We’re all waiting to die.
I learned that truth at a young age and hoped Death would save me from the minutiae of life. When he didn’t—if Death was indeed a he—I got desperate and figured I’d force his arrival. I remember sitting in my room holding my father’s gun to my head, the cold barrel digging into my temple. A twisted smile plastered on my face. I felt as if I was a lover waiting for my date to arrive, but the bastard stood me up.
For the sake of my concerned parents, I started preoccupying my time with normal things while I waited for Death. This meant getting a job at a local market where I dealt with high nosed customers. Secretly, I hoped I’d trip and break my neck or get hit by a car.
I waited and waited…until I found something else.
A beautiful, round woman named Charlotte introduced me to something more enticing than Death. She called it Love. I admit I was skeptical at first, but each smile and kiss pulled me further in. Love embraced me in a warmth I never knew existed and held me until I was gray.
“He doesn’t have much time left,” a voice said, snapping me from my thoughts. “The best we can do is make him comfortable.” The door closed with a steely clack behind the grim-faced doctor, leaving Charlotte bawling at my bedside.
She didn’t notice the thing that stood behind her. It was a black shroud that looked like smoke held in a glass bottle. Its cold presence made the air feel like icy needles against my wrinkled skin.
“Please let me stay. Please.” Although my cries stirred my wife, the shroud did nothing.
It only waited.
I know this is a bit dark, but I couldn’t resist giving you guys a horror story. And what’s more horrific then being powerless?