NOTE TO READERS: I'm sorry if you find this offensive but I would not like to hear your political, moral, or religious views about it. Thank you.
EDIT: THIS IS NEWLY EDITED ON 7/29/08 PLEASE REVIEW AND RE-REVIEW! Thank you so much.
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James Taylors sat back in his chair and watched the clock inch forward another minute.
The office was clean beyond compare. There was a polished dark wood desk in the middle of the room; it faced away from the enormous windows which framed the bright cloudless sky and a view of downtown from eighteen stories high.
Five o’clock was nearing and at exactly five fifteen. James Taylors was expected to be at his favorite sports pub, eating a meal for one in the dark yet noisy atmosphere. He was looking forward to it.
Although the clean cut man led possibly the quietest life out of all the twenty-year-olds within a two-hundred mile radius, he enjoyed it immensely. All the wild parties were much too much for him sometimes.
The clock hand crept forward again. James picked up his briefcase and held it tightly in his hand as the elevator descended down the eighteen stories to the ground floor. He walked down the sidewalk and entered through a pedestrian entrance to enter the parking garage in which he parked his car daily. He drove a small red car. He paid the small parking fee and entered the labyrinth of small two lane roads that wove through downtown.
Eventually he arrived at the restaurant and parked in the small parking lot in front. The small bell above the door notified the staff that James Taylor had arrived. They seated him immediately and he waited for his server to arrive. The large television was displaying a current football game, but from where James was sitting, he couldn’t tell exactly who was playing.
Across the room, someone was continuously glancing at James, and the James didn’t fail to notice it. James ate his club sandwich with speed and tried not to glance back at his observer. After paying the bill, James got into his car and sped out of the parking lot, trying to lose his pursuer.
Only moments after James had left, the pursuer, walked out into the parking lot. He was dressed in a black collared shirt and black pants. He got into his white SUV and began driving. He didn’t need to follow James. He already knew where he was headed.
Smooth jazz dripped from the speakers and the man focused on the tune; it was an improvisational piece.
He had followed James all day now. Waited outside his house and followed him to his job. Then he arrived at the sports bar only minutes before the man had. They said his name was James. It didn’t matter though, names weren’t important in the end. James’s death would happen sometime this week, They had told him. A new song filtered through the man’s thoughts and he took out the CD and put in a different one. Jazz had always been his kind of music. He wasn’t very diverse in his tastes. He thought about it for a minute and then added opera to his list of music he liked. The new CD began playing.
A woman’s voice trilled through the sound system. The lyrics were in a foreign language but the man could understand it perfectly. Language was no obstacle where he came from. He nodded with a satisfied smile; opera was definitely a type of music he liked.
Eventually, James’s car reached yet another parking garage. He took his usual spot on the second floor and made his way back around to the front of his apartment building. He took an elevator to the tenth floor and entered room 1011. He was home, finally. He flicked the lock on the door and relaxed on the small sofa while watching the news.
“Why are you here?” James asked, trying not to look weak or afraid. Look weak or afraid and you were going to die much more quickly.
“I’m waiting,” the man replied.
“Waiting for what?” James continued; looking back at the man with shaggy, but not long, black hair. He was about James’s age and dressed darkly. He had ultramarine colored eyes.
“For you to do something stupid, or get in an accident,” said the man.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Who are you?” James finally asked.
“I’m Death, if you mean that you want a name,” Death’s eyes did not move from James’s.
“Right…I thought you were supposed to come in a cloak with a scythe,” James said sarcastically. Sarcasm would hide the fear he felt. He turned back to the television but listened intently in case the man tried to strike.
“Clichés are often far from the truth,” Death said.
James turned back to look at the man, “Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” Death replied.
“You need to leave.”
“Not until you do.”
“I’m not leaving! This is my home!” James was fed up now. “Get out before I call the police!” Calling the police might make the man want to strike though. It was worth it to try, at least.
“If you do, you’ll be the one seeing a doctor. They won’t be able to see me,” Death said.
James rolled his eyes and turned back around to look at the man, “I thought you said clichés weren’t true. That has to be the second biggest ‘death’ cliché there is!”
“I said they were often far from the truth. I never said always.”
“Right…”
“So I’ll be here for awhile,” Death nodded definitively. He then took out a CD player and stuck in the ear buds. It was time to finish his opera.
“Not if I can help it,” James said. He dug in his pocket and came out with his cell phone. The phone beeped as 9-1-1 was called.
“Hello, this is 9-1-1 emergency, what’s your situation?”
“Hello,” James began, “there is a strange man in my apartment. At the moment he is not threatening me, but I have asked him to leave and he has
refused. I’m worried that he is dangerous, or has some sort of mental disease.”
“Alright, I’ll send someone over immediately. Could you tell me your address?” she replied, calm and cool. James gave her the apartment’s address and hung up the phone. Death hadn’t moved.
James waited on the sofa, watching death for some time. He wasn’t bad looking at all. Rather handsome, actually. He was tall and thin. Who knew Death could be beautiful. No. This man wasn’t Death; he was either crazy or toying with James’s mind. Either way, James would eventually be in danger.
Time passed and Death remained as still as a statue. James sometimes wondered what exactly the man was listening to. Finally, someone knocked on the door loudly. James answered it and brought the police inside. He pointed to Death and the police looked at him warily.
“I’m sorry sir, have you been drinking? There’s no one there.”
“No, he’s right there,” James began before sighing. He needed to make up an excuse, “I’m sorry, my doctor prescribed new medicine and I must be reacting badly to it.”
“No problem sir, just speak to your doctor as soon as possible. Don’t drive or operate machinery,” the police officer said.
“Thank you, Officer, I won’t.” James nodded. He showed them to the door and after closing the door turned to stare at Death who had put away the headphones and was staring expectantly at James.
“That was a clever excuse,” Death complimented, “but do you believe me now?”
“No, I honestly think that my doctor’s medication has a strange side effect. Pinch me and I’ll know you’re real,” James demanded.
“You don’t want me to do that,” Death assured him.
“Why not? That makes it seems like you really aren’t real,” James said.
“If I touch you, you’ll die. Everything living that I touch dies,” Death added as he looked at his hands. The look on his face was pain, true pain of having never touched another living creature. This was the point at which James believed Death.
“How long do I have to live?” James asked, whispering the question.
“At most, a week. This was my first day following you,” Death said.
“You’re going to follow me all week?”
“I have to, in order to take you to the afterlife.”
“What’s that like, the afterlife?” James inquired.
“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” Death smirked. Finally, some emotion was showing. James smiled with Death. It was supposed to be a melancholy moment full of dread and desperation but Death’s face seemed to numb the pain.
“You’re quiet,” James observed.
“I guess I am,” Death nodded.
“This is going to be a long week, isn’t it?” James said.
“My company will make it go faster,” Death assured. James looked up, mildly confused. Death looked into James’s eyes and did not falter. James looked away, wondering.
“Do you eat food?” James asked.
“While I’m here, I do,” Death answered.
“What kind of food do you like?”
“Italian is good, as is seafood.”
James nodded enthusiastically, “Seafood is very good. We can eat at this good restaurant I know tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Death smiled, “no one so far has accepted me so suddenly.”
“N-no problem,” James said. There was a long pause and Death seemed to be trying to think of something.
“Do you like opera?” Death eventually asked.
James’s eyes lit up, “Yes! My favorite is the Magic Flute by-”
“Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!” Death finished James’s sentence. “That’s my favorite as well! It has an incredibly interesting plot as well as some amazing music.”
“On that subject, we agree!” James said, “Is that what you were listening to earlier?”
“No, I left that CD in the car,” Death said, somewhat disappointed.
“No worries, I have it right here!” James exclaimed while running into his bedroom. He returned with a case. He took the CD out and put it into the DVD player of his television. Moments later, the stereotypical warbling of Der Hölle Rache filled the room. They listened to the music and talked while the opera ran its course. Then Death sat quietly, considering.
“What about Don Giovanni?” he asked. “Do you have that?”
James nodded, “Of course I have that! Did you know that it was premiered on-”
Death interrupted again, “October 29th, 1787 in Prague, yes I know that.”
“You should let me finish a sentence,” James looked upset and then began to laugh. “I’ll be right back.” He went back into his bedroom and once again came out with a CD. He took out the Magic Flute and put in the new CD and the music of Don Giovanni accompanied the two young men’s chatting.
The night continued like this, as did the next couple of days. Death followed James to work and sat patiently in a chair reading Grimm’s Fairytales; James no longer left work at exactly five o’clock. Instead, he sat around talking to Death. Death always stayed and talked to James.
“Can you help me?” James asked Death one day.
“It all depends on what you need help with,” Death said.
James thought, “I don’t know if you can help me, actually. Can you pick up things in the physical world?”
“Of course I can. I pick up the remote to the television, food, and CDs; I can help you.”
“Alright then, help me pick up this filing cabinet and carry it across the room,” James demanded.
“Sure.” Death walked over to the filing cabinet and held onto it while James began picking it up. He helped balance out the weight and carry it across the room. Slowly, Death’s hand began to slip towards James. Death panicked and dropped the filing cabinet which slammed against the floor and James’s foot. James yelled in pain and threw off his shoe, applying pressure to the foot.
“I’m sorry!” Death apologized.
“What’d you do that for?” James retaliated.
“My hand was slipping towards yours,” Death said.
James looked up, “You could have just told me that and we could have set it down.”
“I was scared,” Death said.
“Of what!” James yelled.
“Of touching you, of course,” Death said.
“Why? I mean, of killing me unauthorized or whatever, sure, but once again, you could have just told me and we could have set it down.”
“I was scared of touching you,” Death said.
“You already said that, but why?”
“Because I want to,” Death looked up at James. There was silence and nothing more was said. That night, they sat on the couch near each other—but not touching—watching a history program about ancient Egypt.
“This is boring,” James said.
“Very.”
“Change it,” James said.
“No, I like it.”
“What? You just said it was boring?”
“I did, and I like the boring.”
James looked at Death like he was crazy.
“Fine,” they both said at the same time. Then they both reach for the remote, and Death leaped off the couch in fear and backed up a few steps.
“Sorry,” Death said.
“Not this again. I’m about to die by the end of this week anyway, Death, there’s no problem.”
“There is, though,” Death said and then paused. “I feel funny,” he blurted out and then scurried into the kitchen.
James looked at his hand on the remote and thought. “I feel funny, too,” he whispered. “Very funny indeed.”
The next night, James was at dinner with Death. For some reason, whenever they went out to eat, the staff acknowledged Death and could see him.
This particular restaurant happened to be a sandwich shop. James had ordered a sub with turkey, Swiss cheese, and lettuce on it while Death had ordered a simple ham and cheddar sandwich.
“Do you know how I’m going to die?” James asked curiously. The subject hadn’t been brought up at all in the past couple of days, and James was happy to just still be alive.
“No, I don’t, sadly,” Death answered.
“Sadly? Are you saying you want to know how I die?” James teased.
“Yes, so I can stop it,” Death stared at James again. James watched back, wide-eyed. Death himself couldn’t have the same feelings he had for him, could he?
“Thank you,” James tried to let it pass.
“Anything for you,” Death answered, still staring James fully in the face. James stared back, this time searching in Death’s eyes for an answer that he wouldn’t find just by looking. He had to tell…
All conversation ended right there. Death wanted James to realize that he was serious, but James was generally confused. He went back to the apartment and immediately went to sleep. Whenever James went into the bedroom, Death would turn on the television and watch Animal Planet until the alarm in James’s room went off. The same went for this night, except James didn’t sleep. His heart was in turmoil. His stomach was tossing and turning. He had to know…
As James lay in bed, he thought. Such a forbidden topic, homosexuals were, but it was real, wasn’t it? No matter who it was, the love was real. All this was sure, but James had another problem, even on the off chance that his feelings were sure, did Death feel the same? Clichés, Death had said, were often wrong, but doubt was a cliché that had lasted lifetimes and generations. Doubt was the cliché that would never die. Doubt and love. James rolled over and considered his situation.
Even if Death loved James, there was no way they could be together. He wouldn’t be able to touch his lover. Not even touch each other’s hands. A kiss would be poisonous beyond compare.
It made no sense, but nonetheless, it was real.
The next morning, the sun shone through the vague clouds like rays from heaven, ready to take James away. He was up before the alarm clock sounded.
“Hey, Death?” James started slowly.
Death jumped before turning around, “James, you’re up early!”
“Yes, I am. Death, I have a problem. I think I’m in love with you,” James shyly met Death’s ever present stare.
“James…” Death slowly began, “I have feelings for you too, deep feelings too. It’s only been days but…”
“You do?”
“Yes, but it’s not possible, James. I’d kill you with a single touch. Just one touch and you’re gone.” Death’s eyes glimmered with sadness. His face held the pain of before, only stronger now. Not only could he not touch a living creature, he couldn’t touch his love.
James sat on the couch next to Death, but didn’t touch him. The silence passed as he thought.
“Death,” he whispered, “I know how I die.”
“You do?” Death asked, turning to face James. Secretly, his heart had known it all along.
“Yes,” James whispered even more quietly. He brought his face closer to Death’s and kissed him. Death accepted the kiss the moment James’s lips touched his. The fading away of James’s life was not fast; it was slow, although it happened in only seconds. The kiss was long. It was right.
It was real.
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