Authors: Kyle Giroux
“What did Louis call you?” asked Maria.
“Please don’t,” pleaded Death.
“Now now, old friend,” said Satan. His tongue flashed across his upper lip. “I see the lying and deceit that goes on up here but I couldn’t keep track of yours.” He looked at Maria with a broad smile and said, “You never questioned where this guy came from? Why he kills every living thing he touches?”
“Please,” said Death.
“You didn’t get why every police officer in this podunk zit of a city is dead since they tried to arrest your friend?”
“Is
that
what happened?” asked Maria.
“This is
too
good,” cried Satan, howling with laugher. “Don’t humans love their honesty and junk like that? He’s Death!
The
Death. The Grim Reaper. The Fourth Horseman. He Who Rides With a Pale Horse. El Muerte. My dears, this is Death personified!”
“I don’t know, this isn’t very convincing,” said Tim.
Satan faced Tim so that they were nearly touching noses. “Why? Why are humans so…insufferably stupid? I just crawled out of the oven from the depths of Hell. You’ve seen Death reap people right in front of you. Why…are you so stupid?”
“It’s true,” said Death. He figured if he tried to deny it Satan would press further. It was better to just get it over with now. “I am Death.”
“And I’m Lucifer, but you can call me Satan. Everyone does.”
“Oh God, are you here to take us away?” asked Tim.
“No,” said Death. “The opposite. I’m retired.”
There was silence for a long time. Tim and Maria looked like they were trying to form words but were physically unable to. Death shuffled his feet and tried to smile. Satan successfully smiled. “Who wants to find a café for some coffee?” asked Satan.
“Can’t you just make some appear or something?” asked Death, not quite in the mood to go out.
“I don’t have powers on earth until the seals of the Apocalypse are broken,” said Satan. “Except to go to and from Hell, of course. Doesn’t mean I can’t come up for a little fun now and then. My treat. Earlier today when I was scoping out where you lived, I robbed an old man who was swindling people with the three-card monte on the sidewalk.”
Death was about to decline when he saw a grin stretch across Maria’s face, which made him want to laugh with excitement. “I’d like that,” she said.
“The pretty girl says yes,” said Satan. “And what does the sweaty little bald man say?”
“Yes,” said Tim flatly, his own smile fading.
A short scream sounded from the living room. It was Brian, pointing at Satan with the arm that was not in a sling. “No,” he shouted. “You have more of your weird friends over. Just stay away from me, alright?” He slammed the door behind him as Satan turned to Death and shrugged.
The four companions set out into the city. Satan marched happily along, gazing up at the buildings and occasionally smiling at Maria. She did not return the gesture. “So…so you’re really Death, then?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Death. Being honest felt good, yet awkward. He assumed this was only human of him, and he was pleased.
“Well, why didn’t you tell us earlier?” asked Tim.
“I guess I thought I wouldn’t make any friends.”
“Well…yeah, maybe not,” said Maria.
“But we’ll stick by you on this one,” said Tim. Death had not felt better in the past forty-thousand years or so. “Come to think of it,” continued Tim, trailing off. He looked at Satan. “Do you really do that whole buying souls thing?”
“Sure do,” said Satan.
“Can I make a deal on mine?”
“
Tim
,” shouted Maria.
“What did you have in mind?” asked Satan.
“How about…unending riches and fame, for ten years.” Satan laughed. Tim said, “Okay, five years.”
“No, I’m not laughing because I don’t like the deal,” said Satan. “I’m laughing because I’m going to get your soul anyways. That stuff only works with saints who want power or money. Why would I make a deal with a soul that’s already clearly Hellbound?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a good point,” said Tim, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down as he walked.
They found a coffee shop and Satan ordered four large coffees. As they sat down, Maria said, “You know, I’ve been thinking. This isn’t some sort of devil trick, is it?”
“How do you mean?” asked Satan, taking a sip from his mug.
“I mean, you’re pretty much the embodiment of evil. And we’re hanging out with you.”
“The embodiment of evil?” asked Satan. He turned to a man who was walking by with a bouquet of flowers and adeptly plucked a lily from it without detection. He leaned across the table and placed it in Maria’s hair. She flushed as he said, “Have you read the myths about me?”
“Yes,” said Maria sternly.
“No,” said Satan, smiling and shaking his head. “I mean actually
read
them. Not had them read
to
you. I was cast out because I didn’t believe in dependence on God. I was a rebel in the name of knowledge.
He’s
the one with the tantrum. And sure enough, when He creates you good folks I try to give you power from the tree of knowledge and He gets all upset. He
didn’t want you to think for yourselves
. He creates humans and hates the very nature that drives them. I did what I did because I
believed
in humankind, not because I wanted to see it fall.”
“But what about all the bad stuff you said about humans?” asked Death rather smugly.
“Believed. Past tense, old friend.”
“Are you sure we can’t cut some sort of deal?” asked Tim.
“Positive,” said Satan, taking another sip of coffee.
Night fell upon the city, and they decided to walk to the park. With the hum of the generator enveloping the otherwise silent air, Satan sat between Maria and Death and breathed deeply. “This has been nice, taking the day off and everything.”
“Thinking of retiring?” asked Death, half jokingly.
“Not a chance.”
“Thanks for revealing who I truly am. In a weird way it was…helpful.”
“Oh, just doing my job,” said Satan complacently. “To be honest I was under the impression it would make them hate you and you would go back to doing
your
job. But whatever. I’ll find some other way to go about it.”
“Oh…alright,” said Death.
“There are absolutely no stars in the city anymore,” said Tim, looking at the sky. “When I was a kid you could see every star up there. Now there’s too many lights.”
Satan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and folded it into a crane, which he placed on Maria’s lap. She brushed it off and shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the lily from her hair. Satan looked at her, grinning. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it. I will not accept that Satan himself is a nice guy. It makes no sense and I will not believe it.”
“Believe it, honey,” said Satan, standing up and walking towards the generator. “I’m not a nice guy, please don’t make that mistake.” He climbed the fence, over the barbed wire, and onto the cement foundation of the large buzzing structure. “But it’s all to do with perception. If hedonism, sex, and fun are sins, then sure, I’m the biggest sinner around.” He opened a tiny door on the side of the generator. “But if you enjoy being happy, why shouldn’t you be? If you want knowledge or strength or freedom, what’s so wrong with that? What’s wrong with blotting out that which deceives you,” he reached into the opening on the generator and pulled sharply at the wires, yanking them out, “and seeing the world for what it really is?” The wires sparked and buzzed in his hand. He dropped them on the ground and looked up. The generator shut down when he pulled out the inner workings, blacking out every light in the city. Millions of stars blazed overhead, some twinkling, some shooting, others hanging idly on the black canvas. When they looked back at Satan, he was gone.
“Wow, look at all those stars,” said Tim. “See, he’s not so bad, Maria.”
“So you guys don’t…you know, hate me?” asked Death.
“Of course not,” said Maria. “Should we still call you Derek?”
“Yeah, please,” said Death. They began walking down the street together.
“I think you should come out and say something,” said Tim.
“I do too,” said Maria.
“Maybe,” said Death, pondering this. “Maybe sometime soon. I don’t know, though.”
The friends moved onward, the black blanket of the city inhibiting their sense of direction. They heard footsteps rushing towards them and Death was only barely able to sidestep a little man who was barreling towards him. The man
tripped over the curb and a television crashed to the ground in several pieces.
“Oh, come on, man,” said the man, brushing himself off. Death could barely make him out in the dense darkness of the city streets. “Watch where you’re going, huh? I got a mob on my tail, and now I gotta go back to get a new one.”
“A new television?” asked Death. “Did you…did you steal that?”
“Well yeah,” said the man. “Look at this place, not a single light is working. There isn’t a cop within fifty miles of here since the HaffCaff incident. The city center is complete bedlam; everyone is looting, pillaging, fighting, you name it. No lights in a city equals anarchy, buddy!”
“A television, I want one,” said Tim.
“Oh no, here they come,” said the man, running in the opposite direction.
The three friends spun around and saw a large mob of people carrying an assortment of torches, shovels, and farming tools. Men and women clanged their weapons together and rush down the street with smoke gushing and shouts echoing high above them. Death felt compelled to reap the people who were being jabbed at and trampled. But he had to fight to resist the old instinct and, for the first time all summer, he seriously wondered if retiring was the right thing to do.
The mob ran towards the man but when they could not find him, they decided to flip cars and light them on fire instead (as angry mobs generally do). As fuel tanks erupted high into the sky with great bangs that enveloped the soundtrack of the fray, Death sighed and looked up. The stars were no longer visible; now the raging bonfires were plentiful throughout the street, and they enveloped the light of the sky in their unending, scorching fury. Death could have sworn he heard deep, maniacal laughter coming from below the sidewalk as he, Tim, and Maria tried to get away.
Death Joins the Movement
Death walked down Maine Street with hopes of getting another job. But the buildings were blocked by a massive group of people banging pots and pans together. He gazed at the many signs they held, which read: “Free Money For All,” and “We Are The 99%” and “We Should Not Pay For What The Rich Takes From Us.”
A lone woman in a yellow vest held up a sign that read “Homosex is a Sin,” and another sign in her other hand that read, “I Like Protests.” Their chants rang high above the city, punctuated by megaphone-amplified shouts from a tall man with curly red hair. In the mayhem, Death marveled at humankind and its ability to band together.
His last encounter with a group of loud people did not go well, so he was cautious as he walked up to a skinny man in a yellow sweater vest and box-rimmed glasses. “Excuse me, sir, can you tell me what this is all about?” asked Death.
“Yeah,” screamed the man. “The corporate fat-cats want to bring us down so they can buy their fancy mansions while we can’t even get jobs.”
“They do?”
“Yeah, totally. This country is run by nothing but greedy bankers and fascists who just want to see us college students waste away. Finding jobs is hard, so we refuse to keep looking for them.”
“Oh, okay,” said Death. Wow, he thought. A whole group of people who don’t have to work, and can just hold signs instead. Perhaps this was what being human was all about.
“What brings you here, friend?”
“Oh, I was just fired from my job, and—“
“Ah, see,” he shouted. “The man has brought you down. Those fat-cats are putting us all in the poorhouse, taking all our money, and stealing our jobs. We’ll have nothing left soon. So let me put your information into my iPhone and get your email address and cell number.”
“My what?” asked Death. “Your what phone?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t have an iPhone,” spat the man. “What kind of protestor are you?”
“Protest? You mean where people get maimed and savagely beaten?”
“No. Those aren’t the only kinds of protests.”
“Those are the only kinds of protests I’ve ever been to,” said Death. The man walked away, chanting along with the group as Death cast his gaze over the vast sea of people. He walked closer and closer to the action, so intrigued by it that he did not realize how close he was getting. A man within the flow of the crowd bumped into Death and fell flat on his face (stone-dead, naturally), sending his sign flying into the air and falling into Death’s hands. To avoid hitting any more people, he walked with the current of the people, his new sign (which read, “We’re Really Mad About Stuff”) held aloft.
The crowd seemed to notice neither the addition of their new comrade nor the trampled dead man on the sidewalk. At first Death resisted his presence, trying to figure out a way to leave the group, but soon he began to feel involved. He chanted along with the citizens, pumping his fist in the air like they did. A very excited man in blue suspenders ran down the row of people who were holding signs, high-fiving each one. Death, in his disorientation, put out his hand and the man slapped it and promptly crumpled to the ground. The crowd laughed, not realizing the man was in fact dead, and the passionate protest continued.