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

fathers with kids on their shoulders, all of whom crumbled to the ground in their own awkward ways. At one point an entire group of Asian tourists completely swallowed Death, who came out on the other side of them when the group split into two piles of bodies. As an elderly man tripped over Death’s foot and crashed into a shop window, Death spun around and fell backwards into a couple that was on an afternoon stroll. After giving a quick juke to an old woman with a cane, Death stumbled over a plank on the bridge and fell headfirst into a young bearded man. He got up as a young woman in box-framed glasses and frizzy hair fell over him, and was thrown back down to the ground by a young boy chasing a football one of his friends had thrown. The boy fell face first onto the ground as his friends laughed. After Death was clothes-lined by two women holding hands who subsequently sprawled to the ground, he came out on the other side of the bridge. He was hot, frustrated, and tired, but pleased to finally get away from the crowd. He walked into the shop and breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread and marmalade as an air conditioner blasted its sweet gusts into his face. The combination cooled his senses and casting deep relaxation over him.

“Hi,” said a man at the counter. He wore a white baseball cap under which lengthy blonde hair spilled out over a few day’s worth of scruffy beard.

“I’m here for one of your world famous croissants,” said Death. The man smiled. Death tightened his tie back up and wiped sweat clean off his face.

“Alright, great. Marmalade?”

“Yes, please. Could I have blackberry?”

“You got it,” said the man. Death found his friendliness pleasant enough to wash away what remained of his misery. Walking along the street in that awful heat seemed to have happened years ago. The man retrieved a mammoth croissant from within the glass case and handed it to Death, who bit into it. The taste was unlike what he had ever experienced. “That’ll be two dollars,” said the man, holding out an empty hand. Death swallowed the piece of croissant and gazed at him quizzically.

“I don’t really have any money,” he admitted.

The man looked Death over a few times, disgusted, and said, “No money? Why would you ask for a croissant then?”

“I…” started Death. “Tim told me they were the best around.”

“Tim?” asked the man. “Oh, jeez, you’re not one of his thugs are you?”

“His thugs?” asked Death. He took a step forward, which somehow caused the man to leap backwards and knock the clock off the back wall.

“You’re not here to break my thumbs, are you? Look, I have a check coming in next Thursday, I’ll have the money then. Come on, I have children to feed, man.”

“Oh…yes, okay,” said Death, nodding and edging towards the door.

“Here, here, take the croissant. No charge. You deserve it, pal, you look like you could take a load off.” Death took the pastry and was about to smile when the man clutched his forehead. “That wasn’t to say you look bad, like you’d need to take a load off or anything. I…oh God.”

The man looked like he was about to vomit as he held his palm to his chest so Death thought it best to say a quick “Thank you” and walk back to the bridge. However, it was not bustling as it had been only minutes before. It was still covered with people, but all of them were dead. Some were propped up against windows of the shops, others sprawled out on their backs with their mouths hanging open. Death cast his vision across the ocean of demise before him.

“Oh, damn,” he whispered. He walked across the bridge, tiptoeing in any open space he could find, and emerged on the other side. He ate the croissant in four quick bites and started to find his way back to his apartment.

Death Starts a Career

“Do you think I should get a job?” asked Death to Brian. They were sitting on the couch in 55 Macci Street. Brian was shirtless and drinking whiskey at nine in the morning.

“Nah, man,” slurred Brian. “Getting a job is what the government thinks we should do. But we should all be doing things for free. People could just do their jobs for free and then everything would be free. The world would be a better place.”

“It would?” asked Death. “But would people go along with that?”

“Of course, because if they didn’t, the whole system would break down.”

“What would be your job?” asked Death.

“I would sell ham,” said Brian, finishing off his glass of bourbon.

Death wanted advice that was slightly more coherent so he decided to meet Tim at the HaffCaff Café. They sat down at their usual table and ordered coffee. “Most people have jobs, right?” asked Death.

Tim looked him over for a few long seconds before answering, “Yeah, they do. I mean, some of us have different jobs than other people. I mean I am employed. I do work. It’s not really traditional, more odd jobs, specialty things. When a person has a lot of skills, they, you know, they can do things like…like that.” His face was getting red and he looked sweaty and flustered and Death had to cut him off.

“Right, well, this man I met suggested I get a job, and I think I’m going to try to get one.” He took a sip of coffee.

“I thought you were here for retirement,” said Tim. He looked at Death through sharply squinted eyes.

“Well, yeah, but I was thinking a retirement job,” said Death, thinking quickly. “Just to, uh, keep myself busy.”

Tim shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to find something along Maine Street, it’s really something else. There’s plenty of places looking for workers there.” His voice was calmer now. The two friends finished