Loving Death

This is a short story I came up with inspired by a comic strip written by one who goes by the name SnaiLords. You can read the comic here or more of his awesome stuff here. Seriously, do. He’s a great artist.

Anyway, here’s the story. Please be aware, this is entirely fiction. I do not draw from personal experience in any way.


I met him at my first funeral, when my great-grandmother died. He stood there with everyone else, but there were no tears in his eyes. His gaze met mine, and he smiled, then vanished into the crowd of mourners.

The second time was after I was in a car crash. It was a big 6 car pile-up, and fire was everywhere. I remember I could hardly breathe. He pulled me out of the twisted wreck that was once the family van. He smiled at me, saying that it wasn’t my time just yet, then I lost sight of him as rescuers rushed around me and hauled me into an ambulance.

I met him again when I was in the hospital. He was standing just outside the emergency surgery ward. His eyes looked so distant then. That was the first time I got a good look at him. Dark eyes, dark hair, yet with skin so pale. I asked him if he was a vampire, and he just laughed. “Something like that,” he’d replied nonchalantly.

After that, he’d come see me in my hospital room sometimes. He would tell me stories of the places he’d been and the people he’d met. He made for great company when I ran out of books to read. Sometimes I’d ask him to take me with him. He’d just look through me and say “You’re not ready yet.”

I was eventually released from the hospital, and I stopped seeing him. I looked everywhere, but he just wasn’t around. I didn’t see him again for three more years.

An epidemic struck the city. Some really bad case of the flu, they said. Then it seemed like he was around every street corner. I would go out and see him in the neighbour’s yard, at the entrance to an alley, in an apartment window. I was becoming obsessed. I wanted to talk to him again. He’d captivated my thoughts.

I fell off a bridge once. My own fault, really, for being stupid and hanging on the outside of the railing. As I sunk in the water, there he was, dragging me back to the surface. “You really want to go with me that badly, do you?” He’d asked. “I can’t take you with me yet.”

“I just want to know your name,” I replied. If only I could know his name. He smiled that stunning smile of his and leaned in close to me.

“My name is Death.”


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