into my mouth. Someone kneed me in the crotch and I moaned. Damn cocksuckers. Couldn’t they be more careful as they kill me?
I felt something sharp dig into my gut. I screamed, and the same thing went into my neck. And this is all over that whiny bitch that I created out of thin air. I screamed again, or rather, tried to, but the blood caught in my throat. I gargled it, choking. I watched it spray my loving fans, but I still wasn’t dead. I tried yelling at Death to get the fuck over here and stab me in the head, but nothing but sputters came out.
I looked up at Death, and he was grinning. He was fucking enjoying it. If there was a loving God out there, he has a funny way of showing it.
I watched a boy, not much younger than me when I was first published, put a gun to my breast. Well, that son of a bitch. I bet he only read the sex scenes out of my book, flipped through a PlayBoy, then masturbated in the McDonald’s bathroom when his shift was over.
“This is for killing off my favourite character.” The boy said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You have a nice rack, by the way.”
You little bastard, mimicking my lack of chest. I bet you have a four inch dick. The gun fired at point blank, blowing apart what little breast I had and filling my lung with blood. I couldn’t breathe anymore, but I wasn’t fucking dying! Take me, you bugger, take me!
I heard sirens and the warble of an ambulance. Everyone scattered except for Death. The cops and medics raced up to me. I still felt the hot blood gush out of my throat and my chest. My eyes were rolling back into my head but I tried to focus on Death. He grinned down at me.
“Had enough?”
I tried nodding, but my head just painfully flopped to the side, tearing my throat open more. I tried screaming at the medic standing over me, but blood just sprayed into his face and all over the front of his smock.
“Yes, I suppose you did, sweetie.”
Stop calling me sweetie!
Death took out his dagger and put it right where the boy had shot me. Then, he dragged the ice cold blade to my non-existent cleavage.
“Good bye, sweetie. You were the cutest dying girl I’ve ever seen.”
I attempted to raise my arms to strangle him, but the medics held them down, waiting for me to die.
Death smiled at me. I tried glaring, but my eyes just rolled back into my head again.
“I love you, sweetie.”
I grinned, blood still gushing from my mouth and staining my teeth.
“Byke,” I sputtered, trying to say “bye”.
“Bike? God, what did those kids do to her?” A cop asked no one in particular.
More than you’ll ever know.
It all went black, the dagger piercing into my heart and freezing my body. And at that moment, I loved Death too.
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PS- Thanks Stephan King, I owe you one.
