Death at the Infirmary

This is a short story that I've been working on for the past couple weeks and it's gotten me really excited about writing again! I wanted to share it here and to see what you guys think. Here goes….

 

Death walked through the doorway slowly, his dark eyes cold and unfeeling. On his way out of the infirmary Weariness swept past him, brushing his arm in silent greeting before entering the building. Although used to seeing Weariness around the dying, this particular meeting seemed to affect him more than usual. Death's usually sure step faltered. He stumbled and caught himself against one of the pillars that held up an arched walkway that surrounded the sick house, both hands on the column, arms outstretched. His head bowed in exhaustion and he turned to lean his back on the stone column. Death's hand lifted to his eyes, shielding those unfathomable depths with a few layers of cold living flesh. Visible beneath his hand, his mouth was a hard pale line. His jaw clenched, laboring to restrain some inner terror that was writhing just beneath the surface, pleading to be set free but unable to break through that impenetrable barricade. His breathing became labored and ragged, rattling, slow breaths, deep through the nose.

Death remained motionless, in that exhausted position brought on by more than Weariness. Meanwhile, Mortals were passing into the infirmary he had just left, not sensing how close Death was to the door. They simply passed him by, not interrupting, nor being interrupted by his presence. They went on with their lives and forgot about the things that could end it.

Yet all did not go unseeing. One person separated themselves from the tide of mortals and walked directly toward Death, but slowly, as if they were uncertain of what they were seeing. This person who could see Death was a rather short, sprightly-looking woman with reddish-brown hair and eyes that could never make up their minds on what color to be. If one were to pass a glance at this woman, they would say she were young, with her youthful grace and energetic demeanor. Only if you look her in the face and gaze into her ever-changing eyes will you get the sense that she has lived through more heartache that any one person can or should feel in a lifetime. Yet she will be the first to laugh it all away. She thinks only of others and that makes her smile. She often day-dreams and is very forgetful. She has no perception of Time, who merely shakes his head and smiles at her blatant disregard for the clock. She is called blind and yet sees more clearly than any. This woman is Love.

Love navigated her way toward Death; still not sure it was him. This man's posture bespoke a broken life, so different from Death's cold aloofness. Surely this could not be Unfeeling Death, not this man who seemed to be struggling merely to stand, who looked so….defeated.

A frown crossed its confused way onto Love's face, so uncharacteristic from her usual light-hearted smiles. She stood in front of this dark man who had not noticed her. She reached out, hesitated a moment, then seeming to make up her mind, placed her hand on his shoulder.

Death's head jerked up, staring open eyed into Love's face and for one terrifying moment Love could see directly into all the pain and suffering and guilt of Death, all his sadness. Then it was gone, back behind the many defenses and safeguards of his mind, buried as deep as any coffin. As Death regained control the anguish disappeared from his face and was replaced with a look of boredom.

That one moment had scared Love so much that she took a step back in fright, and jerked her hand away as if it had been scalded. The speed of his sudden change was no less terrifying and she did not at first hear his monotone greeting. She shook her head to clear it.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Death rolled his eyes, "I asked you what you are doing here."

"Oh," she said distractedly, "I was…um…" She looked around as if she didn't know where she was. "I was…"
she saw the crowd of people moving near the door. "oh! I was going to help a few people."

Death scoffed and started moving away from the building at a fast clip. Love couldn't help herself, with a glance at the infirmary she decided it could wait. Then she ran to catch up with Death, who was already halfway down the long gravel driveway. Love fell into step with him.

"Why did you scoff at my job?" she asked, curious.

Death's answer was an eyeroll. He continued walking at the same quick pace, ignoring Love.

But Love is not a person who is easily ignored. She ran a few steps in front of Death and turned toward him, hands on hips and leaning on one leg.

"Oh, I see how it is," she said playfully as he came closer, The Great Death is too important and much too busy to deign to answer a childish question from Silly Love." She smiled disarmingly, an action that would have made any other person smile back.

Death reached the spot directly in front of her and stopped. He looked down at her from his imposing height with a look that was devoid of life or emotion. When he spoke next it was with a quiet voice that whispered of cold lonely places in the dark.

"Love has no place in the houses of Death," he said with finality. He moved around Love in her stunned silence ad walked off down the lane.

Love stood where he left her long after Death was lost from sight. Occasionally she would shudder as if a cold wind had found her and stroked the back of her neck. The infirmary forgotten, she walked slowly away.

From what? Even she didn't know.