I held Death’s hand this evening. It was cold, bony, and sadistically comforting. It was freezing and painful, yet somehow, it made me feel welcome. It was so numbing I couldn’t help but fall into Death’s embrace. She accepted me with arms wide open. And as I made myself comfortable, I was met with an emotionless gaze. Her expression was blank, as boney as her hands. I found myself even more displeased with the rest of her. Her cloaked form seemed hollow. Oh, god, I wish I could forget the embrace.
To hold Death’s hand is jolting, but falling into her embrace is paralyzing.
I’ve had numerous meetings with Death, every one of them different from the last. Sometimes, we sit together in an open field, lush with soft, bright green grass. Just me and Death, sitting there. Other times, she watches while I drown in the darkest depths of the ocean. I’m always trying to swim to the surface, but I can never make it. It’s just so dark, so deep, and so cold, just like Death herself. Sometimes, the mood calls for a higher sense of decorum, so we dine together. The Diner of the Dead has some great choices: human flesh cooked however you want it, charred brains from all kinds of organisms, and Death’s favorite, the Bloody Milkshake. Did I mention all the servants are dead, too?
On special occasions, Death entraps me in my greatest fear; fire. Fire is my bane. Sometimes, I’ll be in a burning forest, and I’ll hear the cries of dying animals, along with the cracking of burning wood. There will be no way out, and I just have to wait. Sometimes, I’ll be stuck in a burning house. I can hear a baby crying for her mother, and I’ll try to get to her, but the fire is too powerful. It’s ruthless. And if I ever do get to the baby, it’s just Death taunting me. The best is when Death just puts me in a black nothingness, and then lights it all on fire. I never know when it’ll happen, but I know it will. And that scares me more than the fire itself; at any moment, my world would be lit ablaze, and I’d be helpless to stop it. I hate fire.
Look at me, getting ahead of myself. I’m going off about my uncanny relationship with Death, and you don’t even know who I am. All you know is Death and I are practically married, and clearly it’s an unhealthy relationship. Well, I’m Liz. I meet with the lovely Madame Death almost every night. This abhorring relationship spawned from me trying to commit suicide five months ago. I failed. I tried overdosing, but the drugs weren’t strong enough. Sucks, right?
Since then, doctors have got me on all kinds of shitty drugs they think can help me. It sounds weird, but Death is the only one really helping me. I bet you’re wondering why Death chose me. I mean, tons of people try to kill themselves and screw it up somehow. Well, it isn’t just me. Death can be everywhere all at once. She messes with tons of people. And do you realize how many people actually die every day? If you think Death isn’t busy, you’re an idiot. No, Death has just, for some odd reason, taken to torturing me more than any other person.
I couldn’t say what separates me from the next suicidal sap. Maybe my mind is just so relentlessly fucked from all the drugs and drinks I’ve taken in life. I’m only 21 years old, and my life is royally fucked. I had a short stay in rehab once for substance abuse, and I suffered a not-so-serious case of alcohol poisoning in college (which I was enrolled in for only two years). My friends try to relate to my situation, or try to comfort me when I’m distressed, but no one gets me. No one but Death, unfortunately.
I should be scared by that, but I’m not. Death is the one person I can truly confide myself in. Sometimes, it feels like she’s the only one who understands me. And yeah, I’m scared beyond recognition every time she puts me through hell, but there’s something blissful about all of the torture. It’s like I said, Death is sadistically comforting. Her hands are cold to touch, yet they easily pull you in every single time. You can’t help but crave her attention. As unhealthy relationships go, this one’s cancerous. And I love it.
I remember the first time we spoke. It was… weird. And yet, like all things involving Death, it felt serene. Speaking with her almost came naturally. She’d been visiting for about one month before she actually decided to say speak to me. I’m sure I could have said something earlier than that, but I never really felt the need to. I figured she would speak up when she felt the timing was right.
The night started like any other. Death plopped me into some random location, and I was left to await my torture. That night, I was standing at the top of the Empire State Building. I could see all of New York City from up there, and even further beyond. I expected to be forcefully shoved off, only for it to take a millennium for me to hit the ground. But it never happened. I just stood there, and a moment later, Death was standing beside me.
“Hello, Liz,” she greeted me. Her voice was soft and wispy. There was a sort of hiss to it, as well. I turned to look at her. Her bony face and hands were visible. Everything else was cloaked, leaving that hollow feeling I mentioned earlier. The bottom of her form was an endlessly flowing black aura. I felt happy to see her.
“Hello, Death. What’s going on tonight, huh?” I asked.
She giggled softly. “I just felt like talking tonight,” she answered. “I’d like to get to know you. We’ve been meeting for a month now, and I know so little about you.”
“Really? We can’t just do the usual?” I whined.
“You don’t make the rules, Liz. I do.” She was quick to assert her authority. I shrugged and decided to go along with it. “Where would you like to start?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What do you want to know?”
She stroked her chin, looking out to the city and humming quietly to herself. She looked back at me a moment later, her head tilted slightly, like a little school girl who’s curious about a cute boy. “When did you figure life was out to get you?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s easy; 11th grade.”
“And what brought about this mentality of yours?”
“The fact that every aspect of my life sucked. Mom and Dad constantly argued, I felt like my friends never gave a shit about me, my dreams were always being shat upon, school was ass, and the only real comforts I had were drugs and booze. The odds were always stacked against me. I didn’t see any of that changing,” I told her.
“And so, one faithful day, just before you started senior year, you made a new friend. A razor blade,” Death stated.
“The two of us were inseparable,” I continued. “The booze and the drugs were shit compared to the razor. It hurt so good. I’d always wondered what it was like to cut through flesh with a blade. It feels nice. It hurts at first, but you get used to it. Soon enough, it just feels right. I loved that feeling. That is, until recently, when I figured the razor wasn’t cutting it anymore.” Death giggled at that. “Sorry, no pun intended,” I said, giggling as well. “I got really, really low a while ago. I wanted out, but I was too afraid to cut myself to death. I thought drugs would be a nice way to go. Clearly, I was wrong.”
“I must say, as failed suicide attempts go, yours was truly horrendous,” Death joked, giggling once again.
“Wow, you have a sense of humor. Never would have expected that.”
“You could fill volumes with things man doesn’t know about me. I’m so different than what I’ve been professed to be. I’m not so terrible, am I?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”
“Quite.”
“Well, you…” I was going to say she was the fucking worst, but I paused. “I don’t know.”
“Thinking I’m insufferable while feeling something entirely different?”
“Yeah…”
After that, we just stood there for a few moments in silence. It was actually pretty nice atop the Empire State Building. I’d always wanted to go, but my parents suck, so I never got to go on privileged adventures like that. My days were always either spent at home, listening to my parents argue while I tried to do stuff, or just hanging with my friends around the neighborhood. My guy friends Rodney, Zach, and Vinny would skate around, while my gal pals, Trish and Courtney, and I walked behind them. Actually, Courtney skated too, but on a penny board.
Those are the friends I mentioned before who don’t really understand me. Thing is, while they may not always understand me, I was wrong when I said they didn’t care. They did. They do. I hope they always will. They’re my best friends. When I die, I hope they mourn my loss. They try their best to understand, and I appreciate that, but sometimes it’s not enough. That’s why I’m so keen on being with Death, even though I know being with her is dangerous.
And you know what the most fucked up part about killing yourself is? It’s selfish. You just want out, and you do it for you. You have to say to yourself, “I don’t care about anything or anyone else, I just want to end my life.” If successful, you put everyone who’s ever loved you through so much, just because you hated life. It sucks. Clearly, I reached a point where I didn’t care anymore. Wonder what that says about me.
After the silence had earned it’s time, Death turned to me once again. “Do you hate life, Liz?” she asked me.
I looked at her. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I felt something wet rolling down my right cheek. I wiped it off. It was a tear. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You know. Tell me.” She was acting so passive-aggressively.
“Yes, I hate life.” It hurt to actually say it.
“Then why do you still live.”
“Because…”
“What?” she pushed.
“It’s the right thing to do,” I said.
“Ha. If that’s true, then why try in the first place?”
“I told you, I got low. Nothing else mattered. I wanted out. But I don’t think like that anymore.”
“Yes, you do,” she taunted. “You try not to, but you do. When you’re alone at night, before you cry yourself to sleep, you think about trying again. You think about leaving. You think about getting a gun, or jumping from a tall building, like this one. You’ve even considered cutting down the lane once or twice. There’s no need to fight these urges, Liz. Just give yourself to me.”
I shook my head. “No.”
I said killing yourself is selfish. It is. I realized that after I tried and failed. And that’s why I vowed never to try it again. Now, that doesn’t stop dark thoughts from creeping through my mind, or wanting to go back to my past practices, but that’s part of the fight. That’s what I have to get past. That’s part of overcoming this… sickness, if you will. That’s why I won’t give in.
“No?”
“No. Sorry, Death, but you’re not getting me. You had your chance. Maybe it wasn’t me that fucked up. Maybe you fucked up. I mean, you are Death, aren’t you? If you wanted me dead, why not do it yourself? Why not guarantee my demise? I bet you could have. But you didn’t. So, no, I’m not going to kill myself. I’m not going to die for a long, long time. Sorry. Deal with it.”
Death looked at me silently. It was like she was studying me all over again. She giggled. “It’s cute you think you can avoid the inevitable. The more you see me, the more you’ll come to love me. You will be mine, Liz.”
“Sorry, you’re not really my type. I like dudes. So, anyway, can I sleep now? I’ve got work tomorrow, and I really don’t want to be tired in the morning.” Sticking it to Death really is a confidence booster, I gotta say. I shined a taunting smile at her.
She smirked at me. “How juvenile. Very well. You’ll be seeing me again, Liz. Until next we meet…”
The world around us disappeared. I woke up in my bed a moment later. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and looked around my room. I then smiled to myself, feeling stronger than I had in my entire life. I had just stuck it to Death. Like I said, huge confidence booster. I had earned myself some peaceful sleep. And so I did. I knocked out quicker than a wrestler in a sleeper hold.
Since then, I’ve had many more meetings with Death, like I said before. Though I was bursting with self-esteem then, it’s gotten tougher to fight her. What she said is true; the more you see her, the more you love her. Her seductive nature easily attracts my addled mind.
But I don’t stop fighting her. Night after night, I fight back however I can, and day after day, I grow stronger. Yeah, the drugs I take suck, and sometimes people don’t understand me like I need them to. But you know what? That’s okay. It’s enough to know they try. That’s what keeps me going. Knowing that people care about me. And I’m not going to abandon them. Not now. Not ever.