She used to sing so gently, soft and low. She would rock sleepily on the porch swing, massaging Death’s boney hand, rolling and patting his fingers. She was happiest in those moments, when the wheezing laugh of Death encircled her.

I warned and pleaded with her. I asked her to leave him. My words couldn’t penetrate the thick hold he had on her. She told me she loved him, but I could see he was hurting her, killing her. I was frantic, and worried, but my intensions were lost on her. The sting of her palm across my face froze me as she welcomed death with apologetic arms.

My stomach dropped as their fingers twined and his revolting laugh flooded the air. Thick smoke trailed behind him, tinting the color of the walls, and drenching the air in a putrid stench. They settled into the couch and she slept with a peaceful smile, her hand wrapped around his. Death was waiting and his scorching gaze met my maddened scowl. His old yellowed teeth chattered and clicked as he attempted to speak but his voice whistled wordlessly.

A content sigh whispered from her and I stepped forward in disgust. He reached for me before I could wake her. His paper like bones gripped my wrist threateningly, and a fascinating, revolting attraction spread through me. I shook my head and staggered backwards, my hands shook in fear and anger. He won’t ever sway me; I won’t ever choose him.











She faded and withered, and slowly she began to resemble him. She didn’t see what was happening until it was too late. She no longer held Death, he held her. He held her until she became his mirror image. She loved his smoky toxic breath in her lungs. Her time waned and she rejoiced; she would spend an eternity with Death.
Too few people attended her funeral, most of them distant colleagues who also coveted Death. She lay with her arms crossed in a wooden box, her hollow face lined with heavy makeup. I smelled the slightest hint of smoke over the thick embalming fluid. They named her Loss, a fitting name for one so close to Death.
I sat on the edge of an overpass, my legs swung over the speeding cars below. I shut my eyes and tilted my head backwards, imagining Loss by my side. I sighed and rummaged through my purse. My shaky hands pulled out a small, palm-sized box. I patted one end against the heel of my hand and carefully tore the plastic packaging away, letting it fly between the busy cars.
The thin cardboard container held twenty long, paper tubes. A dried, pungent, herb rested in the bright wrapping, waiting for its small flame. Gently I shook the small box and pulled a cylinder out; small white flecks littered the end. It rested comfortably between my first two fingers, as I’d seen her do half a million times. Slowly I raised the tan filter to my lips. The roaring cars covered up the snap of the lighter, but the sound still lingered in my mind. The tiny flare shot from the small metal opening. I hesitated, but slowly I lifted it to the tip of the cigarette.
I inhaled as hard as I could and my head spun, my lungs couldn’t take it and I leaned over cradling my stomach. Once the coughing stopped, I rested my head against the dirty concrete, trying to rid my throat of the dry sand paper. Sighing I sat back up and tried it again, the second it reached my lips, a familiar hand gripped my shoulder.
The ghost like voice, whispered harshly at me. She told me stop, but I wouldn’t listen. Slowly I placed the tubes on the metal railing. Each one stood an inch apart from the next, in a uniformed line. I took one breath before flicking the first one off. The smoke barely reached the tube before it left the edge and spun to the ground. Again, I breathed and flicked the roll away, as I did for each one, until they all reached the pavement below. I took one last breath and released the smoke before smothering the last butt against the cold railing.
Standing on numb feet, I glanced behind me and examined my dead friend. Her eyes were the only recognizable aspect about her, and they only shone tears. I couldn’t tell whom the tears were for but I didn’t ask. Slowly I lowered my head and risked one favor. She complied.
As I gripped the railing, she sung to me, her raspy voice chafed each note. She used to sing so gently, soft and low. Now with my back to her, I let loose the tears I feared to show. I laughed at myself, and at her, but as I closed my eyes, I laughed at the world. I let go. The twentieth cigarette gripped tightly in my fist would meet its brothers, as gravity pulled us to our end.