While Death Looked On

Get on the ground now, or I swear to God I will kill you!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. We are equal in all ways but for the fact that he has a gun and I do not.
         Somehow your perspective on life changes when you're staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. Things that you thought that you believed, cared about, they all just seem to fade away and the only thing left is an intense desire to live, whatever the cost. At least, this is what I've been told. This is what I expected. I seem to recall that I should have felt some great terror at the prospect of my life's untimely end, but I didn't.
         I know why. The simple truth of it is that I was not afraid to die. I have since been told that the reason for my utter calmness in the face of calamity was a result of mere shock and that, had the situation progressed far enough for rational thought to take over, the affects of fear would have begun to creep in. That's what I've been told anyway. That's what everyone said. They even went so far as to suggest that I was just trying to deny what I felt. They all tell me that the fear of death is something universal and that it is a perfectly natural feeling for anyone.
         "I'm warning you! Get down now or you will die!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. We are equal in all ways but for the fact that he has a gun and I do not.
         They were wrong. Why should I fear death? What is there to fear in an endless void of darkness? If there is a heaven should I not long for death? But longing for death cannot bring it. Not for me. And yet I am to fear it. But I do not. I defy that norm of humanity for a very simple reason, one that I cannot make them understand, one that they are not capable of understanding. I cannot fear death. Death cannot come for me.
         I cannot expect others to understand this, though. Mortals can never fathom the concept of that one final blessing that they spend their lives pursuing, but will never obtain. And so I was not afraid. I was aware. Aware of what? My own mortality? No. I was aware that things had suddenly changed. I was aware that I had just taken a step, a step the sound of which would echo throughout the vast reaches of this universe for an eternity. Things had just changed.
         "I am going to count to three, and if you are not on the ground by the time I finish, I'm going to put a bullet through your head!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. We are equal in all ways but for the fact that he has a gun and I do not.
         He had a gun, I did not. I should have been afraid, terrified, but I was not. His gun was worthless. The gun was almost as worthless as the man behind it. But the gun at least could not commit evil apart from another's guidance. I remember thinking this. I remember dwelling on the state of this miserable soul and for the first time feeling something that I had not felt before: rage. I was not afraid, I was angry. In that moment I knew what I was going to do. I knew, because it was not just my life that was being threatened.
         They told me that there were more. Five. I don't recall. Everything happened quickly. It is always strange to me how quickly history is made. A decision made in a single second that changes the world forever. Something as simple as a thought, a thought that can echo in eternity. And it was quick; quick and merciless. I recall it so well. I should have been afraid, but I was not. She needed me. I could not be afraid, I didn't have time.
         "One!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. We are equal in all ways but for the fact that he has a gun and I do not.
         I remember that I did not care. I remember her struggling to free herself from their filthy grasp. I remember thinking only one coherent thought, a single word: Kill. I remember the disgusting grins on their faces. I remember looking them in the eyes, each in their turn. I remember them looking away. I remember their thoughts. I recall the twisted perversions of their mind, and I remember that I did not care. Not about me, not about them. I cared about her. I remember how the tears stained her face as she cried out to them. And I remember what she cried.
         I knew what I had to do. As I stood before them, peace suddenly covered me like a dark cloak, even as the hosts of heaven screamed against me, pleaded with me to stay from my course. I knew what I was going to do. I remember that something changed in that moment. I remember that I was no longer who I had been. I remember a new feeling, alongside the dark rage that racked my soul. I remember that in that instant I loved. I loved her. I loved her as she cried out to them. And I remember what she cried. She cried to them to let me go. I remember that she cared more for me than for herself.
         "Two!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. We are equals in every way but for the fact that he has a gun and I do not.
         Something about it was amusing. For a moment, it all seemed like some great game. These six humans in a dark alley, all so concerned with my death; my death! But I was not concerned. I am not afraid of Death. I am well acquainted with him and he and I have an understanding.
         I knew what it was that I had come here to do. I remember the hateful task that I had been commissioned to perform. I still feel shame at the knowledge that I entered that alley with the intention of carrying out my instructions to the letter. But I could not. I loved her. How could I? I revealed myself to them. I remember. I remember it all so very well. And I remember with the utmost of clarity that single second of time during which I had the opportunity to choose. Did I consider going back? Perhaps. But in that final second, I remember seeing the first bead of sweat break from his brow. In that moment I knew the truth. In that moment I knew that I could never go back, for I had made my choice. Heaven screamed and Hell groaned beneath my feet, but I saw the barrel of the gun quiver ever so slightly and I knew. I knew what I wanted. I knew that if I went back, I would spend the rest of eternity regretting it. And so I chose. I took my step. I remember feeling eternity shake. It had begun.
         "Three!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. There is one major difference between the two of us: he is afraid, and I am not.
         In a sense, I suppose that my perspective on life did change as I stared down the barrel of that gun, but not in the way that everyone expected. Things became clear. For the first time things actually made sense. I felt. I could feel something welling up in me that seemed to bring form to everything that I was. I loved her. I loved her with everything in me. Regardless of what I was sent here to do, I knew exactly what I was going to do. But there was no more time for thought on the subject, because time was up.
         A thousand sounds filled the air. I remember. It was a tremendous cacophonous symphony of destruction and I stood in the midst it. The screams, the clicking of the hammer, the explosion of the discharging bullet: it all flowed like the purest of music through my body and saturated my soul. The world seemed to slow. I could almost see the bullet coming towards me; I could feel the heat of the explosion. All this is etched in my memory, for it is not an easy thing to forget the moments that define our existence. In a second it had begun, and just as quickly it ended. I remember. I remember the bullet passing through me. I remember feeling it slip through my human flesh. I remember hearing the sound of it embedding itself into the wall behind me. And I remember above all else the look on his face when I stood before him and bled not a drop.
         "Oh my God."
         He stands before me, I stand before him. There are quite a few differences between the two of us. The most important of which at this moment is that he is a mortal, and I am not.
         They told me not to become involved. They told me to leave things be. I was told that to involve myself in their affairs, apart from those duties which my position required, was to invite disaster. I didn't care. They told me that she was nothing more than a human and that I should leave her to her own kind. I could not. From the moment that I had first laid eyes on her I had been in love. Her eyes held no secrets; her soul harbored no malice, no blemishes. She was pure in the most beautiful of senses, purer even then any immortal. The beauty of her spirit fascinated me and held me in a sort of trance that I could not escape from no matter how hard I tried.
         They told me not to become involved and I had resolved not to. They made the first move, though. They and their wretched task. How was I to complete it? Could I have lived with myself? No. Eternity is quite a thing to be servant to and if one cannot live with himself for that period of time then it is the most profound torture ever devised. No, had I sat by and watched, it would have been akin to submitting myself to the tortures of Hell. I loved her, and Eternity was about to suffer the consequences. They had sent me for her, but I was going to give them another. By now he knew it too. The one that I would take. I remember the horror in his eyes as he realized it.
         "Who are you?"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. There is one difference between us that supersedes all others: He is about to die and I am not.
         Who am I? I have always found that to be an amusing question. In the most logical sense it is easy enough to answer: my name is Elijah Grimm. Can I truly be defined entirely by a name, though? Can any man? What does a name tell of a man other than what others generally refer to him as? Indeed, isn't it true that most men go by names other than that one anyway? For a man's profession, his status, his caste: these things tell more about him than a name ever could. The question is one that has vexed me many times and I recall that it did again that night. Who am I?
         I know who I am. They do not. None of them did. Not the humans in that alleyway, not even those of my own kind. They did not know who I was. Had the humans known who I was, they would not have tried to kill me, had the immortals know, they would never have sent me on this errand. I am a thousand different things. In that moment, though, I was one thing above all else: terror. The darkness and silence of that alley had grown to almost an intolerable pitch. The sound of the gun falling to the ground was insufferably loud. Their fear was almost tangible. The four men edged towards the entrance of the dark passage, leaving their intended prey where she lay, looking up in wonder. Marveling at how so quickly her fortunes had reversed.  She truly was incredible. But there wasn't time to think about it, because my moment had finally come. I stepped towards the gunman.
         "N-n-n-no! Leave me alone!"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. I am going to kill him.
         I remember his terror, the utter horror that filled his eyes as he turned to run. I remember how he screamed as I grasped him by the throat, the icy coldness of my skin searing through his flesh like liquid fire. I recall the way his eyes bulged as I tightened my grip and he gasped for breath. And I recall thinking to myself how curiously frail these humans were as I lifted him from the ground and felt the lightness of his body. How frail indeed. Their entire lives are spent grappling for immortality, seeking ways to live longer and better and yet all of their years can be summed up in one defining second as they draw their last breath. I cannot even comprehend what such must be like, to understand that you are going to die and to have to consider your entire life in those last moments before judgment,
         I remember staring deeply into his eyes and seeing his thoughts churning away. It was a horrid sight and I had to will myself from turning away. When a man dies, the evil he has committed comes back to his mind and he relives every treacherous, murderous deed. This one's life was wrought with such and it sickened me. It sickened me to see the degradation of the human soul in its final moments. Thoughts filled my mind of murder, rape and destruction. It was more than my immortal eyes could fathom, and yet I gazed on searching for that last memory. At last it came, the memory of that night. I blanched in disgust and horror. My love. What had they done to my love? The images flashed through my mind of the events that had preceded my coming and rage of the purest form filled my cold heart. I had to speak but no words seemed right. No curse or threat seemed to suit the moment and so I said that only thing I could.
         "Do you know what the wages of sin is?"
         He stands before me, I stand before him. I am more than he thinks.
         His eyes widened as a choked gasp sputtered from his blue lips. At that moment the four others fled from the alley, but I was not done with them. A flick of my hand sent them flying against a wall, their miserable forms crumpled to the ground amidst their moans. I remember the glee I felt at the satisfying sounds of their bones crunching. It was music to my ears. I felt the power of my anger growing and becoming greater. It is a curious thing that in the moments that our power is the purest our souls must be the most tainted. For in that moment I felt that my greatness was complete, and yet I knew that the darkest demons of Hell would blanch at the sight of my black soul.
         The one I held in my hand was expiring. His life was slipping away quickly now. I could feel it. Watching a human die is really not such a trying ordeal as I first thought that it would be. It is more of a passing curiosity than anything else, like watching a leaf fall from a tree. Such was it as I watched this human's life end. And in the final moment he let out a final gasp and a thin white mist drifted from his mouth. With amusement I reached with my free hand and gently caressed his soul as it drifted about his lifeless body. It was cold, almost as much so as my own. The soul, tangible only to immortals, is such a curious thing; all of a person's being written into a single amorphous substance. It lingered in the air before me as though waiting for something. Indeed it was waiting for something. And others were joining it. First two then three and finally all five souls joined it, writhing around me like serpents. They were waiting. Waiting for me. And in that last moment, as they lingered I answered my question, and their own, for they could know now at last who I was. And I told them.
         "Death."
         I stand before them. They lay before me. There is one last difference between us that makes the entire encounter quite ironic: they can die, and I can not.
         With that I dispatched them. I recall the rush of wind and the sudden chillness of the night as the souls were pulled into the utter blackness of Eternity. I smiled slightly. I knew what happened to those who entered Eternity with blemished hearts and I smiled. For the evil they had done to me that night, the evil they had done to her would not go unpunished. The weight of my decision rested heavily on me. I could feel that the world had changed in just the few minutes that it had taken. Eternity had changed. Things were different. In that moment I knew that I would never have peace. Not for as long as the world existed. For the others, the immortals would not leave this deed unpunished. They had sent me for her soul, and I had defied them. And for a moment, I remember feeling despair so great that my soul seemed to burn from it.
         And then my eyes found hers, and they had no fear. She looked up at me with wonder in her eyes and I looked back into hers. And she knew. She knew how I loved her. And she smiled. She smiled, and it was the most glorious thing that I had ever seen. In that instant I knew that regardless of what the others did, I could not despair. For I had traded them for something so much better, for what is eternity if it is spent alone. They will come. Of that I have no doubt. We will be hunted. But for now, that means nothing because I am not alone.
         I stand before her, she stands before me. I am different from her in only one way: I am Death, and you cannot kill Death. But even that doesn't really matter. Because what exists between us is love, and that is stronger then Death will ever be.