Morris Bloom tried to clean the spilled coffee off of his shirt with his gray linen handkerchief. Beneath him, he could feel the cold pavement against his back. He looked up. The indomitable sky scrapers looked back at him blankly
It was an autumn morning. One minute ago, the bank teller was walking down the street with a cup of coffee, when, of all things, a toilet seat fell from one of the skyscrapers and hit him in the head. Remarkably, the toilet seat managed to land gracefully on the ground without any signs of damage. Morris had no such luck.
A significant crowd has gathered around him. He could hear the snickers, the sighs, the rare sob. Soon, the sound of a siren will soar through it all, and he – his corpse to be more precise – will be hauled away, and it would be as if he had never existed.
Twenty four minutes ago, on his way to work, he drove past the very ambulance that will be carrying his dead body.
A hand reached down. “I thought you might need a hand.” Morris took the hand and got up. He looked at his watch. “You’re late,” he said to the adolescent girl that stood before him. “Two minutes to be exact.”
“Oh yeah? Kill me.” The girl stuck her tongue out and winked. Morris found her to be unfathomable. She was wearing jeans from Abercrombie and Fitch, a black T-shirt that said “YOU’RE DEAD TO ME,” a black necklace that extended down to her bosom – not that he was staring. But what she is, Morris could not describe if his life had depended on it – not that it ever would now. She had a bored expression on her face. It would make sense, he decided, for Death to be unfathomable.
Eighteen years ago, Morris had first begun working at this city. At that time, he had no family or friends here. So little has changed, he thought.
“Would you mind picking that up?” She pointed to the toilet seat. Morris did as he was told. Blood dripped down from it. Morris found it slightly ironic that the force that is causing the blood to drip is also what caused his death.
“Walk with me.” Death commanded, and Morris followed behind her as she walked past the crowds of people that, Morris presume, could not see them at all. They were each holding a cup of coffee cautiously, afraid to lose even a single drop. Morris often wondered about what made the cups so important. After all, it’s just coffee. Whatever it is, their carriers are absolutely captivated, and their faces are filled with terrified bliss. Like headless salmons, they never bother to look up at the sky that is ready to casts the fishing line at any moment.
“Maybe it’s not coffee.” Death suddenly commented. “Maybe it’s porpoises. Or some beef.”
“I beg your pardon?” Morris held his nose. The aroma from the coffee had combined with the exhaust fumes of the cars to settle into a very unsavoury smell.
“You know? An attraction? Regions and geology?” Seeing Morris’ lack of comprehension, Death sighed. “So,” she pointed to the toilet seat, “how come you were killed by that?”
For a second there, Morris thought that she was joking. When he realized that she wasn’t, and that one of the most powerful gods did not know the most fundamental principles of the universe, he was only able to mutter incoherent chain of words. “Gravity. Terminal velocity. Newton.” The last time Morris took physics, he was in high school. His teacher, a bald and no-nonsense man, had failed him. Death was not very impressed. “That man” – Morris presumed that she was talking about Newton – “was so dumb. Nearly shit his pants when he first saw me.” She smacked her lips. “That boy from Rwanda, on the other hand, was smart.” She closed her eyes. “Too bad the machete went straight for the head.”
Morris did not say a thing. Twenty-four years ago, he had graduated from university. Death fell silent, and they kept on walking. Eventually they passed by a large crowd. Maybe someone else died, Morris thought to himself. But Death grabbed his hand, and squeezed their ways to the front of the crowd. There, Morris saw the attraction. It was a young girl, around the same age as death. She was dancing to an invisible melody. The sound from her feet, her hands, her dress that fluttered around in the wind, pierced through the noisy silence of the streets. The crowd was so mesmerized by her that they had forgotten to sip their coffee. She looked alien, and Morris could not discern where she had come from. The girl suddenly spotted Death, and waved at her. “Come on!” Death yelled, and Morris soon found all three of them dancing in broad daylight. “How can she see us?” Morris asked, but Death was too entranced by her dance, the dance of the dead.
Thirty-five years ago, Morris’ mother had died from a very long illness. Morris had watched her take her last breath.
They danced for a long time. After they stopped, Death made Morris leave behind the toilet seat for the girl. They resumed walking, and they walked until dusk, where they arrived at a beach. Death stopped. She smiled at Morris.
“This is where we part.” She said.
“Umm… so what happens now?” Morris asked.
She shrugged. “How should I know?”
Morris looked out at the horizon where the sea mixes with the sky. A strange thought occurred to him. Salmon migrate to the sea after they are hatched. He chuckled at the absurdity of the thought. “I see,” he said.
Forty-two years ago, in a hospital somewhere, a baby boy was born to a very tired woman. Upon seeing him, she couldn’t help but smile. “I love you so much.” She said to him.
And in a flash he was gone.
