Death in the City by Kyle Giroux (read my book TXT) 📗

“Derek,” said Death.

And suddenly the beautiful smile turned into trembling lips, and Bridgit began sobbing.

“What?” asked Death, concern washing over his features. “What did I say?”

“It’s just…it’s just,” started Bridgit between gasps of breath. She covered her face with her hands as she cried, “My ex-boyfriends name was…Dirk!” She broke down, leaning her skinny body against the side of the table and pounding her fist against the surface, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Dirk?” asked Death over the moans. “But I said my name was Derek. Derek, not Dirk.”

“I know, I know,” screeched the girl. The other speed-dating participants, though in the heat of their own dates, could not ignore Bridgit’s moans and shouts. “It’s just…so…close…” She put her head down and dug it beneath her arms. Death stared, trying to find words. “Okay, okay,” she said, nodding and sitting up straight. She sniffed, wiped her nose with her finger, and smiled again. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” said Death, thinking that she was quite a sweet girl, just in need of support. “So, I wanted to ask,” he took the napkin out of his pocket and laid it on the table, his eyes scanning over the hastily-drawn list, “uh, well—“

“You’re not a jerk, are you?” asked Bridgit. “I mean, my ex-boyfriend, Dirk, was a total idiot. Jerk. Moron.” Death held his hands up to stop her.

“No, I don’t think so,” he sighed.

“Good,” she said harshly, making Death wince. Now she sounded on the verge of a murderous rampage. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I like…uh…” He scanned the list hurriedly, having been caught off guard. “Cowboy boots?”

“Oh,” said Bridgit vaguely. Tears formed and streamed down her face again. “Dirk wore cowboy boots…every…day.” She bawled again. Edgar blew his whistle, which sounded like a sweet melody to Death now. He gathered his list and moved on to the next table, leaving Bridgit to cry to the next sorry sap.

Death found himself sitting across from another pretty blonde woman. She was much more muscular than Bridgit and wore camouflage pants with a red t-shirt. Her face had a sort of rugged beauty to it, and though she was smiling, Death was cautious this time. “Hi, I’m Mary,” she said. Her voice was deep but had a tint of femininity to it.

“Derek,” said Death.

“Well, Derek,” she said, pointing her finger in defiance. Death reeled back and looked at her, frightened. “I’m in the army, and I’ve met plenty of men like you. And most of you are absolute scum.” She screamed the last word, causing Death to fall out of his chair. “Get up. Come on, get up you worm,” she said, her arms outstretched. Death hurriedly regained his equilibrium and sat up straight in the chair. “So listen, I don’t want any of this anti-woman crap I see from all of you men. You understand me?” Death nodded vigorously, unable to produce speech to tell her that he was not anti-woman in the least. “Not only are we capable with our role in uniform, but we are better than any man out there. You understand?”

“But,” began Death. Mary mock lunged at him, so he elected instead to just nod.

“In fact, I hate men. You are all despicable, every last one of you. You have slowed the progression of humankind for the past few thousand years or so. And if you so much as try to prove me right,” she leaned forward and whispered, “I…will…kill you. Get it?” Death sat frozen to his seat, bobbing his head up and down meekly.

Edgar blew his whistle. After easily the longest five minutes in his existence, Death moved on to the next table.

Death sat down across from a girl who was slightly gnomish in appearance. She would have been quite pretty if not for the look of disgust smeared across her face, a pouty grimace that made Death nervous when he said, “Hi, I’m Derek.”

“Eva,” she said flatly. “What do you want to talk about? Make sure it’s not boring.” Death felt a very human desire to impress her, so he was excited.

“Well, Eva,” said Death, unfolding the napkin again and running his finger along the subjects. “How about Bourbon? Do you like Bourbon?” His brief smile faded into nothing when he saw the look on Eva’s face.

“Excuse me? Are you trying to talk to me about…about alcohol?”

“Um…yes?” said Death, unsure of where this was going.

“Okay, next subject,” said Eva, waving her hand as though trying to throw off an irksome fly. “You can’t just come in here and talk to me about that awful liquid. I won’t have it. Alcohol is a dangerous substance. All it does is kill people and make them crazy. Even one beer can kill you, just one.” She crossed her arms and looked at the ceiling, appalled.

“Okay, okay,” said Death, looking over the list again. “How about, uh, Led Zeppelin? What do you think of them?”

“I don’t like bands,” snapped Eva. “I’ll never understand your stupid rock music. I only like solo acoustic guitar, stuff no one’s heard of. Have you heard of An Horse? Didn’t think so. You wouldn’t know them, not when all you listen to is,” she threw her hands in the air and said mockingly, “Led Zeppelin.”

“I…wow,” said Death, looking over the list again. “How about chewing gum?”

“Disgusting. Next.”

“Okay. Ah, here we go. Football. Do you like football?”

“Football? Football?” spat Eva. Death sighed. “Football is revolting. It’s just like war. All it does is promote competition and violence.”

“What’s wrong with competition?” Death blurted out. Eva seethed.

Edgar blew his whistle and Eva said, “So, hey, let me get your number down and maybe we can meet up later.” Death pretended he had not heard her and went to the next table.

The night was looking like a downright failure for Death. He met a woman who said she loved Bourbon so much that she bathed in it, then said she only bought the cheap stuff because it got her extra drunk. Another woman, quite