Of Death and Music

James Shepard stared out into the corn field. Icy yellow corn stalks rose high about his head, bending from a left over harvest, the smell of hay still lingering in the air. He walked, rustling the stalks, brown jacket swaying. The last thing he knew was an ear splitting bang, a sudden fainting cold, a scream, and the shutting down of his senses. He stood up brushing hay and corn silk off of his jeans. Someone was running towards him, yelling a barely heard sentence.

“You might not want to see this kid.”

James spun around to see the speaker, a thinnish boy, roughly the same age, black hair and suit with hammer horror red eyes and tie. His voice was strangely clear when compared to the man running towards them.

“Who are you?”

“Delta the reaper.” He leaned on his scythe like weapon.

“So you’re here to kill me?” James took a hesitant step back, wary of any threat.

“Aren’t you a bright one.”

“But I’m now dead! We’re talking and there was no bright flash or anything so I can’t be dead!”

“If you’re gonna do the stages of grief thing can you do it on the road? I have a couple more stops to make today besides you.”

“No I can’t be dead I’m too young! I’m not dead.” He whispered as if simply saying it would make it true. Delta huffed, grabbed James by the arm and vanished them into the crisp autumn air. The duo reappeared on a grassy outcrop looking over a lake whose stillness was only disturbed by the falling of gold, orange, and red leaves. A small weather worn cottage sat, nestled in between the trees as if it had been there from the very beginning. Delta marched, over to the door, James in tow, and entered. In the living room the emerald green TV blared an overly loud advertisement about some stupid show. An older man lay on the couch facing it, black hair mussed and an overly large plaid shirt lay over too big clothes. If anything, he knew they were there.

“Theodore McKean?” asked Delta, walking slowly around the couch to face him. The man stared as if his gaze could change anything.

“So you’re the one who’ll kill me? Send me out of existence? Like what happened with Lilly and Marcus and Jenny?” his voice continually raised in pitch, he stood, stormed over gripped the reaper’s shoulders as if any of his reasoning could shake himself out of his fate.

“Everyone I knew and loved is dead and gone so it’s just fit to axe me off as well?” Theodore backed away and collapsed into silent sobbing “Haven’t I suffered enough? I’m the only one left, not even Lills lived as long.” Delta walked over, slowly sat down near Theodore, and hummed a soft tune until he calmed down.

“Will I go with them?” He turned his tear strewn face to the reaper. “Will I see them again?”

A soft, almost pitiful smile was the only response. Theodore grasped Delta’s hands as if he knew what had to be done. A soft wind drifted through the cottage, as fresh and promising as the first days of spring, the far back tune of a friendly choir swelled behind him, and whatever had been keeping Theodore McKean afloat all this time departed. Delta stood up and gently placed the body in a sleeping position, slide the eyes closed, and switched off the TV with a soft click. He held out a hand to James, who, quite shakily, grasped the other’s arm, and they were gone. The new location formed around them like mist, revealing a well-furnished New York penthouse. A chilly air blew softly through the room, rustling anything from the purple curtains to the tea left sitting in a mug on the bed side table. A young blonde woman slept fitfully. The woman jolted upright causing a rift between her body and lilac tinted spirit. She looked around before laughing.

“At least I went peacefully!”

“You’re taking this rather well Ms. Wilson.”

“It’s not really a surprise dearie. So how do we do this?” Delta grinned slightly at the woman’s cheeriness and grabbed her hands. The same wind flew in, moving the crisp, deader air out of the way, a cello played a trilling arpeggio could be heard behind them. With a blast of light Ms. Wilson was gone, leaving cold tea and the autumn air.

“How come she had such an easy time?” questioned James.

“She has enough faith for the entire block.”

“Has?”

“Death isn’t always the permanent end.”

Silence made its home in that instance. As thoughts of death and balance permeated James’s thoughts.

“I guess I’ll never be as ready as now, will I?”

A wind picked up, winding around the two, dropping them off in the olden corn field near the Shepard farm. Car lights illuminated the way to the main house, dancing and weaving through the bent stalks. The body was gone and tracks of the hunter, police, and dogs had made their way its absence. James looked around the dead field for the last time, spun around and faced Delta.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” James quietly grabbed his hands and felt the soft wind pick up again. The fresh smell and coolness enveloped him. Looking up there were tongues of color flittering in a vortex above his head rather than the bright light he had expected. The last thing he heard was the tune of a piano, lightly playing some old song, and just like that James Shepard was gone. Delta waited for the colors to fade. He always saw them, and it always surprised him when humans described a pure bright, white light. Shaking his head he left on the ending autumn wind, humming the melody to an old parting song.