Act I

"You ever wonder what happens to us after we die?" The girl with the almost silver blonde hair said as she sat  and gazed around her new surroundings.

She had never seen a place like this before that much was obvious and  she was totally fixated on the world around her, tantalizing emerald green eyes twinkled as she peered outwards. 

She saw a rusticated but charming antiquated gentlemen's club, shrouded  in a light veil of fog that gave this place a mysterious and almost sinister aura. 

 

The girl was small, about 5'4 she had a petite frail figure, ample breasts and a button nose, that wrinkled as she looked up toward the tall dark haired main in a black overcoat.

The gentleman edging his way thick slicked back black hair, his skin glowed a pale white,  and his eyes, dark blue with a distinct lack of emotion. 

But she could see something behind his eyes, an unnamed emotion lost to her lips. 

She girl couldn't quite name and with as with each step he grew closer to the table.

With a glass of pink ros�- wine in his left hand and a tumbler of amber whiskey over ice in his right hand. 

"I like it here." She smiled as he settled the pair of drinks down in front of her and took a seat. "It's got a certain kind of charm about it."

“As I was saying." The tall stranger said resting his back into the leather armchair. 

She picked up the glass pink bubbly rosê wine in front of her, she took the glass to her lips and sampled the wine 

"You can tell I'm a little different to you, can't you?" his voice was cold and distinct, without any accent she could place. 

She smiled at him from behind a veil of messy blonde, strains of almost silver hair fell apart over the eyes that glowed with something the mysterious stranger had almost forgot existed.

"Because every day I see these people; these so called ‘normal’ people go about their lives. From the moment they wake, right up until they rest their heads on pillows so soft pillows and repeat the same process everyday, like clockwork, like hamsters on a wheel."

The gentleman made a wheel motion with his hands, his outstreced index fingers circling  one another. 

"Around and around you go but I see the  true light. I see the colours that make up who they are. 

I can see their destiny laid out like a map their routines, so easily predictable. 

I know everything they’ll ever do or ever  say or even think. And every single one of them is so." He was stuck on the word for a moment, searching for the right words in his head. 

"Boring. That's the word." He hummed. 

"Boring?"

"Boring, mundane, pointless. It's like why do you even bother getting out of bed, you're just going to end up back there in twelve hours, asking the same questions you all ask yourself when you're alone in the dead of night."He talked in a monotone voice, very dry and calm. 

Almost as if he'd said all of this a hundred thousand times before. 

The words just spilling out of his mouth as she sat across from him, sipping on a chilled glass of rosé wine, allowing her eyes to wonder as the strange man with the pale face. 

That's when her eyes dirfted, examining her surroundings with great care.

The place they was in was old, very old, infact it looked Victorian, yet all the furincaings from brass lamps to leather arm chairs all appeared to be brand new, everything was maintained with prestige and a screamed upper class.

Not a spec of dust to be found. 

“I can see past the mask you have created for yourself much like I can see past the mask that everyone has worn so long it's actually become your face. You're all so plain and boring. 

It's like looking at a white wall sometimes, after a while you just start getting dizzy and feeling sick, and I feel too sick." 

"Boring? I find that very insulting. I still don’t see how this works? How you can just glance at a person and you guess their habits and all their little quirks?  

"So a mask can be anything from a lie to a habit, it's just basic human insinct, like when you told your mother the cat done it when she broke her china doll when you was six."

"How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess..." A sinister smile grew across his lips for a moment. 

"It's a subconscious defence mechanism.  It's the  psyologial evolution of the human mind at work.

"Yeah?"

"So in that notion, everything I’ve ever done or will do has been pre-programed into me? By what? Society? Or does it go deeper than that? 

Was it foretold in the past that this would happen? 

Did the hands of fate guide me into your palms?" She giggled.m

“I would have to say it’s more of a defence instinct. It's a built in case of hiding your true identify. 

It’s a case of nurture verses nature, the battle of the human subconscious against the forces of a over zealous socioty.  

The mask you wear is the mask created by your environment, everything comes into play when taking this factor into account. 

The culture you surround yourself in, the books you read, the poems you fell in love with, the people you surround yourself with all have a factor in the creation of the real you and in most cases the destruction of it as well."

“No, because Preprogramimg would indicate the presents of divine intervention. 

Something else would be guiding you unwillingly to do and say all those things we do on a daily basis, that's a battle of your subconscious against your consciousness. 

He paused for a moment, trying to think of what to say next, as he fumbled with his near empty glass of amber whiskey. 

"Let me ask you this. Have you ever met someone and they're charming and full of life, the kind of people that smile at the smallest thing, or the people who put themselves out there and try and change the world, the ones who strive for world peace or solve world hunger?"

"Yeah, all the time."

"Don't you find them all so fake?"

"Not really, they're putting the needs of others before the needs of themselves. I find that noble." She replied, flicking back her hair over her shoulder. 

"Well, I hate to me the one that tells you, but they're lying."

"That's not true, my friend  works at a shelter for abused animals and she helps out in a soup kitchen. She works for hours and hours to try and find them all new homes. I can count at least five other people that I know off the top of my head that are pretty selfless.

"Oh honey I wish that was true, but that's just the side of them they're projecting to hide to what they really are. Your friend who works at the animal shelter, she's a sadist. She gets off on the pain of others. "

"Piss off."

"It's true."

"Prove it."

"Why?" 

"It's a kind of a social obligation to try and better the world around you to try and shove yourself in the lime light of others expectations, you find a cause and fight for it, the fight could be anything to politics, to human suffering animal suffering to religion you stick to your guns and pledge yourself to that cause and you all accept that's just how it's meant to be. And you run with it. 

I try not to pay too much attention. 

Truth be told you're all just liars and cheats trying to one up each other with pointless gimmicks. You all do that-that thing called living in such poor taste."

"So what does my mask say about me?"

"It tells me you're Ni�-ave, too trusting, shy at times, when you chose to be. But there's something in you I haven't seen for a long time 

He  movied the tumbler of bourbon away from his cracked dry lips, settling the glass down he eyed her up 

"Because there's a charming young fellow having a drink with you in some bar,  You've forgotten what I told you already?" 

The smell of polished oak and whiskey was thick in the clammy air.

The establishment  had been furnished with old Victorian armchairs, embroideed with flúr de lies. 

The walls once magnolia had churned to an almost rustic brown which showed signs of 

A dim amber light gave an eerie glow over the main bar area.

Each round oak table had a small lamp with a green shade, an ashtray placed directly underneath the eerie green glow of the Victorian lamps. 

Shadows licked against the background, as the unforgettable melody of Frederic’s Chopin’s “Prelude OP 28 overture 15 in D flat major” twisted the sounds of heavy rain falling to the empty streets the thudding patter of rain blended into a blissful rendition of peace and serenity within these walls.

Her eyes locked with his time fleeting ever so slightly as  they stared longingly into each others eyes for a moment, looking, scavenging  for something else to say, trying desperately to avoid the top

“So...what happens now?" she spoke as the glass moved away from her lips, the words seemed to linger in foggy grey fumes of poisonous smoke.

Her eyes screaming at me to continue our conversation.

“It’s simple, really.” He raised the tumbler of bourbon whiskey to his mouth again, his pallet was greeted with a twist of chilled whiskey and taste was so sweet.

He watched as tiny specks of condensation ran down the side of the glass, thinking about what to say next.

“Can you tell me anything about yourself, take a moment, I’m sure a person such as yourself can muster up something quite interesting to say."

He leaned back in the leather armchair, relaxing a little. 

There were three other patrons inside the bar, aside from us. 

All distracted by their drinks, papers and fine cigars that flooded the air with a dense grey smoke that screamed luxury and wealth.

The first was the man in the brown suit, reading his news 

“I really don’t know what you want me to say, its like being asked what's your favourite book, then forgetting everything you've ever read. You was the one who brought me here, against my free will might I add -,”

He didn’t allow her to finish her sentence.

“Ah, let me stop you there. You see, I must confess. Freedom has a way of sneaking back around and biting us in the a*s, the human mind has to be entertained, and it needs stimulation. 

Freedom and free will are all just an illusion, Chloe.

The human race are like rats on a wheel chasing cheese on a stick around and around they go, but the cheese always eludes them time has been placed in the biggest rat race in history and none of you can see there is no finish line at the end, there is no giant wheel of cheese waiting for any of you.

The unconscious mind builds this invisible wall around the real you, the you that hides inside the fleshy body you own. 

Every action you’ve ever done was just the outcome of an electrical discharge that was sent from your cerebral cortex, electricity runs down your central nerve system to your arms, legs, fingers, toes, nose, and mouth. 

Everything you’ll ever do or have done is just the result of chaos thriving in a world based off of chaos, everything you see around you was the result of random chaos billionsand billions of years ago. 

The earth beneath your feet, the air you're currently enjoying. Everything was made from chaos and everything ends in chaos.
That’s what I do, that’s what I see. Chaos and mercy surrounding everything, I seek truth in disorder; I find peace in the desolation of mankind. 

I see all the things you could have been, should have been, and what would have been.” His tone was brisk, dry as I set the near empty glass of amber coloured whiskey back onto the polished oak table. 

“And you have to know something, I confess and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

“So what do you see now?” She asked. 

“I see sadness, a lot of sadness, it shrouds this bar like a bad aura. It’s quite a shame really, you had so much potential, so much to offer.” The words didn’t make sense to her as he spoke his truth, his confession. 

Her composure had shifted from calm and collective to unsteady fidgeting, her hands sweaty and clammy.

Her pale face seemed lost in a world of smoke.

“I see a ghost…I see a memory of something that could have been so majestic. But that’s what life is Chloe…Chaos. Never ending chaos, followed by an eternal silence.”

“What? What on earth are you talking about, you deranged man! What does that even mean!”

He looked down at the empty glass that sat at the edge of the table and frowned.

“Times up.” He flashed a hollow smile toward the pretty blonde girl sat on the opposite me. I grabbed the thick black wool coat from the back of the chair.

“How do you even know my name? Talk to me!!” she reached out, her arm stretching over the table, and she just faded through it.

Her hand phased through my arm, sending cold shivers down my spine.

“What the -“her green eyes dilated and in shock, she trembled and sank back down in her seat, tears forming at each corner of her eyes.

“I said I was sorry. I liked you, it was nothing personal Chloe, it’s just my job, and really it’s nothing more than that. I wanted to tell you some other way but there really is no other way to tell someone.”

“Tell me what! What the hell was that!”

“Do you remember how you met me?” I said, throwing the coat over my shoulders, sliding my arms into the sleeves.

“Do you remember how we got here? And you have to really think about this, because it’s the most important thing in the whole wide world to you.”

“Sure…I… remember I was in my apartment" the girl smiled for a moment and spoke "Brad had just gone to the kitchen to make some breakfast he was going to make pancakes...we just had a fight and we always have pancakes after a fight, I had just got into the shower…” She said frantically trying desperately  to remember.

Her eyes darted back and forth, she grabbed the side of head with both hands and rocked backwards and forwards in her seat. 

Chloe’s voice trailed off and she couldn’t seem to remember what happened next.

“And…And then I was here. Talking to you…You said we had enough time for one last drink…before we had to go."

“Look at your hands Chloe, I know you don’t know what going on but just look at your hands, look at your hands and then tell me, think hard, look. I told you to observe everything.” He said, resting the tumblr of half melted ice at the bottom of the glass, rattled. 

She looked round the bar, infused with smoke and a melody that just seemed fitting for this moment.

When the words had sunken into her

Chloe looked down at her hands. 

Her hands and arms ran with streaks of deep wet crimson against her paper white skin. 

And slowly the disturbing toughts crashed into her imaginination, 

She realised what she had been missing ever since she arrived in this strange bar.

She wasn't breathing, she hadn't taken a single breath since she arrived here. 

Her hands pressed against her stomach and brought them to her face and they was covered in a deep crimson. 

Deep wounds had been lacerated into her torso, defence wounds peppered both of her arms, fingernails sliced and cracked. 

Her face marked with splotches of blood, and her lips bled, imprinting on the glass with every sip she had taken. 

She was completely naked, except from a small white bath towel clung to her drenched in blood around the the wounds. 

She screamed at the top of her lungs. 

She screamed until she thought her throat was going to implode on itself when she realized what was wrong.

She was drenched almost head to toe in  her own blood.

Her arms, peppered with deep gash marks, dark crimson against paper white skin. 

Her entire torso had been slashed and deep stab wounds leaked onto the towel that covered her modesty.

Her skin was soft and pale as crisp fresh snow; each of her fingers stained a dark blue at the tips, just dripping with warm wet blood. 

Chloe placed her bloody hand upon his chest. 

Her touch was greeted with nothing but chills.

Her hand pressed acorss his heart and she felt no heartbeat beneath his shirt.

And then she knew.

She knew he was Death.