Death is a Girl

Chapter 20: No More Pain

Their next stop, Death parked and looked at the time. “Ten minutes.” He looked up at the apartment building, contemplating something. “I suppose we can take this one a little early. Come along, Morrigan.”

“Does he live alone?” Morrigan asked.

“Yes, which is why I can spare a moment to speak with him. I like to do so whenever possible.”

Morrigan climbed out and followed Death to the entrance. There was a call box to the side, but Death ignored it and took out his skeleton key. The massive key shifted as it moved towards the small silver slot, its end shrinking to the appropriate size and unlocking the door.

Once inside, Morrigan followed him up three flights of steps then down a hall until he stopped at a door and once again used the key.

Inside, the apartment was dimly lit, and a sense of melancholy hung in the air. It was a simple one-bedroom space, furnished sparsely. The furniture showed signs of wear and tear, and the atmosphere felt thick with the weight of solitude. Death moved with purpose, his skeletal figure blending with the shadows.

A man sat on the couch, his eyes glazed over, staring at a turned-off TV. A prescription bottle lay on the coffee table beside him, its contents emptied.

The man looked up, eyes widening in disbelief as he saw the ethereal, cloaked figure of Death. Then his eyes landed on Morrigan, and he seemed at a loss.

“Who—what are you?” he stammered, his voice tinged with fear.

“I am Death, and this is Morrigan, my apprentice.”

Morrigan gave a nod, unsure how to interact in such a situation.

“Death? As in, the Grim Reaper?” the man questioned, scepticism lining his words even as his eyes told a different story. His gaze drifted to the empty pill bottle.

“Yes, Thomas,” Death said, taking a seat on the loveseat near him. “Your attempt to end your own life will be successful. It is only a few minutes before you will lose consciousness, and then your heart will stop.”

A crooked smile crossed his face as he sat back. Already, his eyes seemed heavy. “Good,” he said. “I won’t have to feel the pain anymore.”

Morrigan stepped forward. “What do you mean you won’t have to feel the pain anymore?”

He looked at her. “My body's been broken for a very long time. After an accident as a kid, I was diagnosed with chronic nerve damage. Every day was a fight to even stand.”

Morrigan caught her breath. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be. The doctors did everything they could. A cocktail of drugs kept me barely able to function, but it's been a struggle. I thought long and hard about it… I know ending things will hurt my family, but I can’t stand it anymore. What’s the point of living a long life when I can just end it and find peace?”

Morrigan felt like she should argue, but couldn’t. Who was she to admonish this person for the decision he came to when she knew nothing about him?

Death stood, holding out his scythe. “You lived an honest life and never took advantage of anyone around you. Your mother will miss you, but you have been granted passage to heaven, where you will find the peace you deserve.”

Tears welled in his eyes as his head began to slump forward, his consciousness fading. “Th-thank you…” he said as his eyes slipped shut. A moment later, Death’s scythe descended on him. The blade passed cleanly through his body, and Morrigan watched as a wisp of his spirit floated out, and disappeared into the ceiling.

Death tossed his scythe to the side and let it vanish in the air. He then turned to Morrigan, his expression inscrutable beneath his hood.

“Some people choose to hang on despite tremendous suffering; others find their limit and decide they can endure no more. It is not our place to—”

“Not our place to judge, I get it,” Morrigan interrupted, wiping away a stray tear. “I understand. Let’s just move on.”

Death tilted his head, but said nothing, and followed her out of the apartment.

By the time she made it back to the car, she was unable to deny a burning in her chest. She was upset but also angry and she couldn’t quite explain why. She didn’t know that man, nor did she have any place to judge his actions. He had his reasons, but something about the fact he gave up bothered her. He may have been in pain, but he was alive. With the choice to be alive or dead, how could he choose to die?

As they climbed into the car, Death seemed to sense Morrigan’s internal turmoil. “You’re conflicted,” he said, his voice lacking any discernible tone.

“It’s not about him,” Morrigan said. “Really. I mean, it is, but it’s also about… I don’t know. Why would anyone choose death over life?”

“I am sure there are many complex reasons,” Death began, turning the key in the ignition. “For some, the pain of existence becomes too much to bear. They come to a different perspective on what life—and death—mean.”

“But isn’t life always better?” she asked. “Isn’t it always better to have a chance to make things right or find some happiness rather than give up entirely? Even if things are hard.”

“I would say for some, living is much harder than dying.”

“I just can’t accept that.”

“Throughout my aeons of existence, I’ve seen countless souls make choices you might never understand. Some not even I understand with all my years.”

The car was silent for a few moments, with only the soft hum of the engine breaking the quiet.

Finally, Death broke the silence. “Have you ever witnessed a flower wilt?”

Morrigan frowned at the seemingly irrelevant question. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Could you argue that if given a choice, the flower should keep fighting, pushing against the inevitable?”

“That’s not even close to the same thing,” Morrigan countered. “We’re not flowers.”

“No, we’re not. But just as a flower is subjected to its environment—the sun, the rain, the soil—humans are subjected to their circumstances, their emotions, their physical well-being. All of which shape their decisions.”

Morrigan contemplated this for a moment. “I just feel that there’s always hope, even if it doesn't seem like it.”

Death nodded. “Never lose that optimism, Morrigan. Yet, at the same time, don’t let it make you bitter. Those who struggle too profoundly against the harsh realities of the world, ironically, have more trouble finding happiness.”

“So I should be less optimistic… I see why you didn’t get a job as a motivational speaker.”

Death’s jaw opened as that rattling chuckle came from his bones. “Aaaah, Morrigan. That is not what I said at all, but I appreciate the levity.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at him, yet, despite herself, couldn’t help a smirk coming onto her face.