Death's Deal

Something about seeing my sister being put in the ground makes everything so much more real, so much harder to accept. Why do I have to accept this? I can't help but think of all the many things she's going to miss out on. When I think of these things, I have to bite hard on my quivering bottom lip to keep from screaming.

I never even got the chance to play big sister with her. Not really. I pretty much ignored her existence and whenever I didn't, it was because she was forcing me to spend time with her. Or my mom was forcing me, to be exact. But no one should have had to force me, or beg me. I should have went with her willingly. Just like with Halloween. How long did it take her to convince me to go with her? How long before mom stepped in and ordered me to?

No, that can't be totally true, can it? I loved her. I played with her when we were both kids. It was when I got older that I began to ignore her more. I didn't want to play little kiddy games with her anymore. I just wanted to hang out with my friends from school. Did she miss me? Was that why she always bugged mom to make me take her places?

Glancing over, I see my mother crying and my uncle with his arm around her. This must be really hard on her. Dad died soon after Kaela's birth, mom was so sad, and now Kaela dies too.

She must feel like the world is against her or something. Or that God has a really wicked sense of humor.

But then, that's not too far from the truth. After all, the God of Death, this is all his doing. And he definitely has a sick sense of humor, a sick sense of everything probably.

Speaking of which, I haven't seen him since the hospital. It's November now, obviously, and for the past few days I have been a bit on edge, expecting him to show. Maybe I really was just dreaming? Or hallucinating? Or maybe...I don't know. I'm much too tired for my mind to form any more coherent thoughts. I haven't been able to sleep well since my sister's death. The nightmares keep me awake.

The priest talks about how Kaela was taken too soon and how we are all equal in God's eye.

How she's in a better place now and blah, blah, blah. I want to yell at him, though I know it's irrational. I want to yell at a priest for doing his job. He's only pretending to care.

He never knew her. He never held her. He never talked to her.

This is our loss. Ours. Not his. Yet he stands up there and talks about her as if she were his best friend.

Not only that, but he gets it all wrong. Who is he talking about? Not Kaela. Not my sister. I don't know this person he's telling us about. This both helps and angers me. It helps because it makes it easier to dissociate my sister from this experience. It angers me because Kaela needs no embellishment. She was a wonderful kid, a wonderful person, without the lies.

I know I'm just being emotional. I need someone to be mad at or else I'll just drown myself in sorrow...even more so than I already am. Isn't it so much easier to deal with rage than sorrow?

I need someone to hate, I need someone to blame. Maybe that's why I made up Death, to shoulder the blame on him - or it. If there is a god up there, then he's sick for taking away the young before they even have the chance to really live life. I don't want to be a part of believing in such a creature.

Once the service is over and Kaela is buried deep within the ground, my mother stays and stares at her tomb, unmoving. I don't want to bother her about leaving yet - even though I'm freezing out here. So I hug myself and walk off, deciding to pay a visit to my father's grave. I haven't been to it in a long time. I hate cemeteries. They're full of sorrow and loss, such a melancholy place.

I don't know exactly how my father died. What really scared me after he died was when his face started to become blurry, years after his death. I tried to remember him on his birthday, but
I couldn't picture his face. I panicked and practically begged mom for a picture of him. I don't want to forget him, so I keep the picture she gave me in a frame, placed safely on my desk in my room.

Will I have to do that with Kaela now too? Keep a picture of her around, just so I don't forget her face? I try not to forget, but somehow there are loopholes in my mind and some things just...slip through. I can't imagine ever forgetting how she looked just before she died...though that's the one image I wouldn't mind fading away. Already, when I think back on her, that's all I see.

Dad's grave is surprisingly farther than Kaela's. We tried to get them closer together but this place is already cramped, there was just no place for her. Not that we expected her to go so soon.

I get to dad's grave and kneel down in front of it. There are no flowers or anything here, just a bunch of dried up autumn leaves from the trees. I feel bad for not coming here to visit him more often. I trail my fingers across his name and think back to the picture, remembering him as best

I can.

"Death has never been kind to my mom...or me, for that matter." I whisper to myself.

"Now, I wouldn't say that. I let you live, didn't I?"

Gasping, I turn around and spot Death. His arms are crossed and he's leaning against a tree with a smirk. He looks just as dark - and evil - as he did when I saw him in my hospital room.

Wait, what am I saying? I'm obviously crazy.

I close my eyes.

This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real...

I keep telling myself this. I'm only looking for someone to blame for my sister's death, someone else, so I won't blame myself. The only reason he's appearing now is because the funeral just ended. My emotions are all over the place.

That has to be it.

Suddenly I feel a puff of warm air on my face.

Please tell me that it's just the wind.

"Are you done thinking to yourself?" He asks, his tone polite and patient.

I open my eyes. Damn. He's still here. He's not an illusion that's just going to go away, is he?

"What do you want?"

"I was coming back from taking a soul with me and I just thought something-"

"What do you want?" I scream, a bit louder than I had meant to.

I don't need this.

My heart hurts and it's all because of him.

Can't I just grieve for my lost family in peace?

That sadistic smile of his is back and it makes me want to choke him. But I want to hug him too, if only to be comforted. And right now I feel as if I need comfort, yet I wish there was someone else here with me to get that from. I've always longed for physical affection, from my family, friends, and past boyfriends. It's something I cling to, but no one else is here for that now. No one's going to hold or kiss me. No one can make this better. This wound isn't going to close and heal anytime soon. I'll just have to learn to live with it.

"I just wanted to see you." He says, tilting his head to the side innocently.

"Well I don't want to see you, especially since you're nothing but a figment of my imagination." I grab a fistful of my hair and shake my head rapidly, getting a little dizzy. I stumble back a bit and close my eyes, looking just as crazy as I feel. "You're not real! You're not real! You can't be real!" I scream, my voice getting louder with each word.

He sighs. "Would you please stop screaming so much? You act like you're the one who just died." He turns away, looking almost thoughtful. "Hm, though you would have, if not for me."

I open my eyes only to glare at him.

"And I'm not a figment of your imagination. I'm every bit as real as you are. Didn't we already go through this at the hospital?"

"You can't be real." Suddenly I start chuckling to myself. "Oh, I must be crazy. I hit my head too hard when the car or truck or whatever it was hit us. I must have lost my mind. Obviously.
Seeing things is a definite sign for being mentally unstable."

His expression hardens. "You're not insane."

"Then why are you still here? Why aren't you leaving?"

"Please keep your voice down."

"Then leave!"

He chuckles darkly. Walking up to me, he grabs my upper arm and yanks me towards him. "I'm not going anywhere, darling. We had a deal. In exchange for your life, you gave up your freedom to me. You're mine now. You belong to me."

I rip my arm away from him. "Then I'll just have to back out of that deal." I say stubbornly.

He grins. "Oh? Then I'll just have to take you back with me. I hope you got that will ready.

Where will all those CDs go?"

My mouth drops. "You...you can't kill me now! How would that look?"

"I can make it look however I want, such as...suicide." He places his hand over his chest - where his block of ice for a heart is - and fakes a sorrowful look. Maybe even a look of fake sympathy. "You feel so horrible for your sister's death that you take your own life, leaving your mother here to grieve, alone."

I want to choke him again. Anger boils through me like hot lava running through my veins.

"What do you want then? If I belong to you what the hell do you want me to do? Just tell me so I can do it and get you out of my life!" I shout, throwing my arms up.
My head's starting to hurt and the cut on my arm is too. But I find some sort of relief from it, like the pain is keeping me grounded. I've always taken strange, twisted comfort from pain.

Whenever things get too dark and I find myself drowning, the pain from the scraps and cuts are a comfort, a familiar pain, one in which I can deal with. Physical pain is so much easier to handle than the indescribable feeling of loss.

"Oh, you seem to be under a misunderstanding. You're stuck with me until the day you die."

Notes

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