Death's Message

As the doors slid open, death overwhelmed me. I could feel it nipping at my ankles, begging for my soul. It even smelled of death, though the stench of cleaner almost overpowered it. None of this surprised me as I walked down the main hall of the fourth floor. None of the staff would look me in the eye as I passed them. After all, no one is on the cancer floor at two a.m. for a good reason.

The chills that accompany eternal sleep threatened to overtake me. I forced them back with everything I had. I will be the strong one. I won't dare let anything break me down. I step into a room ruled by the grim reaper. "You think you scare me?!" I wanted to scream it into the room, filled yet empty. I refuse to acknowledge the cocoon left behind in the middle of the room.

The room isn't interesting; off-white paint owns it. The only discerning replica of life is a small wall statue of Jesus. He isn't so great! I can't decide who I hate more at this moment, the mocking Jesus or that annoying, pasty man trying to enter the room. I hold him back, just to let him know that he isn't wanted, before he muscles his way around me. Consequently, his force sends me out the door before it slams in my face. Fine, sell your story and get out. Unguarded, the chills finally attack. I realize that this is just death's way of saying we'd meet later on. Like I tried to say before, I refuse to let death scare me.

Death is gone, only muffled weeping to fill the void. Waiting outside is horrible, yet thought provoking. Why am I the only one not crying? Does that mean I don't care? Is that why my aunt glared at me like everything is my fault? Mother says that I'm just in shock, but that isn't it. I just don't feel the need to cry. I will be strong. I will be just like him, the one I adored, my only idol. I can see that no one understands why I don't cry, but I knew that this was to happen.

Death had stood next to me in the elevator this afternoon; he had a couple 'packages' to pick up in ICU. The empty shell inside the room and I had said our good-byes mere hours earlier. We both knew what was to happen, the grim reaper had even stood next to me; saying hello after my farewell. No one else saw the dark angel, saved for he and I. I'd bet anything that they'd had a decent conversation after my exit, before taking their final leave.

The zombie man is leaving; he opened the door with a frown. I guess his pretty boxes didn't sell after all. He offers his condolences with a slight bow of head, but I wager he's ridiculing me, just because I won't cry. Anger takes over suddenly, it feels freeing after that spell of horrid emptiness. My throat aches with the need to scream, to shout. How dare he act that way towards me, he didn't just lose one of his precious kindred. I walk into the room stiffly, and with a force unknown to me, I kick the wall. Sickly pleased, I watch the statue crash to the floor and shatter. He deserved it, he's a joke, a sham. Someone who takes pleasure in taking the things that are important to me.

My mind is twisting, I can feel my control snap. I need to sleep, I need to jump through a window, which ever comes first. My thoughts aren't making sense; the blood is centered, pulsing, at my fingertips. I've never been this enraged before. "Shut up, all of you! Stop yelling! So what if I broke something!?" the words are festering at the back of my throat, ripping at my tongue. I spin to glare at my relations, I especially glare at him. How dare he die on me, he was the father type that I wish I'd been graced with, instead of the useless one I am forced to claim, he was easily my best friend.

My throat burns for another reason now. I can't see anything anymore. Running is my only choice, before they see how weak I truly am. The heavy hospital door barely slams behind me and 'code blue' is echoed through the halls. I know what that means now, the grim reaper has made a new friend. I wander the halls, lost in my thoughts. I was supposed to be as strong as he was, instead I let my emotions take hold. I showed them all how fragile I was. I am truly pathetic.

Death passes me in the dark hallway I was stalking. Touching his scythe to his brow and leading the souls to forever. I can't see them, but I feel their happiness at freedom. The sickening tears finally spill, freely creating a river of acceptance. It took the angel of death and the shadows of souls to make me realize that I'd had everything backwards, I could be strong and still show my emotions. It was okay to cry for someone who has died, it was okay to let everyone else know that I cared. I sank to the floor, my back against the wall and cried until I was dry. It felt good to let it all out, to be able to accept that emotions are okay. Today, I'd lost one of the few men I considered truly important.

Today, I'd lost my grandfather.