A Tearful Death

The Visitor
Oct 19, 2006

He was waiting for her when she got home.

He sat in the dark, on time, merely counting the minutes until she would return. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the blackness of the room, and the only sound was that of the ticking clock, counting by the seconds and minutes until she would return.

And suddenly, the front door opened, letting light spill into the room, chasing away the shadows. He rose as she entered.

For a few minutes they stood and watched each other. She seemed shocked, but then again, most people were, even though they saw him coming.

After a while, she spoke.

"I've expected you for a while," she commented in a weak but conversational tone of voice, as if she were talking about the weather.

"I know." he replied.

"You look more... weary than I expected. Not at all like I thought you would."

"Appearances are misleading. The occupation isn't the most rewarding in the world." He motioned to a maple dining chair. "Would you like to take a seat, before we end this?"

"Thank you. But if you don't mind, I'd like to have a cup of warm tea first, then lie back in my bed while you do... your business." She shuffled slowly to the kitchen. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh no, thank you very much," he replied, "but I can only stay for so long."

"I understand." She placed her warm drink on the bedside table. Rubbing her thighs with her hands, she turned away from him. "It's a very cold night tonight."

"Yes, I know. I brought the car along instead of the horse."

"Is that a joke? I didn't know this was so funny," she said, but there was a deep resignation in her eyes, and a glint of humor about the situation.

"Well, life is what we make of it, is it not? Humor can be seen in anything, and in my... line of work, humor is a necessary function- we armor ourselves with it, to prevent despair."

"I suppose it is. I'm just glad this is turning out to be so easy. I was actually quite nervous, but now that you're here, I don't really mind at all. I suppose there's no turning back now either."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the ticking of the clock matching the rhythm of her heartbeat. Counting down the seconds, like a cruel Fortune, a despairing Fate.

"Do you have any questions before I do what I have to?" He moved from the shadows, took a seat in the chair opposite the bed, looking at her with his hands clasped.

"I... I do have one question..." She looked up at him with her eyes suddenly full of glistening tears.

"Yes?"

"Was it the drugs? Or just age? Or perhaps something else?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not the right person to tell you that. I'm here to do my business, and I'm passing through, just like everyone else."

She sat for a long while, without words, or movement. He sat equally as still and silent, waiting for an answer, a response, something.

Finally, she spoke.

"Are you going to kill me?" she said, her hands trembling as she reached for the cup.

He paused.

"You're already dead," He replied, touching her shoulder, and she was.

Taking the silk blankets, he tucked her in gently, closed her open eyes with tender love, and took the empty cup from her limp hands.

He pulled his hood over his head, picked up his scythe, and walked back into the streets.

The air outside was chilly. It matched the ice surrounding his heart, and the tingle of frost running down his spine.

He looked up at the full moon smiling down on him, and that was when the tears began to fall.