An Audience With Death

For L.C. Schäfer challenge to write about Death as a character.

[The room is bathed in a dim, ethereal light. In the centre, hanging from the ceiling, a burnished bronze cage containing a flamboyantly colourful parrot. The steady pendulum of the metronome counts the time.

A figure enters the stage, the blackness of his smock stark against the stage’s dim light. His movement is both graceful and deliberate.

[He stops abruptly next to the parrot. Pauses just long enough for it to be awkward. The metronome: click, click, click Louder]

You know, this has to be the worse God damn job in the world.

[Muttering frantically] Why couldn’t I have got fucking Santa Claus? Even I could be happy one day a bloody year, if I had to be. How hard could it be? Or the Easter bunny? Now that’s a cushy number. But me oh no. no. Not me. I got lumbered with this. [He sweeps his sleeves, gesturing towards the parrot] Sorry buddy.

You have no idea how hard it is for me.

[Raises hands dramatically through the billowing sleeves of his smock, to reveal two skeletal hands.]

No. No. It’s all, [Air quote] ”Eeewwww Isis this and Isis that. She’s amazing.” Blah! I get it, she’s your,”hero-ine”. Your beacon of light. [Sarcastically] A Godamn born again saint. Makes me sick. You think I asked for this? Do you? [Stares intently at the silent bird] When they were doling out duties down at the job centre, do you think I waved my bony little hand and jumped up and down like a vertebrae on springs in gleeful anticipation of this. NO I DID NOT!

I’ll tell you how it happened [Pacing now] Personality testing happened. That’s what. You know the kind of thing. The job hunter answers questions and they, the gainfully employed cherubs, tell you what job you’re fit for. They told me to answer honestly. Which I did. BECAUSE THEY TOLD ME TO. Big, big mistake. Huge! I can be so naïve sometimes. The truth is, in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have responded, ‘macabre’ on the question about how my work colleagues would describe me. Rookie move.

But that’s enough wallowing for the moment. I suppose given your circumstances, you want answers. Alright I’ll tell you. [Stops in front of the cage] But you need to listen carefully, because I am only going to say this once.

Are you ready? Then, I shall begin.

As I said, being me SUCKS most of the time. But there have been some moments to, dare I say, be proud of. The dinosaurs for one. Remember them? Ha! No of course you don’t. Because they’re all gone! Long gone! See. I did you a favour. You would have been nibbled on for a light snack. Like a twiglet if it wasn’t for me. Oh, I hated them. Snarly miserable beggars. And so snappy. It was their time, of course. But I got to choose how to execute the plan of um. Extinction. That big bang was a genius idea, even if do say so myself. And I have to say it myself because there’s not a lot of praise in my line of work, let me tell you. Alright, I know, I know what you’re thinking, God did it first. But second time around, now that was a charm. Got ‘em all in one fell swoop. Anyway, I digress. Enough about them.

Back to me.

Ahem [Clears his throat for dramatic effect] As I was saying, if you were listening. Were you? Listening? Oh, never mind. It’s not like you can hear me now anyway is it? It sucks to be me. They hate me more than that dictator dude they’re always going on about. Do you know what that’s like? To be the second most hated thing in the universe? Do you? No. I don’t suppose you do. Why would you? They love you.

It’s miserable. That’s what it is. Miserable. The begging. The pleading. The questioning. Do I look like a shrink? I am so glad I am dead. [Hastily] But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get to me sometimes. Of course it does. I’m dead. Not dust!

But there are ways to cope [Whispering leaning closer to the cage] but if I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh. Promise! You know what could happen to you if you tell anyone, don’t you? Ha! I’m sorry. I’m just playing with you. How cruel of me, this is the way it has to be. Can’t be any other way, Well it could, but the living part. That’s not really an option at this point, I’m afraid. Sorry 'bout that.

[Inching forward peering between the bars of the cage, his bony face almost conspiratorial, the shadows casting eerie patterns on the grey walls. The room suddenly seems quieter, colder. He is illuminated in a stark white light]

Okay, so between you and me, I… I collect souvenirs [Almost a whisper]

[He pauses dramatically, looking for a reaction, there is none. He continues] No, no, I know what you’re thinking [Waving his arm dismissively]. Not fingers or anything sordid like that. No, no. Nothing of the sort. You see the truth is [A deep breath] I keep stories.

I am a Writooor.! [He throws his arms dramatically]

[Triumphantly] A Poet!

Like Shakespeare, only far more talented and with a much larger ‘body’ of work. Obviously. But then I suppose, I’ve had a lot longer on the job. You know. To sharpen my skills. He was quite an interesting one to do mind you. Fascinating last sentiments as you might expect from one so articulate. But we don’t have time for that now. This is what’s important.

[He rummages in to his smock and brings out a tiny, ornate box. Its intricate symbols glow faintly. He wields it in the air like a trophy. Slowly he opens the lid and soft, shimmering bubbles of transparent gold, float upwards and form an arch over his head. He reaches up and grabs one – Excited now]

See. See. A story! A tale! I collect them like those people collect those silly magnetic things. But my stories are far more important than, ‘I heart Greece’. Yes, yes. Far more important. They. Are. Essential.

When they finally have their way and I have no choice but to do the big reset. I haven’t decided quite how yet. The big bang, is getting a little old now. Boring, you know? I’ll have to think of something much more ingenious. I have a few candidates in mind for the task. We’ll see. Thinking to do. Yes! A lot of thinking. These things don’t just happen overnight you know. Well, sometimes they do. But not something like this. No, there has to be a build-up. A story for the keeper to be proud of. When that happens and the humans are all gone. Gone I tell you!

This will be all that’s left.

My stories, my chronicles of this planet. They will be passed over to the incoming planet like the pyramids were to this. Amun-Ra literally handed them the wisdom of the ages. Might as well have put a bow on them and a name tag. Little good that did them though. Silly fools! They had the answer right there. And what did they do? Dug ‘em up and stuck ‘em in a museum. I don’t know how you managed to deal with them all these years. Making you repeat their silly nonsense!

Watch…

[He grabs a singular orb, and a scene plays out, stilted like an old fashioned cine film – children laughing, playing in a garden, a mother watching over them lovingly]

This one was from a woman who lived a simple life, but her happiest memory was watching her children play in the garden.

Beautiful, isn’t it?

[Self-conscious, he looks around the room suspiciously before grabbing the orbs protectively and shoving them back into the box]

That’s quite enough sentiment for one day.

[Closing the box and returning into the confines of his cloak, he pats it gently before taking a deep, unnecessary breath. He stares longingly into the distance.]

So, now you know my secret. You’re the first and the last to hear it. I trust you’ll keep it safe.

(With a wink, he dissolves into the shadows, leaving an eerie silence in his wake. Inside the cage, the magnificent parrot tilts its head and stares quizzically before falling face first off its perch]