Don't Fear the Reaper

WARNING: sexual violence at the end (of the line)

X X X

Since the boss was still busy on a trip, everything continued just as planned. Thankfully, the incident occurred near the end of her shift, so she decided to take a ride with Velia to get back to the city. Watching the near empty desert road slithering between distant mountains revealed to her just how barren all of it was. How barren and empty her inner sanctum was, how it cradled the whispers of an ancient fire and burned with its bittersweet embers. She imaged the naked night sky in the desert and the mere thought alone extinguished her heavy heart’s wrath.  

“You walked through all this? All this?” Velia asked, completely floored by the idea of someone walking that road all the way to the diner in the middle of nowhere. Marlowe watched with an unflinching gaze the way she traveled, unphased by the absurdity of it. 

“I just felt like it.” 

“Felt like it?” Velia tried her best to suppress her surprise, but even her accent slipped through. It made a smile crawl out of Marlowe’s gloomy countenance for a brief moment. 

“I didn’t feel like driving a motorcycle there or anything, so I just walked the distance to clear my head.” 

“And did it help?” 

“... A little. But it always comes back anyway. It always does.” 

“Well, of course it comes back. The past doesn’t just go away, but the pain of it does. Every time it comes back, it hurts just a little bit less until you barely notice it at all. It takes time, sweetheart.” 

“Time…” She sighed, looking into the empty distance, noticing the echoes of life in the form of dry plants that still persist, even in such conditions. There was a strange beauty she noticed in them, a beauty that ensnared her attention fully. Even Velia noticed how longingly Marlowe looked at the things around her, hoping that such a sensitive soul was able to treat itself with the same sensitivity. 

“But I do love how much you’ve changed since we met. I always knew that there was something behind that doll smile of yours.” 

“Doll smile?” 

“Yeah, you look like a doll. Not in a bad way at all, mind you. Most would kill to look like you.”

“It doesn’t matter how pretty I am if all I see in the mirror is reasons I should kill myself.” 

“Hey now!” Velia exclaimed with a strength that made Marlowe know that she went too far. Aware of the insensitivity in her unfiltered approach, she apologized while still in agreement with her own words. 

“But that’s exactly what I mean: you’re so much more than just a pretty face. And I knew that there was something dark enough in you to successfully be a part of the program. How’s that been working out for you?” 

“The death program?” Marlowe asked, realizing that the answer to the question was so obvious that she continued to answer Velia’s question further. 

“I’ve only just started, but I can say that it has given me some hope I guess.” 

“See?” Velia said, poking Marlowe with her elbow, “It’s perfect for a person of your temperament.” 

“My temperament?” 

“Yeah, y’know, the gloomy, melancholic, saturnine kind.” 

Marlowe clicked her tongue as she gazed into the distance again, her head leaning on the palm of her hand. 

“Exactly.” Velia said with a playful smile that slowly infected Marlowe. 

“So, doll. You plan to use the motorbike to get to the diner?” 

“Hm, yeah. I’d be in the mood at that point.” 

Velia softly shook her head with a wide smile on her lips. 

“Waow, motorbike and all. You’re really different.” 

“Well, that’s actually why I started riding once.” 

“You only started since you came here?” 

Marlowe nodded her head and gave a hum of agreement. 

“I wanted everything to be different and wash myself clean of the past. I want to do things so differently that I don’t even recognize myself. Once that happens, I’m a clean slate, completely free and unburdened. I can be myself in a way that I don't feel like a weight to carry every day.” 

“But will you still be you, love?” 

“What does it matter when I’ll be content?” 

“You’ll only be lost. More lost, more lonely, more confused and even more hurt. Running away from the past will only make you leap into its jaws. You can’t escape such a beast, honey.” 

Marlowe, like a doll, coldly gazed into the distance again, absorbing none of the things around her, utterly lost in the excess of herself. Velia looked at her and let a small smile escape her lips, seeing the reason why she really called her a doll in the first place. But she felt that it wasn’t the right opportunity to mention it, so she let the silence sing between them as the city slowly enveloped them. The sky was still burning with blue, but Marlowe was able to taste the evening on her lips. Velia dropped her off at her apartment block and waved her goodbye. As she drove away, the sweetness of her smile lingered in Marlowe’s mind. 

She couldn’t bear looking up to see the gargantuan apartment complex. The longer she did, the more she felt the weight of the building crashing down on her. It reminded her of a beehive that instead of producing honey produced a vicious rot that she couldn’t escape. The wicked monotony of the buildings and what it bred also added fuel to the fire of her distaste for it all, but with a deep breath out, she numbed the acidic observations and entered her apartment. 

It was a sterile place. While objectively pleasing to the eye and well furnished, it lacked something that was painfully obvious to her, yet she could never understand what it was. She theorized that that same lack she noticed in her place was the same lack she noticed in herself, both being made of the same substance. Both escaped her grasp, giving her the feeling of being stranded in the ocean. Whenever she tried to fill the gap, whether with physical memento’s of her home or with metal imagery inspired by her home, it always bit her before she could let it simmer and be a part of it. The cruel mixture of memories paired with the outburst in the workplace was enough for her to break down in tears before her bed, soaking her sheets with warm tears. 

A beautiful rush of euphoria moved through her as she howled her heart out. It was one of the rare moments where the forces that tore her to pieces made her whole, mending her piece by piece. As she continued to wail, she realized how such pieces didn’t matter, for the true euphoria she felt from the process was in the dissolving of all those pieces. In the dissolution of herself, that which she deeply longed for for a while now. Even though she’d go back to the same routine, it was a way for her soul to breathe deeply before being suffocated once again. But with each passing day, she tried to find ways for it to breathe in small rituals. Knowing that made her reaper feel something warm and tender he hadn’t felt in a long time as he sat by her bedside, listening to the song of her sorrow. 

“It gets easier, Marlowe.” 

She lifted her face before wiping away any remaining tears. Her reaper helped her with that, passing his thumb across her dark lower eyelid and absorbing her tears into him. Confusion pierced her mind and snapped her away from her melancholy as she stared at him, trying to find the words to formulate the question. He already had an answer to it. 

“I’m able to do such things from time to time under very specific conditions, so there’s no need to get too alarmed by that. I’m usually not allowed to keep you company like this, but I don’t care, personally. I’d gladly risk a little sanction for things like this.” 

He realized that his trial of thought didn’t reach her, but slipped right through the cracks of her sense of self. One thing he didn’t realize was that she enjoyed such moments of dissolution with a profound sense of relief. She did, however, enjoy the company greatly. Knowing he was right there, she didn’t care about how she appeared to him whatsoever. All she did was enjoy the warmth of her tears soaking into the bedsheet, together with the warmth of her breath and face as it remained buried there for a while. For a brief moment, she felt as though she was enveloped in a universe of comfort, surrounded by nothing else but fabric. With the marrow of the material being unsaturated by memories or sentiment, she felt liberated from such things, liberated from what she can only describe as a cruel fate. 

“Why are you even here?” 

After a few seconds, the reaper could contain himself and burst with a spark of laughter that ended in a bassy giggle. She felt his voice ripple through her spine, adding to the euphoria of her crying. She finally managed to lift her face after a while, showing the reaper how her azure eyes sparkled like sun glitter in the ocean. He almost forgot what he was about to say, growing more lost the longer he gazed into the primeval ocean he recognized as a memento of an ancient memory. 

“If you didn’t want me to be here, you could easily wipe me away by acting on the decision to do so in your mind.” He replied, tapping his head as he looked at her with a smile in his golden eyes, shining like two setting suns. 

She looked away, unable to hide the glimmer of a smile before it became a frown again. With languid grace, she fixed herself and sat next to him on the bed, facing the window. While the entire day carried a sweltering heat, she was able to enjoy the gentle warmth of the sunlight bathing her. They both sat in silence, listening to the soft sounds of people walking outside. While she had the potential to do so many things, anything at all, there was not an ember of motivation in her to do anything with it. Instead of it driving her to action, it crashed into her, crushing her further while finding no way to reach out. The reaper was able to hear the storm inside of her, witnessing it the way a person would stare deeply into a painting as it wove its wonders through them. Her soul had the voice of a vanitas painted with the colors of twilight. 

“For you to have successfully performed the ritual so easily means that you are definitely of a dark temperament. While it may feel like a burden, I hope to show you how it can also be a blessing in its own way. I’m not a shrink or anything, but I’m also a person, even if it doesn’t look like that.” 

His silver mask around his mouth shimmered under the sunlight as well while his eyes captured the light like mirrors. While every part of him from the strange features to the eccentric clothes howled in a foreign tongue, she felt more comfortable with him than with most people she knew. 

“Is this also a part of your job as a reaper?” She asked with a heavy hint of sarcasm and humor he was quick to pick up on. 

“Yes, actually, it is.” He replied with a glimmer of pride in his delivery. “I need to take care of you, which means that you need to take care of yourself as well.”

She clicked her tongue even though she recognized his point. 

“I take care of myself just fine.” 

“Alright then, get busy taking care of yourself then.” 

The reaper got himself up from the bed and wandered around her apartment as she remained seated, steeped in confusion. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

He leaned on the wall at the other side of the room, seeing the scattered books on the floor. 

“What do you usually do in your free time? You have a few hours before your next shift, right? So make the most of it.” 

At first, she became enticed by the idea of catching up on one of the many novels she started to read, but stopped reading for a while. The idea of catching up to any paired with which one she should catch up with immediately extinguished her excitement to pick any of them up. She looked at her vinyl player atop her small bookshelf, but any kind of noise would further irritate her. With a groan of defeat, she took her shoes off and fell on her bed, sinking into the comfort of sweet nothingness. 

“Really?” 

“Don’t judge me.” 

Not wishing to intrude too much, he refrained from exploring her apartment further and simply wandered around her bed like a carrion crow. He peaked out of the window as he tried to find the words to a question tickling his brain for a while at that point. 

“Don’t you ride a motorcycle?” He asked, looking behind him.

“Recently, yes. It’s fun.” 

“Then let’s go for a ride!” 

“I have to use it to go to work anyway; there’s no point.” 

“Lame.” 

The reaper sat at the edge of the bed again, unable to figure out a particular mystery radiating from her. 

“What drew you to riding such a thing? It’s pretty unorthodox for you.” 

While she wished to question how he was able to see such a thing, she knew exactly where he was coming from. Genuinely concocting a reply, she turned to face the ceiling with her hands laced over her stomach, thinking of the true reason.

“Well, it started as a way to plunge myself into something radically different and radically new. I was averse to it at first, but after a while I grew to like it a lot. I do like it a lot, actually. When riding it, I feel so light, so free. When driving at such a speed, time slips by and I can learn to appreciate how it does so instead of crying about it. At such a speed, the world becomes a blur and it makes so much more sense. At just the right speed and path, the world stops and I know what it’s like to breathe again. It’s like going through a first kiss all over again.” 

Something in the marrow of her sentiment struck a deep cord within him, a cord he forgot he had, but a cord that bound every part of him together. Even she was able to pick up a slight bit of panic, a panic that faded so quickly she assumed it was only in her imagination. All he could do was nod at the depth of the resonance. He overshadowed the blossoming of his heart with the sunshine in his smiling eyes.  

“And how was your first kiss?” 

“Goodbye.” 

With a wave of her hand, he disappeared, his giggle slowly fading into the silence. Just as she made him leave, she immediately felt a touch of loneliness that lingered for only a few seconds. Afterwards, the peace of silence came in, together with the wrath of her mind. As she cherished the smile the reaper gave her, it quickly turned acidic as she remembered her first kiss with her fiancé in middle school. That simple thought unraveled other dreamlike moments with him, moments that once breathed life into her but now threatened to steal it away. Each memory plucked a thread in her that slowly unraveled her entirely, inviting another wave of tears to go by. She softly set the alarm to a certain time before dissolving into tears, allowing herself to simmer in her grief as the sun showered her room with its golden grace. 

The weight of her memories pinned her to the bed. She saw how the numbers on her digital alarm clock changed, not bothered to be concerned about its swift passage. Yet as she remained as dark, deep and heavy as the ocean, she felt the waves of her heart’s memories ripping the bedrock of her being. Her abyss was alive with the song and dance of the past, flowing and tearing with visions and piercing echoes of another version of her. A version she recognized well, but was unable to recognize in herself at the present moment. Looking through the archive of her mind was like leafing through a fairytale for her, one with some pages torn and others vigorously marked and annotated. But it meant nothing now. Absolutely nothing. Now every letter acted as a tear she was unable to shed, staining around the cracks. 

She had one hour before her shift began. With a stubborn ember of restlessness and nothing else to do, she washed herself briefly before putting her clothes on again. This time, she wore her biker jacket and studied herself in the mirror. Her wavy blonde hair flowed on one side of her cheek, showing the symmetry of her face on the other side. Marlowe greeted the stranger in the mirror with a warm smile, a smile she nearly forgot she was able to wear. When it became too heavy to hold, she got her purse and helmet before walking away, locking the door with a deafening click. 

Every part of the city she lived in was drenched with the sun, bleaching it with a blinding paleness. She quickly left it as the noise of the engine drowned the noise in her mind, washing it clean of the festering filth. When she reached the edge and found herself on the highway, she revved the engine and went full speed to the horizon. The dry flora and cacti became a mossy green blur before her as the horizon line remained fixed and unmoving. Hills caressed the distance before her, but seemed to remain where they were, never moving closer to her while everything else went by. With an almost primal intrigue, the desire to reach one of those hills and unveil the mystery around them. With nothing but the evening road and the darkening horizon, she increased the speed of her motorcycle and tried to reach what looked like the end of the world. The desert landscape reminded her that the world was nothing more than the dust of a god that died alongside her faith in them. 

As her vision tunnel focussed solely on the unmoving mountains before her and the azure skies beyond them, she noticed the colorful diner she works in in the distance. Even the diner, with its faded pastel paint, seemed to have been a long time friend of the desert. Begrudgingly, she slowed down and made her way to the garage for employees and those residing in the motels. She quickly changed into her uniform with ritualistic efficiency before entering the diner. To her surprise, she saw Velia serving some customers plates of food. She made her way to Marlowe with the grace of the customer’s smoke. 

“What are you still doing here?” Marlowe asked, doing her best to suppress her relief. 

“My shift was almost over anyway, so I just wanted to stay to see how you were doing.” 

“To see if I would come?” 

Velia giggled, shaking her head at the institution. 

“No, I know that you’re a diligent worker. I just wanted to see how you were feeling now, that’s all.” 

Unable to find a single hint of dishonesty in her voice, Marlowe smiled as she poured a warm cup of coffee for herself.  

“Coffee at this hour?” 

“I need something to keep my engine running till midnight, y'know."

“True,” she said, smiling as she recalled hearing an engine roar moments ago.

“I heard you took the motorcycle to work this time. Maybe you can take me for a ride on it too some time; show me what it’s like.” 

“Of course.” 

The sun glitter of conversation faded when Velia made her way out of the diner, waving her goodbye with the same grace of the setting sun. When she left, Marlowe felt the darkness of the evening pull her into the night and the weight of the stars plunging her into something darker. But the scent of coffee kindled just enough motivation to continue as the evening went on. Every strange face captured her interest, especially if they were paired with that of travelers or families. Such people kept her mind calm amidst the tremendous risk of other dangerous encounters that would come about. Knowing the risks, she still continued to work, even with half her heart caught in a furnace of anxiety. While most elements of her spirit were debilitating to her, she was proud of her ability to transmute some of the stress into productivity and efficiently in the workplace, being the perfect machine in such a setting. Even when her spirit’s cogs sank their teeth into her, it was enough to wear a welcoming smile and radiate a warmth in a way that didn’t show the others its infernal origins. 

Mostly enjoying her interaction with Velia as opposed to other workers, she spent her time with a pen and notebook during the quiet hours, peacefully jotting down whatever came to her mind. It was one of the few things she found useful from the therapist she once had. While she still had their number, she never felt the need to contact them again after leaving. She owned just enough self awareness to understand the situation while owning none of the abilities to recover as best as possible. Patience, which she wrote often of, was one of the few subtle miracles she possessed in a cursed world. And while time was cruel with its painful coldness, it also offered the cure while acting as another inspiration for the sickness of her soul. But she never felt as though she was infected with melancholy, but that it was just another way to show how beautiful her heart is. As she reflected on the beauty of the night sky or the grace of a cheerful family, she was unable to see herself as nothing more than a wild ocean that broke the image of the heavens above into its many faces. She saw the gift of seeing such perspectives as a debilitating curse to be exorcised from the marrow of her mind. 

Before she began to choke on the contents of her own heart, she slapped the book shut and placed it in the pocket of her uniform. As she noticed that the other waitresses were also stuck in idle conversation with either the customers or each other, she decided to go to the back and take a break. The mere thought of talking to them tired her out, so she decided to keep the candle in her spirits lit with some quiet time by herself. With the plan of staying outside for a bit, she took off her roller skates and wore her shoes. 

A sea of stars covered the entire night sky above her. Nestled in the darkness of the parking lot, she lit a cigarette, its tip twinkling together with all the other stars in the sky. With a deep breath out, she saw the river of her soul dance to the astral graveyard above, dancing and fading to dissolve into the gentle lights. The sweet silence of the desert sang to her like a lullaby, soothing her in a way that not many things could. While she enjoyed the money and the comfortable living, a sense of restlessness emerged as her energy slowly dispersed, unable to know where to go. The idea of being a worker for death did spark a lot of vitality in her, a vitality she desperately craved. Studying the embers glowing on the burning tobacco, she still couldn’t believe that it had actually worked, that that reaper is even real. Just as she was pondering the strangeness of it all, she saw a familiar figure behind the veil of smoke she exhaled. 

“Ah, I see that you’re also working in the evening!” 

As he walked into the light, she recognized him as one of the three infuriating customers from this morning. Ice moved over her skin as he came closer. 

“You really did a number on my friends earlier today. One is in the hospital with stitches.” 

She took another puff of her cigarette, making a suction sound as she took a breath in. 

“Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be smoking.” 

Before she could get her pistol, he brandished a knife, thrusting it close to her neck. 

“Don’t make a fucking sound.” 

Her cigarette fell beside her with an explosion of embers as her world grew quieter and colder. As she heard the rustling of fabric and metal, a voice hummed in the darkest corners of her mind. 

“Please, let me help. Just give me the command and I’ll help you.” 

As the night grew ten times colder and her body caught fire within, she couldn’t understand what the voice in her head was as she felt the trucker’s hot breath dampening her ear and neck. 

“Please!” 

The moment she recognized the reaper’s voice howling in the depths of her abyss, she agreed with tears rolling down her face. When she opened her eyes, she was able to see his torso float in the ether with a wave of smoke below him, holding his giant scythe against the man’s neck. When she saw the name Arcadia upside down on the blade, her tears transformed into that of relief. The reaper primed his strike, holding the blade high over his head with the full quote shining under the light before cleaving the man’s neck. When the blade fell, the reaper vanished into smoke and a wave of an even whiter smoke rushed out of the trucker's whole body. The wretched symphony of ripping fabric stopped as he fell to the ground, physically untouched. A river of blood flowed out from his eyes and open mouth, slithering through the concrete as it captured the light of the lamps and the stars.