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A Love for Death

Stuart O’Rourke

    How did one put this into words? Some might call me cruel or evil but in truth I was nature at work and the day wasn’t finished yet. It was just hours ago that the detective told Mrs. Hagerty that her husband had passed, little did any of them know she would soon follow. Nausea set in as my stomach stirred with that acidy feeling that preceded taking some big test or giving a long speech. How was this possible though? Could a reaper feel such things?
    Contrary to popular belief we soul takers were mostly human once but something happened to us after death. We came back and as if in some sick twist of fate, were made to take life ourselves but it had been so long since I felt, well anything. Mrs. Hagerty’s eyes, a bloody red as tears ran down her face like water down the mountainside. She unknowingly stabbed me in my beatless heart but it wasn’t just the pain. The fuzz of the carpet between the toes as I took each step, the smell of pot roast. The sunset in the distance actually required that I blink with those colored spots one saw after looking at the sun.
    The old corded phone rang but Mrs. Hagerty didn’t budge. There’d be no long conversations about today’s youth or politics this evening. It had to be done though, nature demanded that life be taken yet I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to do it. There was nothing particularly remarkable or different about this woman so why did I feel this way?
    “You don’t need to skulk about young man,” Mrs. Haggerty said.
    Did she see me? Hear me? How?
    “There’s no point in just standing there. I know who you are. What you are. Just come over here and sit down please,” she then said
    Her words commanded me, a human moved me. Each step towards the glass double door felt like an eternity. Seated in the same lawn chair she had been the entire day, she took the moment to dry her eyes. Low and behold she lifted her head and looked right at me, not through me like so many others but at me, as if she actually saw a person.
    “Well sit down.” She said, her hand gesturing me towards the opposing chair.
    I accepted the invitation and sat. These feelings were all so unfamiliar. The wind blew beads of sweat away. A mixed aroma of roses and other plant life in the garden replaced the cooked dinner.
    “Don’t they smell nice,” she said pointing at the flowers as if reading my very thoughts. “My husband loved them. Not Frank god rests his soul but my first husband, Thomas.”
    “I... I supposed they do Donna,” I said, the sound of my own voice so unfamiliar.
    A cough pumped its way up my lungs, tearing my throat as it did. It had been so long since these lips uttered any words. I wasn’t sure why I called her by her first name but it came naturally.
    “Do you know why I’m here Donna?” I asked.
    “But of course, You’re the best news I’ve had all day. I survived Thomas’s passing but Frank too. No thank you. I’m checking out,” Donna said.
    “How do you see me?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure. You just walked in, didn’t you? Do people not see death in their final moments?” she asked.
    “No not usually. I’ve taken in all forms, from the grizzliest murders to the most peaceful final breath and not once has someone seen me.” I said
    How did one take something so beautiful? I guess that was the nature of things. We grasp the good for as long as we can but eventually, no matter how hard we try we end up having to let go. This seemingly unremarkable woman somehow allowed me to feel again, and I had to end her life.
    “You know Frank always said we have to keep fighting for the good moments and do our best to set aside the bad. It’s something I think my first husband needed to hear. Always sulking because he never felt he could do enough, always focusing on what he lost rather than what he had. You kind of remind me of him, kind of have his good looks too Mr. Death,” she said, a fount of sage like wisdom Mrs. Hagerty was, or perhaps insane.
    Mrs. Hagerty smiled and she would do so in her final moment, I’d make sure of that at least. I took to my feet and approached the flowers. Each step was blissful, grass tickling bare feet. The sun would set on Mrs. Hagerty but it would do so kindly and she’d look as beautiful as she did at twenty. I picked a rose from a small collection in the corner. Only appropriate a reaper beautify death with more death but such was the way of things, I’d kill a flower to decorate the art that was Donna Hagerty. I turned. My dead heart shattered at the sight of her smile. Fiery needles pricked at me from all angles and the wind picked up blowing through strands of hair that previously may as well not have been there. Glass ran through my veins. Approaching Donna, this time each step was another hell I had to perceiver through, fire engulfed me both body and soul. Now drenched in sweat, I stood before her.
    “I guess it’s time, isn’t it Thomas?” she asked.
    “Why yes, yes, it is my dear Donna. You’ll see Frank soon,” I said.
    She closed her eyes as I placed the final brilliant red rose on her ear, tucking her hair behind it. I had forgotten humanity after death, ironic that more death brought that humanity back. I left her, I forgot. I killed her, I remembered.

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