One Last Story

"They're coming," he whispered through pursed lips. I could see the tension in his jaw, the bone and muscle flexing underneath his thin, pale skin.

Nodding, I followed his line of sight into the darkness. But all I could see was velvet black out there; the moon could not even illuminate it for us, no matter how hard it tried. We were on our own.

Leaning against the door frame, my fingers curled around the handle of the wooden door. It would soon become our only protection between life and certain (painful) death. My knuckles turned white as my grip tightened and my anxiety increased. From above my shoulder, I felt his breath trickle against my neck and then heard his footsteps in the opposite direction. He was right. It would do no good to simply stand here and wait for the inevitable.

We needed to fight.

The Conversation (Part 2)

"friend," he repeated,

his smile never fading.

seemingly satisfied, he continued,

"i know you have questions,

and i know there is pain.

there are no boundaries here,

and you cannot say anything i have yet to hear

or have yet to know."

here was my chance,

to ask the most difficult questions(most

of which began with the ever

d a u n t

ing

word "why").

but the silence hung between us,

stagnant like water

after a

flood.

"do not try so hard," he encouraged,

"ask what you need to ask."

i cleared my throat and shifted my weight

and readied myself for the Q&A

barbara walters(what a minx)would never

even have.

"whyistherepain?" i managed to mutter,

my words slurring like a drunken lush.

"would you know of happiness if there was

nothing

against which to compare it?" he asked.

a rise and fall of my shoulder(pathetic,

truly). "you cannot live a sheltered life.

you will have only existed,

and will never have lived."

his eyes softened as they peered into

my ethereal reality(now

pulsing with light

that matched my

heart

beat).

almost as though in time

with my body's blood-metronome, he

spoke:

"next question."

Reaping the Answer (Part 2)

It started when the homeless man reached out his hand to me. Being a naturally good-intentioned citizen, I reached my hand back in an effort to help him stand.

A flash of light.

A sear of pain.

And then .. nothing.

Blinking my eyes a few times, I tried to gather my senses again. A strange feeling of existence combined with a perpetual purgatory draped over me. To this day, I still can't quite explain it. I suddenly heard the sobs and wails of millions of people that I could not see. Every teardrop crashed on my skin like acid, burning me alive and making me wish for death .. Only, as I would soon realize, I was only wishing for myself.

The homeless man, with a gentle, amber light glowing from the inside of his chest, peered at me through the calmest eyes I have ever seen. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw Enlightenment. His voice rippled the stagnant air surrounding us, but I wasn't disturbed by it; his tone matched his gaze.

"Thank you." I stared at him blankly, unsure of why this strange being was showing me gratitude, but could not will myself to talk. "For freeing me," he further explained. Again, I blinked. "For over a thousand years, I have been guiding newly-formed souls to their earned destinations. I have been listening to the despair of their loved ones, left behind, night and day. I have earned my own place in Paradise. He thought it time," he whispered, pointing upwards with his eyes. With a serene smile, he began to fade. "Now, it is your turn."

"T-t-turn to do what?" I managed to mutter. The stranger's smile curled into the faintest of smirks.

"To guide. To continue the cycle that all mortals fear, but all must succumb to. No one is above it. No one can escape it. You are finally a necessary part of this world," he said quietly. I clenched my jaw at his last sentence; how could he have known? My eyes must have given me away for he reached out his hand again and, placing it on my shoulder, he murmured, "Thank you," before fading away completely. Even with him gone, I felt his fingers lingering on my body.

"I suppose you're wondering what's happened?" I heard a voice thunder from behind me. "I will reveal it all to you, in time. But, for now, you have a job to do."

The Conversation

i sat and talked with the Man with

many names today.

i do not call him what i used to,

and it is rare that i even capitalize

the pronoun-ed reference(as i had been

taught to do

back

in school).

but still, he sat and talked with me,

though my

p e r s p e c t i v e

has changed(as we are always chang

ing).

i asked him which name he prefers,

and he told me that, "Truly, I cannot be named."

i must have pouted or frowned,

or perhaps he was merely doing what he always does(you

know, that telepathy or voodoo or

something),

for he told me then

that i may call him whatever brings

us

closest.

"friend," i replied.

with a gentle smile, he nodded,

and we

began ..

Reaping the Answer

No, I never wanted it to be like this.

When I imagined my (after) life, I always pictured some sunny meadow, painted by sunlight, warmed by the radiating knowledge that it was smooth sailing here on out. I figured I'd run into Hunter, the greyhound I grew up with until his untimely passing when I was fifteen years old. We'd romp and run and chase each other like we used to when I was wide-eyed and hopeful and no taller than my father's thigh. Then, we'd fall onto our backs, surrounded by blades of grass so soft, they'd kiss our very skin. We'd stare up at the materialized eternity above us, knowing that we could get up and do it all over again the next day.

So it makes sense that this was the furthest thing from my mind when that vagabond by the subway steps reached out his hand, and I absent-mindedly took it to help him stand.

Like I said, I never wanted it to be like this. I never wanted to be the most hated entity that has ever existed. I'm cursed on a second-by-second basis. People mourn me, people hate me, people pray and wish for me to stop existing. What's worse is that I cause some of the worst heartbreak and most intense pain for people I've never even met. We are but strangers and yet, we're closer than they have ever been with anyone in their lives before. We are tied by darkness. We are tied by that which no longer exists. We are tied by the absence of life.

I suppose the question to answer now is: how does one find himself in this profession? Perhaps the question is: what IS this profession?

Please, let me explain ..