Flirting with Death pt 1

  I had seen her once out of the corner of my eye and was instantly enthralled. It was at my grandmother’s home the night she died when her presence filled my vision. Dark hair, pale skin, deep eyes; she was absolutely radiant. Her lips were the most brilliant shade of crimson, like two velvet rose petals smirking upon on face. I simply had to get closer… but just as suddenly as I had seen her emerge from the darkness, she was gone. I had been my grandmother’s caretaker for the past few weeks prior, but her death did not haunt me as much as the vision of that pallid beauty.

The days went by and the funeral came looming closer as I sat in my one bedroom apartment, trashcan overflowing with takeout containers, smears of duck sauce staining the boxes. What could I say, I’m a sucker for Chinese food and my culinary skills are… lackluster. I sighed to myself, running a hand through my shaggy mouse-brown hair. Who was she, anyways? What was her name? Where did she come from? I pushed up from my dilapidated recliner, its worn maroon upholstery showing my favorite seat in the house where my a*s left its permanent indent.

Pondering more about this woman, her image still burning bright in my mind’s eye, I made my way into the kitchen feeling rather peckish. Routinely, I pulled open the refrigerator door, mulling over the sparse contents within. A few half empty to-go boxes sat on the top shelf, a Tupperware container filled with every condiment package available from every local fast food joint beside it. I reached in, grabbing a to-go box and pulling back the lid to give it a sniff test. The pungent odor burned my nostrils and I sighed. Guess the Mongolian beef had seen its better days. Tossing the expired container in the garbage, I made my way back into the living room.

The walls were that faded yellow-beige that signified it age, chipping paint dusted with wire hooks and nail holes where pictures would have hung. It was a rather unimpressive flat; dingy brown carpet and worn spots all over, a slender black LCD television poised atop some build-it-yourself minimalist entertainment center, a sagging couch leaning wearily against the far wall. The bedroom left much to be desired behind its stiff white door, a sloppy queen-sized bed filling almost its entirety save for a nightstand that housed a single lamp and a bookshelf that reached up to the popcorn ceilings and lined with a mismatched assortment of books.

Feeling weary, I flopped horizontal onto the couch, my hands lazily searching over the small wooden coffee table beside me, closing victoriously over the remote I had been slapping for. I flipped on the TV and let my mind go numb, images flashing before me as the drone of some program faded into the back of my mind. She was still there, bright as day in my memory and I could not seem to let her go. My eyes grew heavy as the thought of her grew hazy in my head. No… Don’t go… Just let me gaze upon you a moment longer…

*******

I jolted up with a gasp, the blaring alarm on my phone jostling me to consciousness. I must have fallen asleep on the couch, the TV still speaking its tale from the edge of the room. Drawing a deep breath and making all manner of exasperated noises and unnecessary groans I stretched out my arms and back, feeling the comfort of a few pops and cracks. The realization for the day then struck me.

“S**t.” I cursed, all my responsibilities flooding into my mind.

Today was my grandmother’s funeral.

It took little time for me to snap into motion, stiffly rolling off the couch and to my feet. Why did I do this to myself? The bed didn’t treat my back and neck this poorly. Shuffling around, I went about my morning routine; make coffee, drink coffee, rummage through the fridge for breakfast-like items, drink more coffee when I realize there is none, then off to the shower.

It would have felt like any other day if it weren’t for the weight of the funeral looming over my head. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to pay my final respects to my grandmother, but I did not want to deal with the rest of the family that would undoubtedly be there. My grandma and I were not as close as you would believe. The only reason I was left as her caretaker for her final days was due to convenience for both her and myself. You see, most of the family had decided to move out of state a few years back, and my grandmother could not be bothered to leave the home she had grown accustomed to. Why didn’t I move? One simple reason: Money.

When I had been asked to come help take care of her, she didn’t seem to need much help in all honesty. She would ask me to help her out of bed in the morning, or maybe to reach up and dust the nick-knacks she couldn’t quite get to; but other than that she seemed just fine. I guess her condition was deceiving, for not two weeks into my care of her, she passed in her sleep. She had always called me things like “sweetie,” and “pooky” but from what I remembered, that’s the kind of pet names she gave all her grandchildren. The details of the night of her death were still so vivid in my mind, though I know it was because of that woman, not the loss of my family member.

I shook my head, emerging from the shower in a waft of steam and heat, the open air of the bathroom bringing a chill to my tanned skin. Questions of who she was danced in my brain as I shook the towel through my wet mess of hair. I yearned to see her again... There was no doubt she had left an impression, and I was perfectly willing to do anything to steal a moment more in her presence.

Time had passed and I found myself now standing before my grandmother’s casket. In loving memory, Beatrice a wreath of lilies and roses bore beside the coffin, the scripted letters seemed generic and unfeeling amidst the teary eyes of the room. I was wearing my only black suit with my only black tie, looking like some sad excuse for a fed. I looked down at my grandmother, taking in her peaceful features. Her cheeks were painted in her favorite rosy rouge, her lips a pale pink she was fond of wearing with her best-loved pearl necklace. I took it all in quietly, ashamed that my mind was speeding off in another direction.

Those deep red lips… Mmmm… I drew a deep breath, my eyes sliding closed as I pictured them. The time had come for the final words of the ceremony, then time for the funeral progression. What did I have to do to see those lips again…? I followed the procession, turning out the doors and out towards the cemetery. My distant cousins and their family were exuberantly mourning as we went; it seemed a little garish and unnecessary, considering they barely knew my grandmother. Aunts and uncles murmured amongst themselves and I could feel the conversations starting to point at me. Whispers of how my parents had failed to show up trailed in the air, and speculations on my part in Grandmother’s demise.

I hung my head in silence as the coffin sunk into the ground. The final words were said and the flowers placed and the family lingered about as the shiny box was covered with dirt. My hands shoved down into my pockets as I excused myself to go walk the path down towards the mausoleum at the cemetery’s heart. My mind was still a rush of those red lips and deep, pale eyes. I sighed, feet shuffling along the pathway, kicking up small rocks and dust that scuffed the shine of my black leather loafers. Something was missing in my life now, but I knew it was not my grandmother.

Turning my gaze up towards the mausoleum, I felt my heart skip a beat.

Surely I was imagining things. Certainly I had to be seeing what I only dreamed true. I blinked quickly a few times to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me. Long dark black hair fell in loose curls about her narrow shoulders, pale icy blue eyes looked up to me slowly; and those lips! Those carmine lips! It was! It was her!

My breath caught in my throat and I stumbled in my steps. If I could just talk to her, just know a little more… I stumbled again, unable to keep my balance this time as I tripped face-first into the pavement. I hit the ground with a thud, feeling my cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Great job, Eric, I scolded myself, hurriedly rising back to my feet and brushing off the dirt that now smudged my pants. The faintest chuckle reached my ears and I could feel myself melt.

She had to be an angel… and angel dressed in… Wait a minute.

I blinked again as I now took in her full appearance. Clad head to toe in a black robe with a heavy cowl, I swallowed nervously as I caught sight of the fearsome looking weapon in her hands. Long and curved, a blade jutted out from a pole.

A scythe? You had got to be kidding me. This had to be some kind of sick joke. It was the overplayed costume of the traditional grim reaper image. Hah hah, yes, this had to be a joke, a dark one for a cemetery, though I admired the commitment to it.

She looked back at me with a gentle smile as I called up to her.

“Nice Death costume.”

She smirked at me and replied, “It’s not a costume, its my uniform.”

I laughed at her, approaching her easily now, only a few steps away now. “Yea, sure.” I laughed, dusting off the dirt from my knees as I found a spot before her to stand.

Her gaze narrowed and I felt daggers. “No, really.” Her voice was flat now.

The sharpness of her stare exaggerated the seriousness of her tone. I felt my breath catch in my throat. “O-oh...” was all I could manage to stutter back at her. She shook her head.

“You know, Eric, you should watch where you’re walking, you’d be surprised how many people die from accidental falls each year.”

I was lost in her voice. It was so silky and creamy, the hint of nobility in the way she spoke. “I’ll, uhh, be more careful next time…?” I said, unsure of how else to respond. I was too busy absorbing every bit of her. I traced every line of her delicate face, burning every inch into my mind in high definition. There was no way I would ever forget that face, it was everything I could have dreamed of.

She smiled a gentle smile and then turned away. “Take care, Eric.” I blinked and she was gone and I was left dumbfounded.

I stood there for a few moments, wondering if I had just had the world’s best dream, rubbing my eyes to make sure this was still reality. This was it. Real life. Every bit of it. And she had been there. My heart fluttered. She had even spoken to me. I felt myself grinning. The impact of our quick exchange took many hours to set in, long after I returned home (after looking a right fool for my return to the remnants of the funeral).

I shuffled into my apartment, dropping my keys on the kitchen counter and moving to the fridge to grab a beer from the bottom shelf. I cracked open the bottle and took a swig before nearly spitting it out once the realization hit me.

“She’s Death?!” Perhaps I had been too entranced by her frosty eyes, too lost in her flawlessness and sultry voice to allow that rather important fact strike me til then. I sank back into my favorite chair and took a heavy swig from my beer, gaze lost in nothingness.

“Death...” I breathed, the word stinging my lips with an icy bite. “I’ve got to see her again...”

****

Author's Note

This is based off a tumblr screenshot I saw on Facebook and I took off with it. I may eventually pull all the parts and repost them as a whole one shotter.

Reviews

[Mifa]

Wow. I have things to say but they all seem lost in the beautiful flow of the narrative. For a minute there, I too almost felt like Eric had in the end. Thankfully I shook it off quickly. I'd rather be alive to read more from you than follow the carmine lips of the seductive siren called death.

Beautifully written. However, I think you could do away with this part "(after looking a right fool for my return to the remnant of the funeral)". It seemed unnecessary.

[Jibey]

Nicely macabre story...god detail of the grandmother's place and the funeral. Eric seemed like a lost soul from start to finish!