Cold

A wrote this over the course of an hour, I don't know why I wrote it or what it is really. Enjoy.

John was cold. John was cold and that was about it. He was lying on the floor beside a park bench in New York City and it was raining. Everything was very dark and gloomy, and as to why he lay on the floor he didn’t know.

He realised that he was in dire need of a wash, noticing the dirt encrusted into the lines which time had engraved upon his face. Patches of hair here and there were starting to grey; he had never really noticed that before, and his clothes. Oh they were ghastly, had he ever looked in a mirror he surely would have thrown them out, preferring to be seen naked than wearing them. A torn plaid shirt that was far too big for his old bones, a pair of worn out jeans with holes that hadn’t been made for fashions sake, and old black gumboots. His appearance clearly indicated John for what he was, a bum.

Something was not quite right this evening John decided; something was in fact, quite wrong. Trying to lift a grimy black gumboot from the ground was quite the ordeal, and for all his effort, he didn’t move. John continued to stare at himself lying face down in the dirt and wonder why he couldn’t seem to move. Maybe he was just too tired; maybe he just didn’t have the energy after not eating this week. That, John thought, was what was wrong.

John turned around. This wasn’t a very nice park. The trees were all dead or dying, not one of them had a single leaf upon any of their many branches. And the grass, what was there to say about the grass apart from the fact that there simply was none? John liked grass, because when worse came to worse grass was nicer to sleep on then concrete, a man could make himself a home on top of the grass, and then lead himself on a magical adventure. Or something like that yeah?

John looked up. The sky was rather dark and depressing. It was all clouds and no sunshine, although, part of that could have been simply because it was night time. A ray of sunlight, or maybe just some blue sky would have done quite nicely for John; the sun was always warm and made him feel better. A bird would have been nice to look at too, he liked birds, birds were free to fly away and do as they pleased. John on the other hand was stuck the floor in front of a park bench unable to move.

John turned back to the bench. There was someone sitting there now. They looked very gloomy, all dressed in black and holding a scythe, it was a funny time of night to be dressed in black, holding a scythe, and, sitting on a park bench.

John tried to move again. This time he tried to lift his head. Once again, in spite of his attempts, John’s face remained firmly planted against the dirt. Then, he tried picking up his arms, so that he could lift himself up onto his hands and knees. However his hands phased through his body as he went to lift himself up.

“John” it was the figure clad on black, the one who had taken a seat on the bench, that was who was speaking.

“Excuse me?” John said peering up at him, or it?

“John” the thing repeated his name again; it sounded human enough, “John we need to have a talk you and I”

John ignored the dark, scythe wielding fellow in front of him “can’t you see I’m busy right now?”

John tried to move again, and then collapsed into a heap on the floor beside himself, trying to move was exhausting. His eyes were blue. He had never realised that before. They were a very nice blue; actually, they were more of a grey on second thought… He reached out and put a finger on his eye, He couldn’t feel it though.

John returned to his feet and shot the man in black a quizzical look “I’ll try to move one more time” he said, looking at himself “but if I can’t move this time, then I think I may just lay here until I die, and we can have that talk you wanted”

“John” it pointed the scythe at him, “John you are already dead”

“Oh”

John was surprised by this turn of events. Maybe that was what was wrong this evening. Or maybe that is what was right? He didn’t know, but did it really matter in the end?

“John” the figure said again,  “John take a seat would you” it indicated the space beside it on the bench.

John took a seat on the bench. He also stayed face down in the dirt. The park looked just a little bit brighter now; maybe some sunlight had penetrated the thick cloud cover. That happened at night all the time.

“If I’m dead,” John said, looking at the scythe “then you must be?”

“John, your people call me Death, John” it spoke quietly, as if thinking, “John, that name will suffice”

Now John took a better look. He could see that it wasn’t a man. He was not sitting next to a man but the grim reaper himself. Smooth white bone was all John could see within Death’s black hood, and to empty eye sockets that stared back at him. It was a refreshing change.

“What happens?” John asked, looking back at himself lying on the floor in his torn plaid shirt, “I mean now that I’m dead, what exactly happens to me next?”

Death didn’t say anything for a long time, to John it felt like minutes, in reality it may have been days, in any case it was still a night when Death replied.

“John, Nothing John”

John nodded. Looking back at the park in front of him. The sun was starting to rise, it was still very dark though, and there were still no leaves on the trees, and there was still no grass. John would have liked some grass. There was a person in the park now. No, there were many people in the park.

John would watch them. He thought it would make for sport. It wasn’t much fun though, people didn’t do enough to interest a dead person.

“Death?” John turned to see if the reaper was in fact still beside him.

“John, yes John?” it was still there beside him.

“What do I do now?” John asked, it was not a very good question “I mean now that I’m dead, what do I do?”

Death opened his mouth; if skulls could smile, than John was sure that was how they would do it.

“John, I already told you John” Death said, beginning to fade away, “John, you keep living John”

Author's Note

I'm tired, ily haters <3