Young Writers Society

Chapter 2:

In which our heroine dies.

“A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. “

-Stewart Alsop

Ebony was not sure where she was, but wherever it is, darkness reigned. She could see

nothing, hear nothing. She was surrounded by nothingness. No words can describe the empty feeling

that bubbled up in the space. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it un-space, for although

there was nothing there, the darkness suffocated Ebony, pressing against her.

She tried to raise a hand, only to find that her muscles were disobeying her. A choking

panic rose inside her. She tried to turn her head, but quickly found that it was just as immobile as her

hand. At the verge of a nervous break down, Ebony attempted to calm herself. Not even her eyes

would open. Ebony began to shake, her breath coming in gasps. A sharp pain was growing in her chest.

She could hear a voice - her mother? A feeble rasp drifted out as Ebony attempted to call out. Though,

she wondered if she had really made any sound at all, for there was no change in the gentle murmur

of voices.

Ebony thought back, trying to remember how she had arrived in such a situation. She

remembered being chased by Karen and the others. She seeing the horrified look mutilate the popular

girl’s features. Then pain. The feeling like someone had reached down from heaven and ripped her

apart. Just the memory made her muscles seize up.

All this did very little to answer her question, of course. Once again Ebony tried to move,

inwardly screaming and thrashing about. Not even a hair twitched, however, and Ebony was left to lay.

It seemed as though she would sit there forever, in deep and utter darkness.

Suddenly, a horrible feeling overcome her. Deep inside her chest, Ebony could feel a hole.

It was as though the nothingness in which she sat was eating her from the inside out. She could feel

the hole spreading, no pain seeping through, just a terrifying blankness. A horrid taste rose in her

mouth, like decay and hatred and fear. Like death. Ebony began to panic. Her body would still not

listen to her, but her hearing sharpened. She could hear whimpering and a shaky rattle of someone’s

sickly breathing. It took her a moment to realize these sounds were coming for her. The hole grew,

creeping deep down into her toes and spreading through her fingers, slow as molasses but as careful

as a spider spinning it’s deadly web. It reached upward, long spindly fingers scuttling up her neck. The

hole was a hole no longer, now it had come alive, and was consuming Ebony completely.

Then, suddenly, Ebony found that she could open her eyes. Not only that, but she could

move her hands. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, before glancing down to find her body still laying

on the sick bed in the hospital. It’s arms were wrapped in bandages and though Ebony could not see

under the blue plastic like blanket, she was sure the rest of her looked far worse. Her body was sickly

pale, her eyes open and glassy. It stared into the distance as if pondering a dark question.

“……This is going to provoke some complications,” Ebony thought mildly, before realizing

she was not alone in the room. Nearly wetting herself with surprise (though she would never show such

weakness to a stranger), Ebony stared at the figure, before glancing down at her hands to buy her

time. It was large (the figure, not her hand), and covered in a heavy cloak that appeared to weigh

nothing, though the fabric looked heavy. A long and deadly looking scythe sat perched in the hand (or

rather, sleeve) of the creature, held as gently as a rose. Not sliver of flesh showed from under the

cloak, shadows dancing along the folds. Ebony took a deep breath and attempted to calm herself,

emitting the first question that popped into her mind.

“Um,” Ebony began, pausing to swallow nervously, “What’s with the pink robe?” Indeed it

was pink, a light rosy shade like the blush that may tinge a giggling girl. Somehow, this creature made

the cheerful color look threatening and imposing, possibly more so than if it was a color more suiting

of the cliché.

“I like pink.”

Ebony nearly jumped out of her skin when the creature spoke. She was not expecting a

response, and now stared at it openly. The voice was decidedly male; a deep, yet young, murmur that

had a twinge of surprise laced in. Although she could not see his eyes, Ebony felt them on her. The

man….monster….death….thing started and shuffled in what Ebony might have thought an awkward

fashion, had she not known better.

“Ebony Renowna Blithe,“ He addressed again, speaking in a bored tone, “I am Death, and

I am here to escort you to - What?” Ebony had begun to laugh, sounding slightly mad in her outburst.

She made to lean against the metal bed frame, only to be disappointed when her hand phased right

through. She stopped laughing, giving a snort of disgust.

“Well, that’s cliché,” she murmured to herself, narrowing her eyes, “You know, the least

they could do is surprise us a little when we die.” She raised her eyes to watch the stranger, who was

staring at her again. Ebony got the strangest feeling that his jaw had dropped. If he had a jaw, that is.

Now it was Ebony’s turn to enquire, “What?”. The man seemed to compose himself, standing up

straighter.

“Please come with me,” He said simply, his voice ice. Ebony laughed again, before following.

What an odd dream she was having.

§ § § § §

Of course, Ebony Blithe was not dreaming, as she soon began to realize. The hysterical

laughter ceased, a horrid silence enveloping the two travelers. As Ebony walked down the abandoned

streets, she began to shiver, though not from the cold. She could feel nothing - it was as though she

were walking through lukewarm water. All her senses were muffled, even her sight seemed fuzzy.

“I’m truly dead,” Ebony whispered, more to herself than to Death.

“Of course,” Death snorted, “If you were not, I would be invisible to you.” Ebony glared at

his back, annoyed with the obvious answer he gave. He stiffened as if he could feel her gaze.

“Stop that,” he exclaimed, whirling around to face her, pink cloak swirling. Ebony took an

involuntary step backwards, phasing through a lamp post. She sat there for a moment, the lamp

appearing to slice through her head. The hopelessness of her situation hit her. For a moment it looked

as though she might burst out in tears. Instead, however, she merely stepped forward to face Death.

“Can you phase through things as well?” she asked quietly, looking to where she thought

his eyes might be. Her own eyes burned with intensity, though shined with unshed tears.

“N-no,” Death stuttered out, a little put off by the burn of the girl’s gaze.

“So you’re solid, but I can touch you?” Death nodded.

Ebony’s fist crashed into Death’s face.

He gave a howl of pain and surprise, stumbling backwards. He fell on his knees, still

howling and snarling a string of profanities at Ebony. He flashed over to the girl, rage emanating off of

him.

“What was that for?!” he growled, waving his cloaked hands in the air.

“For being an ass,” she said simply, “People don’t want to see some crabby jerk when they

die.” Death reeled, speechless.

“You…..Y-you little…” He sputtered out. Ebony merely looked at him with a degrading face,

an eye brow raised. For a moment, Death stood there, cloaked hands waving in fury, and only emitting

sputters. Then Death turned on his heels and stalked off, not knowing what else he could do. This was

the first time any human had ever reacted to him in such a way.

“Hurry up,” he threw over his shoulder thickly, as if he would rather just ignore her, “We

have only an hour to reach our destination.”

§ § § § §

“The Laundromat?” asked Ebony incredulously, “That’s our destination?”

Death did not answer, he simply opened the door and walked in. Ebony found herself

slightly annoyed he wouldn’t even hold the door for her ghostly self. She sighed and walked through it,

ignoring the horrid, tingly feeling she was succumbed to. The bright, yellow lights of the Laundromat

dazzled Ebony after the dark night, Death’s pink coat standing out like a beacon of cotton candy.

Washers whirled on the walls, their hypnotizing rhythm filling the room. Dryers clanged, and to the far

left a random shopping cart lay over turned on the cold, unfriendly tile. Death stalked down the rows of

washers and dryers, ones that were not new enough to be placed into the walls. Ebony followed him

silently, wondering why they could possibly be here.

When Death finally stopped, he stood in front of a large industrial washer, one for washing

canvas tents or heavy blankets. Ebony watched silently as Death reached deeply into his cloak and

pulled out a handful of change. Slowly, as though performing some sort of life saving surgery, Death

entered the coins into the narrow slot. Then he precariously pressed several buttons, only to have the

machine request more money. Mumbling something about the ‘fricking money hungry government…’,

he inserted more coins, impatiently this time.

Then, Death climbed into the washer.

“Well, come on then, we haven’t got all night,” He snorted, waving a heavily clothed sleeve

for her to enter. Ebony gaped, not sure if she understood.

“You want me to get in the washer?” she asked, wondering if perhaps Death had lost his

mind. He gave a heavy sigh.

“ Yes, Ebony, I want you to get in the washer,” he repeated himself slowly, as if speaking to

a dull child. Unsure about what was going to happen, Ebony climbed in.

“Nnrgh,” she grunted, trying to squeeze in. She ended up smushed downward, with her legs

curled up by Death’s shoulders. Her back rested on his lap and her elbows were squeezed in tightly.

Thanking the heavens that she was not claustrophobic, Ebony tried to take a breath. All she could see

was a large amount of pink, and Death’s scythe leaning outside the washer. Both members of this

strange load were grumbling and jabbing into each other as they attempted to position themselves in

a way that could be considered even slightly comfortable. Death reached over the and slammed the

washer door shut.

“Well is isn’t awkward at all!” Ebony thought with a fake cheery tone.

“This is insane,” she mumbled aloud, “What are we doing?”

“Waiting for the gate to open,” Death replied simply, his voice muffled by Ebony’s leg. “Do

you happen to have the time?” he asked politely, back to his icy self.

“Unfortunately, my left arm is currently being crushed by-” Ebony was interrupted when the

world dropped out from beneath her. One moment she was curled up in the washer, then next she was

falling. Her breath was robbed from her lungs, a scream caught in her throat. Her stomach flipped, as if

someone had scooped out her insides with an ice cream spoon. Her hands flailed, desperate to grab

onto something, anything. Death was no longer near her, and Ebony could feel nothing, see nothing.

All around her a thick darkness pressed, like she was dying all over again. If not for the whistle of the

air as she fell, Ebony might have thought she was standing still. At last her voice found her and she

screamed. She screamed until she could no longer, until her lips moved and no sound came out. Still

she fell, until suddenly, she noticed her decent slowing. Ebony gave a whimper of thanks to whomever

was watching out for her, and tried to flip herself feet-forward. At this point, Ebony began to hope no

one was watching her, because she was sure she looked quite ridiculous flapping her arms and legs

around. When at last our heroine’s feet touched something solid, she collapsed, breathing heavily.

Unable to say more than, “Oh.” Ebony sat there for a moment, catching her breath, until once again

she felt the cool gaze of Death on her back. Standing shakily, Ebony turned to face him, wondering

only in passing how he arrived to the end of the fall unscathed.

“Come over here so I can punch you again,” she coughed. Her intimidating moment was

somewhat hindered by the scratchiness of her voice, inflicted by the previous screaming. Death gave a

chuckle, much to Ebony’s surprise, and then began walking. She noticed, however, that he stayed out

of her reach. This made her smile, and she finally felt that she might be able to walk. Unfortunately, it

was at this moment that her stomach, who it would seem had been left somewhere in the middle of

the long fall, caught up with Ebony. Dropping to her knees, Ebony retched, though nothing came out.

Apparently your stomach contents did not follow you to the afterworld.

“Honestly,” huffed Death, “You humans are so fragile,” Ebony chose to ignore Death this

time, standing shakily to her feet.

“Let’s just get where we’re supposed to go,” she growled, a bubble of fear finally rising

inside her. Ebony had never been a particularly religious person and she was unsure what to expect.

The last thing she was going to do was ask Death, so she resigned to waiting.

Together the odd couple walked down the large tunnel that they had landed in. The walls

stretched high, as far as Ebony could see. They were a deep black, lightening to a grayish-white

towards the base, so at least Ebony could avoid walking into walls. The ground seemed quite smooth,

identical to the walls.

“You guys sure do a good job of terrifying the dead,” Ebony snorted.

“We give them what they expect,” Death replied, his pink cloak seeming even brighter in

the dark hall.

“Suuuure,” Ebony scoffed, stumbling over her own feet and bumping into Death. Pink

enveloped her and muffled her quiet cry. She fell up against Death’s back, her hands grasping his

cloak to steady herself.

“OI!” he snarled, shoving her back and scrambling away. Ebony fell hard and ungracefully

on the black floor.

“DON’T DO THAT!” Death yelled. He then yanked the hood further down on his head and

then marched off, leaving Ebony to stare in confusion. Realizing that her only way out of this mess was

leaving, Ebony called Death some impolite words and dashed after him. They did not speak of the

outburst, or anything else, until they reached a door. It was a fairly normal looking door, a light

caramel color with a worn brass knob. Death reached over and turned the handle, taking care to cover

his hand with his sleeve - a motion not missed by Ebony. When he opened to door, he gave a sigh of

relief.

“Thank goodness,” he breathed, “The line’s short today.” Ebony stepped forward and gave

a involuntary gasp.

They were standing in a modern receptionist office.

“What the fu-”

“NEXT!” shouted a gravely voice. Several plushy armchairs were arranged in the room,

though none were occupied. There were also large, fake plants, and the room even gave off the smell

of an office.

“They have Febreeze in the underworld?“ Ebony thought, amazed. A line wound down from

the voice, coming to end to the left of Ebony and Death. Death grabbed Ebony by the arm and pulled

her over to the dismal line. It felt as though an ice statue had come alive and snatched her, sending

her body into spasms of chills. She rubbed her arm where he hand grabbed her when he released,

hoping to calm the goosebumps.

“Where are we?” she whispered to Death, the hushed, almost reverent, tone of the room

influencing her.

“The Crossroad,” he replied, just as quietly, “This is where we find out if you’ve been a

good little girl.” The fear returned once again when Ebony heard these words. She had been good,

right? Not too much lying, she’d never stolen, there had been a few fights but… Ebony was beginning to

find it hard to breath. To distract herself, she focused on the gravely voice she had heard earlier.

“Ellen Smith! Heaven!”

“Drake Mcdonald! Heaven!”

“Kyle Litherson! Hell!”

“Emma Noice! Heaven!”

“Jennifer Koreen! Hell!”

The voice never changed, even as it was reading off the doomed victims names. Some

would try to protest, but their grim reapers would lay a hand on them and lead them away. The other

reapers were all in black robes, and seemed to give her Death a shake of a head as they passed. He

valiantly ignored them, though Ebony could tell he was annoyed.

“At least I’ll never lose you in a crowd,” she cracked, trying to make a joke of the situation.

“Ha ha,” Death said dryly, stepping forward to advance in line. The length had moved

quickly, each member taking only a few seconds. Ebony noticed that none of the human occupants of

the line spoke, each immersed in their own thoughts. Every once in awhile someone would burst out

with a sob, but they were quickly subdued by their reaper. Butterflies fluttered in Ebony’s stomach -

apparently, those had not been left with her material body along with her stomach contents. At last,

the voice called ‘NEXT’ and Ebony stepped forward.

The man who the voice belonged to was a ancient thing. His back was sharp and crooked,

and he was hunched so far forward his nose was only an inch from the page. His fingers were long and

spider-like, holding a antique looking fountain pen and scrawling across the page. Lips drawn tight

against his face and his nose hooked and long, his beetley eyes flickered up to looked Ebony over.

She was shaking uncontrollably, wishing she could clench onto Death without looking pathetic.

“Ebony Blithe!” the man called out. He hesitated for only a moment before shouting her

fate to the room like all the others.

“Imprinted!”

Ebony blinked. She was about to ask if he could repeat himself, when for the second time

today, she was shoved out of the way by Death.

“Imprinted?” He practically yelled, his voice rising to a ’manly’ falsetto in disbelief, “There

must be some mistake. There must be. Sh-she…Ebony can’t be the Imprinted.”

“NEXT,” the old man shouted, his tone still unchanged.

“You have to check again. I won’t allow it. I have better things to do then baby-sit the next-

”

“NEXT!”

“Sir, I don’t think you quite understand. There has to be-”

With a flash of movement much to quick for the old man to have possibly accomplished, he

snatched the front of Death’s cloak and yanked him down until they were face to face.

“NEEEEEEXT!” He drawled, long and slow, though the tone still did not change. Death gave a

meek nod, and then was released. The room was silent, even more so then before, and Ebony could

feel the chilling gaze of all the reapers in the room staring at her. Slowly, as if unbelieving, Death

stood and walked over to where Ebony sat. She had not yet stood from where she had fallen, but now

Death pulled her up gently by her shirt. Then he led her to the exit door, one she had not noticed, that

leaded, apparently, to neither Heaven nor Hell. Death opened it and stepped through. Ebony followed

as well, though where to, she did not know.