Alive, but Death

Poor Mister Bram doesn't want to die today, or ever. A short faerie story.

 

 

 

"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

                        -J. Robert Oppenheimer, Inventor of the Atomic Bomb

 

                Now some people ask me, “What ever happened to that neighbor you had? That Mister Bram? He was a good sort alright.” And I say, “Well, I do not wish to tell you. You will not like it at all.” But of course I tell them anyway.

 

                Once, there lived a man named Mister Bram. He lived like any of us folk would wish to live. He lived in a fancy cottage with his fancy clothes and his fancy furniture. He lived for the joy of earning his bread, and he lived for relaxing after a good day’s work. Even better, he lived with the most beautiful wife that any could wish for. He lived for her kisses in the morning and her smiles in the evening. Needless to say he loved to live.

And of course, everyone who lives has problems, but Mister Bram had only one. You might say he lived with it; you could say he lived up to it, or you might also say that he lived dreading it. 

Frankly, the problem was that he lived, because everyone who lives has to die someday, but he might not have seen it that way in the beginning. If he could talk to you today, he would probably say that in the beginning, he just saw the end.  

It was no secret that the end frightened him terribly. He shied away from every dead thing, tree or animal, and quickly changed the subject when friends would discuss a dead loved one. Every now and again when he attended funerals, you could see him deep in thought until at last he had scared himself away as usual. Put simply, Mister Bram lived in denial.

Day after day Mister Bram hid from the thought of death, yet there came a time when Death decided that Mister Bram had been hiding long enough. Of course, Death knocked on his door when death was the last thing on his mind. Mister Bram had just celebrated another year of marriage with his wife when he heard the knock. He opened the door cheerfully.

 A man stood before him, tall and overbearing. His robes were all black, but his appearance was well-kept save for two eyes, paler than a blind fish. They seemed not to notice him, or anything else. They were lifeless.

“Who are you, and how can I help you sir?” Mister Bram said to the stranger. He was clearly uneasy by the man’s eyes.

“Mister Bram,” the dark man’s voice came deep and natural. “It may grieve you to know that I am Death.”

Mister Bram held back his fear and eyed Death from head to toe. “You do not look too frightening, Death. I always pictured you as dead.”

“That is because you see me poorly,” Death responded, “Is not the fear of my coming enough for you, mortal? But I did not come to explain my appearance. I have come for your wife this very night. Do not keep her from me.”

Now a fear overcame Mister Bram’s limbs. He fell on his knees; he clutched at Death’s arm. He whimpered and sobbed. He pleaded and begged Death not to take the most precious gift in his life away.

“Is this wife yours to own?” Death replied. “To govern the number of her days as you see fit? I am not moved by your pleas, but I will come another day when more will be demanded of you,” and Death vanished from his door as a dream vanishes from the wakening mind.

Yet Death did not clear from Mister Bram’s thoughts. The days that followed became filled with dread and fear. Every night he would look out his window upon the path that led to his cottage. Little security could be had in the arms of his loving wife, and his hope would fail when any visitor came knocking. To be short, Mister Bram lived in distress.

                Yet, there came a day when Mister Bram’s wife bore him a son. The night was the happiest moment he could ever remember, and the joys that flowed from the cottage spread throughout the village for weeks to come. Visitors from all over came to see the little one. They admired his lovely face and little toes. They gave him gifts beyond count. No longer did Bram fear the terrible knock on the door, until one day he heard a struggled tap. He opened the door.

                A man enrobed in black stood before him, yet it did not seem like it was a man, nor did it seem like he was standing. His shoulders were slumped and his back was leaning. His head and eyes drifted to the side, lifeless and pale. His arms hung limp and dangled in the wind. Perhaps I should have said that a motionless puppet hung before him.

                Mister Bram could think of nothing to say or do. Fear had gripped his heart, eyes, and hands. He wanted to scream but had forgotten how.

“Mister Bram,” the dark man’s voice came bottomless and forced. “It may grieve you to know that I am Death.”

                Mister Bram scrambled to find his voice, “You look very frightening, Death! I thought you were fairer before!”

                “That is because you barely know me,” Death responded. “Was not the fear of my coming enough for you, mortal? But I did not come to explain mysteries. I have come for your wife and child this very night. Do not keep them from me.”

                Now a terrible horror erupted from Mister Bram’s limbs. He flayed about. He swung his fists. He shook Death’s shoulders. He wept and cried aloud and in the end, fell to his knees, begging once more for Death to let the most wonderful things in his life alone.

                “It is a grievous thing to govern the fortune and doom of your wife and child,” Death replied. “I am not moved by your pleas, but I will come another day when more will be demanded of you,” and Death vanished from the door as the night vanishes from day. 

                Sadly, death lingered in Mister Bram’s mind from morning to evening. Day after day for every smile there was a well of sadness and dread overflowing in his eyes, awaiting the terrible return of his lifeless visitor. He brought gloom wherever he went and watched with sorrow as his son grew tall and strong. He clung to his wife in panic at the thought of tomorrow and kept her awake at night with his sobs. No longer did Mister Bram laugh with his family or visit his friends. All thoughts of living turned to thoughts of dying in the same moment. I cannot say anything else but that Mister Bram lived in despair.

                In fact despair loomed so readily that the moment that should have been the happiest in his life, became the most frightening. On the day that his grandchild was born, Mister Bram ran from his great cottage in a fit of sorrow and anger. Death was bound to come soon! He remembered Death’s warning: more will be demanded of you. Mister Bram stood in the middle of the night, hating the birth of his grandchild and thinking of any way that he could avoid the death of his family, or worse, his own. Crazed, he raced off into the night in search of a way to overcome death.

                Days passed without word to his family. Through inns and taverns, caves and towns, Mister Bram questioned the secret to avoiding death. Wherever he journeyed it seemed that he had arrived only shortly after Death. No one he spoke to needed an explanation to who Death; there was nothing anyone could do. Sailors mentioned a fountain of youth while rich men suggested bribing; drunkards held up alcohol while innkeepers offered their best women. Nothing could deter Death for long.

                On the darkest night of his search, Mister Bram hung his head in despair and turned to trot the long road home. It was hard to keep to the path, for there was no moon to guide his way, and the woods became thick. After much difficult walking, Mister Bram stopped to rest and sat on the side of the road. As he began to sit, he realized to his surprise that a dark, hooded figure already sat nearby.

                “Are you the one that seeks to overcome death?” the mysterious stranger spoke softly.

                “Yes I am,” Mister Bram replied. The despair and anger was rising within him again. “but no one has given me hope. Who are you? Are you someone who knows how to overcome death?”

                “I am but a simple necromancer. I do not offer hope,” the stranger scooted closer next to Bram, “and death cannot be overcome by you, however, I do know how you may leave him powerless.”

                Mister Bram started: “Tell me what you know, and I will do it!” So the stranger whispered his answer to Mister Bram, who shook in eagerness with every word. “Tell me where Death resides, and the deeds will be done.”

                The stranger was silent for a moment and stared long under his hood, “Why do you not call on him?” With that he scooted swiftly away into the night.

“But if it is so easy, why have you not done it?” Mister Bram shouted into the blackness. Only a faint laugh came from the void.

                At length, Mister Bram stood up and sped back to the village to gather the things that he would need to overcome death. He journeyed back into the woods. At last he was ready to face Death.

                “Death!” Mister Bram barked. “Death, come before me, for I have much to demand from you!”

                Before he could finish speaking, Death appeared before him, as if the night sky descended to earth in a solid form. After the darkness disappeared only a corpse remained upon the ground to speak with Mister Bram. 

“Mister Bram,” the corpse’s voice came guttural and inhuman. The corpse did not move, save for its mouth. “It may grieve you to know that I am Death.”

                “It does not!” Mister Bram retorted.  “In fact, I am delighted you came when I called!”

                Death remained motionless: “You are not the first man to call upon me. You place yourself amongst soldiers, nobles, the kind, and the murderous who call my name.”

                “I have called you because I have suffered much.”  

“Am I your friend only when great suffering comes your way?” Death replied.

“You are never my friend!” Mister Bram screamed to the top of the trees. “You are a villain!”

“Others would speak differently,” the corpse muttered.

Mister Bram’s voice echoed throughout the woods: “Others who speak differently do not understand you! But see here Death! I have brought you here because I know how to defeat you. I know your ways, and I can render you powerless!”

The pale eyes in the corpse twitched.

Mister Bram went to a seed that sat in the earth nearby and held it aloft before snapping it in two. “The death of a seed,” he muttered and moved to a green leaf close by. “The death of a leaf,” he stated as he picked it from the branch next to him and crumpled it with his fingers. A firefly buzzed within reach. He caught it in his fingers and crushed it immediately. “The death of an insect.” He pulled out a small jar that contained a squirrel. “The death of an animal!” he spoke louder as he crashed the jar against a tree. The squirrel fell limp. “And the death of a man!” he ended in a shout. From the branches and thistles Mister Bram pulled out a large man, struggling, tied and bound. It was one innkeeper from the nearby village. His eyes were wide with fright.

“You do not wish to do this,” Death muttered hesitantly.

Mister Bram did not listen but pulled out a long knife. He made a quick swipe, and before long the deed was done. “The death of a man!” he shouted in triumph. Slowly he turned to Death and smiled: “I have stolen your power over life!”

The corpse of Death began to move and strain. After a great many jerks it arose ever so slowly and stood staring at a rather horrified Mister Bram. As the corpse slowly twitched forward, it no longer began to seem like a corpse. It was as though Death itself was being sucked away from the body. Blood began pumping throughout its limbs. Skin grew over raw flesh and the once pale eyes became a lively evergreen. It seemed to Mister Bram that life had returned to the body, yet that was not all. Though it became clear that the body was that of a beautiful woman, her beauty and radiance did not stop gathering. The long hair that grew about her became dazzling green and blue hues and gold light sprang from her fingertips. Soon her brilliance lifted her from the ground and filled the night sky. It was not simply life returning to a dead woman.

Mister Bram fell to his knees and hid his face in awe. “You are not Death!” he cried in despair, “You are Life!”  

The beauty and light of Life did not diminish but shone like daylight. Though her mouth did not move, her radiance seemed to speak and echo her words. “Foolish mortal!” her voice pierced Mister Bram through the heart, “To think that Life cannot be found within Death! Is not even Death subservient to Life? For where can Death reign that was not Life’s dominion? Can death give back anything but dust and ash? Yet even Life works through the ash. And Death too shall have to meet itself one day.” As she spoke, the broken seed came together to form a new sprout. The crumpled leaf floated back to its branch. Life returned to the insect and the squirrel. The fat innkeeper’s wound disappeared and his eyes opened once more.

Life turned her gaze to the trembling Mister Bram. There was no pity in her gaze: “When you began, you hated Death out of love for Life, but now as you have shown, your hatred for Death has festered a hatred for Life! Your actions have torn death from my grasp, and now you have become Death itself! The doom of all men has now been placed upon you, and worst of all, when death comes to your own family, it must be you who takes their lives.”

Mister Bram lay writhing upon the floor. Every word of Life seemed like knives piercing his shaking limbs. All this time, the night sky searched for a place to hide from the daylight of Life; soon the darkness came to rest upon the poor body of Mister Bram. His skin paled with a sickly hue and the life in his eyes waned. Shadows enveloped him like greedy hands, tearing away the life inside him, until all that remained was Death.

 I dare not say more. Suffice to say that Mister Bram still lives, and yet he is dead.

 

                  

                  

 

Author's Note

Let me know about whatever it is you think! Thanks!

Reviews

[Denni]

this is great!

[M.A. Hughes]

This is probably the best story yet that I have read of yours, Faerie Story! Once more, I'd advise cutting out the opening paragraph:


Now some people ask me, "What ever happened to that neighbor you had? That Mister Bram? He was a good sort alright." And I say, "Well, I do not wish to tell you. You will not like it at all." But of course I tell them anyway.

It is really up to you though. It doesn't detract from the story but at the same time the story seems to flow a bit smoother without it. I really enjoyed the way the story ended. I was very much surprised! I don't know how long this piece is (in terms of word count) or how long you wish to elaborate upon it, but it would be fun to delve a little more in the mindset of Mister Bram--maybe with a little more dialogue or description of how his family is tortured by his own torment. I think it is fine as it stands though, so it is definitely up to you!

Good job :).

[nadya]

wow this is amazing. it really made me think!