I lay in a puddle of my own blood and looked into the eyes of an old woman. Her eyes were blue and piercing and I knew her as Death. She had come to claim me.

She beckoned with her wrinkled old hands as a slight smile played on her lips. I could not refuse if I wanted. Something beyond me was causing me to rise up and follow her.

As I stood up and I looked down at my body still laying in the street. I didn’t want to leave me. I wanted to stay.

“You cannot. It is your time.” Deaths voice said as if she could read my mind.

I turned to look at the old woman a little peeved. “Who says it’s my time? Can’t I stay awhile longer? My children will miss me.”

“Your children will be fine. It is your time. It was determined before you were even born.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. I want to go back.”

“Dear One, if you did go back you’d be upsetting the balance. Your death will be mourned and your children will miss you but if you were to stay you would be infringing on their destinies.”

Then Death laid one of her hands upon my shoulders and images flashed through my mind. I saw the lives of my daughter and son, and I saw how my death effected them. It was sad and yet beautiful at the same time.

Great sobs rippled through my chest. I had given them everything I could while I was alive. I had done the best I could by them and myself, and it was enough. My children would take those memories of our time together and make themselves great because of it. My death would give them the power they needed to rise into their best lives possible. Something that would not have been possible if I had lived.

My heart nearly burst with pride and love. I was so thankful to have that precious time with them. And now it was time to begin the next story. Perhaps in time my children, after they had lived their best lives, would join me there.

I then turned to follow the old woman, not knowing where I’d go to next, but appreciating the beautiful life I had lived and the chance to move on to the next adventure.

The gathering of people all rose from their seats as the band, putting aside their instruments, did the same. Bracing themselves against the cold wind, they lifted their candles high above their heads. No one spoke a word.

It was midnight and I still couldn’t get to sleep. There was still the image of all of those candles, raised high into the air, burned into my brain. It had barely been a week since the news shook our small town. I cried when I found out. But then again, so did everybody. I sleepily rose from my bed and put my coat on. I snuck past my parents bedroom and out the door. There I sat on the curbside watching the snow drift by. “Are you lost?” I looked up to see a man standing above me. His face looked familiar, I just couldn’t quite place it... No, I could. I was eight, standing at my grandfather’s side as he lay back in his armchair closing his eyes for the last time. This man was there. I looked back to him, he wore a trimmed black suit, and carried a brief case. His dark hair was well trimmed, he wore glasses over his handsome face. Wait, something was off. When I looked at him through the corner of my eye his face seemed to be changing, from old, to young, to middle aged, and back again. I sucked in a breath when I noticed his shadow.
The man before me stood straight and looked almost dapper, but the shadow he cast looked hunched and dark, wearing a robe. “Hello Death.” The man smiled at wolffish grin, “I see that you remember our past dealings?” I stood up, “I have some questions for you.” He sighed, “Yes, they all do. Come along.” I looked back at my house before turning and following Death into the snowy night.

(I don’t feel comfortable doing this)

Dear Death, I believe we have almost met, but as you shan’t take my friend in the moment. I hear my heart skip a beat as you push forward all my favourite memories, you looked me in the eyes as if you’d seen me before. Did I look like someone you knew a while back? Or do I scare you? I’m unsure of what happened but I felt like I was dead, I woke up in a vehicle with her above me. My hair caught in a door, screaming forgiveness, wishing I could undo what had already been done.

Sincerely, Geraldine Marie