Have you ever felt death’s icy breath on your neck? Have you reached out to touch him? Have you ever wanted to give yourself willingly in deference to an unknown desire hidden deep within your heart? I have seen death walk in life’s boots. It seemed to me that he was not searching for something to kill. He merely wanted something to love. He wished for something to cherish, something that he could hold in his heart for all eternity. Death can be a lonely thing. Once you have found it, it is gone all too soon.
Death passed me by on a perfect day in fall. Yellow, orange, and red leaves fell from the trees in curlicue arcs, making lazy circles in the wind before coming to rest on the soft grass that surrounded the trees. The sunset was early that night. It grew dark quickly during my walk home. Nevertheless, I felt safe walking along that road. Security covered me like a blanket, and I was completely at ease.
Then I saw him. Damnation strode towards me painted on a canvas. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a massive build, almost like a football player. I quickly discarded the callous thought as he drew nearer. A black cloak concealed much of his body in dark folds. He wore pristine white gloves and tall leather boots. Sharp blue eyes glinted like chips of ice through the full-face mask concealing the rest of his physical features. Wavy blond hair cascaded over his shoulders.
Why would such a seductive man hide himself from his victims? Anyone would succumb to his every whim the moment they had sight of his perfection. His eyes were troubled, however. He is afraid of the guilt, wary of true death. Could he ever die? It seemed impossible. I stood, motionless, and watched as he walked by. He wanted my companionship, wanted my blood to spill for him. His mournful eyes looked at me gently, and then he passed me by without a second thought.
The magic passed. I stood with my head hanging down, staring at the sidewalk. I would have offered myself willingly. In a fleeting moment, I realized why he left me alone. He was trying to atone for the evil, trying to atone for becoming death itself. He could have taken me. A creature like him is damned for eternity. He can never be saved.
I found myself wanting him to take my life, to greedily drain my will away. Once he had left my sight I ran the rest of the way home. How could I have such thoughts about a man whose face I had not even seen? He haunted me. He would not be banished from my mind.
I find myself standing in the same spot every day, wishing for him to come by again. In my fantasies he finds me standing by the side of the road, shrouded in wanting. He would spill my blood, take my life, and leave me as an empty husk of what I used to be. In reality, I have lost track of how many hours I have stood there, waiting for an absolution that will come too late. He doesn’t come. He never will.
I think he knows I stand there waiting for him. I wait, bathed in the sallow light of the street lamp. He can feel me. The sight of him touched me in a way I can never forget. I imagine the same thing happened to him. He stays away, and I do not think he really knows why he hides from me. Perhaps he is simply afraid he wouldn’t be able to resist a second round.
I looked death in the face and I wasn’t scared. I wanted him to sweep over me like darkness, liquid and oppressive in his heaviness. When I die, I will see him again. I am sure of it. He’ll wait for the right moment, and I will be here waiting for him. My death and demise waits in him. The personification of my death is in him. He changed me on a night long ago in October, and when I am old and dying in my bed, he will have to come and seal the pact that he made then. He will rid my body of its earthly fluids, giving me death and a new life as well.
Why aren’t all forms of death as alluring as him? No one would fear death. Why are we afraid of such a thing? Death is the only certainty in life. Should we not take that into consideration when we try to keep it at bay? I ruminate too much on what I can’t change. Most people will never know the form of death that I have seen; immortal death personified in walking perfection. A sigh escapes my lips every time I think of him. Tonight I will walk by the spot where I first met him. I will go home and crawl into bed to await the coming of death and therefore the arrival of him as well.
