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The Young Man and Death
For the entirety of his young life, he felt a cold approaching him from all directions. It was his cold, that no one else could understand. Nobody could really feel it, nor could he in the traditional sense; but it forced his thoughts to scatter and his panic to slowly come into mental acuity. In his dreams, in his waking life and in the very itch of his subconscious at the back of his mind, he felt an ominous presence. And he knew what it had meant to have: his life.
Questions of Death's actual being or even intelligence aside, this young man could feel it near, and his constant awareness was what kept Death at bay. The young man bore no illnesses or conditions, and was living a good life that he was content with. Death had simply decided to take him, as Death some times does, for no reason at all.
But it couldn't. With every attempt to slide along the arch of the young man's spine or to wind beneath him and rise to meet his eyes, Death would suddenly feel at a loss for purpose, and would fall still. It felt as if the boy had eyes that could see anywhere, at any time; always staring and challenging, with a maddened glint that danced like a tiny flame. Death felt frightened of such eyes - such accusing eyes. No one had ever seen Death stalking before, no one had ever even glanced in its direction... But this young man could. This young man could see, and even further, he could watch.
So away from the boy Death would stay, simply waiting for another time when he wasn't so... Observant. There were others to attend to, whose times HAD come, but it knew that its infrequent wanderings would lead it here again in due time.
Maybe then things might even be easy.
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The days grew warmer.
Our young man has felt himself grow lighter and less weary. The strange cloud that constantly swirled just beyond him seemed a distant and vague memory, and at last, he felt himself able to relax completely. He enjoyed everything more than he felt he ever had in his life. He shined in such a way that others began to notice, and soon enough, he felt for the right hand, and found it.
The young woman he had found was beautiful, and captivated him such a way that he had felt almost drunk from their first kiss. They spent time together and shared themselves wholly, as one only can with someone that they truly love. Time seemed to lapse constantly around them, and as the months began to grow colder and colder, they only held each other tighter all the while.
On a peculiar night, the air livid with moisture and electricity from the coming storm, the young man had started to seem somewhat distant. They sat closely together, fingers interlaced, and he began to look away from her frequently. Their conversations held, and his voice never quivered or shook, but his attention seemed like it was being torn away each and every moment. She felt his love, but she also felt a tiny rippled of fear from him as well. She spoke to him; asked him if he was all right. He stated that he was fine, and his expression was that of the genuinely confused. Still, he suddenly gazed into a corner, and then returned his eyes to her.
The young man felt a strange and familiar sensation, a very cold sensation; only it seemed somehow closer to him than before. It gathered at his neck and began to creep along his scalp, just barely fluttering against his hair as it went. He began to feel tired and unhappy. He had felt his perceptions sharpen and the old panic spark, but only faintly. Now they were gone as well, and his eyes began to droop. His posture was loosening. He wanted to lay down.
His young woman stared at him: at his hairs that were suddenly turning gray, at his eyes that were so far away, at his mouth that lay open, exhaling deeply but producing no wind. She was terrified. She placed her hands on his face, tried to get him to look her in the eye; tried to get him to say ANYTHING, ANYTHING at all! But he wouldn't. He stared past her, at nothing. She saw that he was dying.
She brought him to her and embraced him. She was weeping freely, and her mind was screaming in a thousand different voices that only fumbled over one another. She was feeling his body slacken, his last few gulps of air slowly draining from his torso. She told him that she loved him, over and over, until she finally looked up. For one brief moment through her tears, she saw a vast, smoking shadow just above her lover's hunched back, with one wispy tendril leading from it to his neck. She couldn't place its eyes in that moment, but she felt its chilling gaze meet hers.
And in that same instant, it was gone; as if it had blinked out of existence itself. The air suddenly seemed thinner, but all at once, the room filled with an echoing thud and the young woman was thrown into a coughing fit. As she was, she felt the young man's body jerk, and he suddenly sat bolt upright, gasping for breath.
Their eyes met once they had calmed their fits, and in an instant she was on him, still in tears, screaming half-hysterically. All the while the young man stared off into the distance, glad, yet afraid as well. Nothing is all right now, he thought to himself.
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The young woman warned him of the shadow that had placed its grip upon his shoulder, and he began to wonder. He feared Death more than anything else, and somehow he had forgotten about it entirely. He looked to his love, and felt that familiar glow radiate from her direction. Everything seemed all right with her, no matter where they were or what had decided to pursue them.
Suddenly he knew, and his heart fell to his stomach, and shattered there.
In time he was gone, and she had known why all along. She watched as he left her, and felt her own heart fall to pieces. He refused to turn to her again and choked down the mess of insanity that was rapidly ascending into his throat. He wanted to scream and wail; wanted to call Death to this very spot and challenge him to a simple duel or a fair fight. But he simply walked in silence, eyes shut tight, teeth grinding against gum.
She waved to his back, and slid down to her knees. She wanted him to live, and felt that any desire to have him stay would be selfish and terrible. The salt from her eyes lay on her cheeks, and she stared at the ground.
And in time, Death had them both.
