Through the Valley: Part 7
Swing and a miss
Welcome to my little corner of the internet! I’m so glad you’re here. Below you’ll find part 7 of my short story about death (and Death). It’s a riot.
Want to start at the beginning? Here you go:
Anger. Confusion. Regret. All these things and more hung about me the next morning as I stumbled into the living room wearing my boxers and a fuzzy green robe that was at least two sizes too big for me.
Death was lying on the couch, channel surfing. I continued past him into the kitchen.
“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he said from the other room. I grabbed an empty bowl and poured some cereal and milk into it.
“Shut up,” I replied, entering the living room again. “And get off my couch.” He ignored me. “At least move over, will you?” I asked in a tone that sounded more desperate than I had wanted. He made space, but his attention was glued to the TV. The news was on again, and the same anchorman from yesterday was talking.
“…further sightings of this mysterious man in black have been reported throughout the city. Local authorities are still refusing to speculate on his identity. My thoughts? Definitely a vampire. Back to you, Charlotte…”
Death shut the TV off. “Vampire,” he said. “What a jackass.” He turned to me. “Soooo… would you like to talk about last night?”
I shrugged. “Not much to say. I can’t think clearly when I’m around her. Like I’m under a spell or something.”
“No offense,” Death replied, “but you know what you sound like right now? A little bitch.”
I waved his comment away. “You wouldn’t understand,” I said. “Love is… complicated.”
“I paid a visit to young Cindy last night…”
I froze with the spoon halfway to my mouth. Death held his hands up defensively.
“I just watched her for a while as she slept,” he said. I finished my bite, but didn’t say anything. “She looked so peaceful,” he continued, “almost like she might never wake up at all.”
That was enough for me. I put the bowl down on the couch and stood up.
“You wanna see someone die?” I whispered. “You don’t think I can do it?” My voice got louder as I spoke, until I was nearly screaming when I said, “Fine! Wait here!” I ripped open the front door and moved into the hallway, praying I would see someone I didn’t like.
Instead, I saw Mrs. Marshall, the seventy five year old German lady who lived three doors down from me.
She was walking (slowly) away from me, carrying a basket of laundry. I closed my eyes and gave a mirthless laugh, then pulled the scythe out from the pocket of my robe. There was no turning back now. I floated silently toward her, fury clouding my judgement. She stopped and started to turn around.
“Oh dear, forgot my quarters,” I heard her say to herself. She saw me then, but it was already too late. I wouldn’t mess up another chance to be done with the horrible task. I swung with all my might.
It should have split her in two. It did not.
The scythe passed through Mrs. Marshall as effortlessly as it had when Death had pretended to kill me. My momentum carried me in a full circle, and I ended up face to face with my would-be victim. She started yelling at me. In German. Then she dropped her laundry basket, picked up a bottle of detergent, and started swinging. Her blows did not miss.
I covered my head with my arms and slowly floated back towards my apartment. Death was leaning against the doorframe, eating my cereal. I put the scythe away and collapsed onto the couch. Death shut the door and joined me. For a while we were silent, the only noise coming from my heavy breathing. He spoke first.
“So…”
“What happened?” I asked. “Why didn’t that work?”
“What do you have against old people, Jinnafer?” He replied. “Do you really want her dead?
“I… I don’t know. Maybe? She smells like cats…”
Death stared at me until I lowered my head in shame.
“I just want this over,” I said. “But I guess I don’t want her to die.”
“Too bad!” he exclaimed. “She was scheduled for a heart attack next year, but your little stunt is going to move things along quite nicely.”
I looked at him, alarmed. I wasn’t sure when he was messing around.
“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully, “a cute girl will move in after they get rid of the body.” He inhaled sharply. “Hey! Maybe Victoria will move in. That’s what you want right?” He stood up. “Since you refuse to kill her? Even though you hate her? Even though your niece’s life is at stake?”
I shied away from his tirade, even though I knew he was right. “Ok, ok. I get it. I’ll ask her out again,” I said.
“Finish this,” he replied. “Or I will.”
Suggested music for Part 7: Virtual Insanity by Jamiroquai
Keep reading! Part 8 is ready, for you!
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