“Stay away from me!” she too screamed. My extended hand fell slowly as if the Earth’s gravity had been switched with the moon. All I could see was the look of terror on her face. Her cheekbones protruded from the outstretched lips, her nostrils, and corneas breathed heavily from suffocation, while the droplets of colourless sweat rolled down her pale face. “Leave me alone…” she pleaded. “Don’t take me… Don’t.” The gravel beneath her feet screeched with frantic crawls. The smell of broken sweat hung heavy in the midnight air. “Don’t…” Her cries began to fade. Almost as if she had given in; a hopeless acceptance. I wonder how she must have rejoiced in relief when I vanished once again into the inky night again. I assume she must have broken down into tears of joy and called her father to say she loved him. I assume… That it was for good that she met me. I assumed… or I wished.
It was not a new sight for me though. Not at all. At times, I even enjoyed those frantic screams. The ones where they knew they had no escape. Yet, pleaded as if they had forgotten the lives they led. It was always a beautiful sight to watch as the soul tried to crawl back into the husk that laid in front of me. As their plump skin grows pale from the fate they’ve encountered, it was a common sight to see the ignorant human being try to plead with the future he no longer possessed. It was not new; not at all. It was my duty… as it always will be. Yet, some days, sometimes, it hurts even me to see that the only look I could be confronted with is terror. Pure, unadulterated, powerless look of terror. How many lives have trembled in front of my barren feet? I do not remember. How many more? I hope not to answer. For I… was the Grim Reaper. The god of death, whom the humans so utterly hated.
“Reaper!” called Greed, when I returned back to the realm. He stunk of vile perfumes and was coloured like rotten moss. “Why do you try so hard to be involved in the human realm? Are you trying to get favours from Lord? Or… is it merely for pleasure?” He swirled his pointy tongue around his cracked lips. “I heard you almost got a plump-red human-girl last time.” His crackling fingers tapped on my shoulders. “Can you take me with you next time… Before you take the soul, I just want to…” He stopped. I stared. He took a step back. He laughed. “No need to be so serious… It was a joke; a joke!” he said. “Besides, all of us know what you’re really upto. It’s intriguing… The god of death trying to make friends. That too with humans. Who would even believe it?” His shrill laugh made new cracks over my bones. “To them, you’ll always be as UGLY.” He ventured back into the void he crawled out of. But not before giving his final remarks that, “Don’t forget that we are the ones of your kind. The only ones that will accept you.”
I didn’t want to be. Not in the million years I’ve lived. Not with Greed, Pride, Karma, and even with the Lord; I didn’t want to be associated with any of them. All they ever cared about was to bring misery to the lives of others. Not only to humans but to the gods even. They were all ugly… and I didn’t want to be. Yet… every single time I wander into the human realm, I’m reminded. By the shrill voices, pleas, and disgusted faces they all made. That I too am one of them.
Every time I walk through the streets of the earth. Wearing earthly clothes. Donned in earthly skin. Doing earthly activities. I see mothers hiding their children from me, and husbands the same with their wives. It was on such a grim day that I went to that coffee shop. It was titled, “A latte’ Lou.” whose meaning I didn’t decipher. As usual, the wait staff welcomed their customer in. A second later, they looked at my face and turned pale. I sat down on an empty table in the middle. All around me, suddenly, bred six more empty ones alas. I waited, and waited, and waited; still none of them dared. I heard some mothers hush their children silently. I heard the waitresses argue with each other violently. At last, they had decided. It was Juniper’s turn to be my sacrificial lamb. Shivering with each footstep, she ushered forward onto my metallic home.
“Wh… What– What will you have, sir?” she asked. Even her eyeballs trembled. She wore a tight orange shirt with an apron wrapped around the waist, just like all the other staff. Yet I could see the orange colour of her skin fading away, moment by moment, into pale white hollows.
“The usual,” I said. Just as the hundred other times I have repeated the same. Yet… even at the hundred and first visit, the little lambs trembled. Trembled all the way back to the counter. The silent murmurs continued. I could see a few familiar faces. The Banker Aaron, with his regular 11 AM coffee. The soccer mom of two, Lisa Ann, who wandered into the cafe unassumingly. And of course, old man Steve, with his scrawny looks, which outlasted my own, whom I would soon meet in the most unfortunate scenarios. All of them refused to lift their eyes towards my side. All of them except…
“Excuse me,” Marianne Thomas said. She had walked in through the doors while Juniper did her trembling dance. “May I join you?” Marianne wore an oversized, vibrant shirt with white pants, and a tepid white smile on her lips. Her sandals were each of different colours, and her walking stick belonged to a different dimension altogether. She wore black glasses to hide her eyes from the world she could not see. Her straight, white hair waved through the morning breeze as I assume she too had once waved through her life.
“Here?” I asked in shock. And looked around. There were six tables emptied around me. There were six more between me and the next human being. Yet Marianne showed no sign of doubt.
“Yes, if it would not be a problem, please,” she smiled. It was pretty. “I terribly dislike having my coffee alone. And I make it a point to have company while drinking it.” With care, she pulled out the chair and placed herself properly as she spoke. Her walking stick was rested to the table on the side. “It felt like the shop was completely empty, and that you were the only voice I could hear from the shop,” she added.
“Then, Marianne, I would love to have your company,” I said. Smiling. For the first time in my eternity? I do not remember.
“How do you know my name?” Marianne asked, perplexedly. Yet, with a curious smile on her unfaded lips.
“You look like a Marianne!” I joked. She persisted. “It’s also written on your stick,” I answered. She accepted. For she knew not that the Grim Reaper was a god. But neither did she know… that the Grim Reaper was across her heart.
Juniper materialized again. Still with trembling feet. But this time she had braver eyes. “Ma’am,” she called. “Would you like me to escort you to another seat?” Like a gentle saviour, she proposed.
“No, thank you, young lady,” Marianne said. “This gentleman is nice enough to accommodate me,” she added. “I would like a coffee with biscuits please.” Juniper vanished again, with the look of a failed hero in battle.
“The AC is high in here, isn’t it?” Marianne asked turning to where she thought I was. She hadn’t realised that the air was only colder where they sat, and that it was perfectly warm below the air conditioner vent. It was during her timid effort to warm herself that I realised how long her life had lasted. Saggy wrinkles were beginning to form on her bicep, just as they were on her forehead. She leisurely knelt her hand down to fetch her sweater. It too was a rainbow of orange. “Aren’t you cold, dear?” she asked in a motherly tone.
I shook myself stupidly, forgetting that she was unable to see. “No,” I repeated. “I’m not.”
“And what is your name? It is terribly boring to not know your name,” she inquired. Her smile never faded, not for a second. As she stared into the open abyss of where she thought my eyes were, she carefully listened to every breath I took, and all those around us.
“My name…” That was when I realised. What is my name? Aren’t gods born without their names? Or was it all a lie that the Lord told because he forgot them?
“Yes, dear. Your name,” she insisted.
“Grim-” I stopped. Juniper was still staring at our table from afar. There was a small fire lit in her trembling eyes. “Grimmjow,” I said.
“Grimmjow?” She sounded surprised. “That is a unique name. I’m jealous of you,” she joked. Marianne tried touching the table to find my arms. I lent it to her… hoping she would not cry. “My my!” she exclaimed. Her fingers ran up and down my bony armament. Then, without any warning, she leapt her hands to my face. I twitched. A second later, I settled. She was warm. Warmer than Hades’ home. Warmer than Wrath’s destruction. Than Lust’s temptations. “My dear, you are terribly weak,” she said; still caressing my humanly cheekbones. “Do you not eat properly? Do you not take care of your health?” She asked. There was as much ferocity within her questions as there was care. “Your skin is ice cold. I can practically count all your bones. What sort of behaviour is this?” she asked.
I chuckled. Which turned into a laugh. Which turned into a smile. Marianne was unsatisfied.
“I am being serious,” she commanded.
“I will take care of myself from now on,” I replied, holding the back of her palm in mine.
“Good… And you will give me your contact before we part ways. I will call you once a week to get a status report,” Marianne boomed. Her raspy laugh echoed throughout the cafe. It must have been medicinal. For the ones sitting in the corner, also joined in with a chuckle.
“So, tell me about yourself,” I asked Marianne. Not to re-learn what I already know; but to hear it from her own words. As my information would serve, Marianne was a mother of two, both of whom live far away. Widowed. Loves baking. Always ends up burning it. She could see till the age of 22. Her blindness completely took over at 26. She studied music till her eyes left herself. She turned to singing once they went completely. Marianne was part of four clubs till her forties. Now she’s the head of the Senior Blind Association. She once caught a fly with just her fingers; which, she claims is her biggest achievement. But secretly she always considered raising her daughter the biggest one. Marianne likes pancakes with a side of blueberry jam. She likes coffee; just as much alone as she likes it with company. She lies rarely, and when she does, it is to make another smile. Marianne is not afraid of death. She looks forward to being reunited with her Hershall. Her daughter visits often on the weekends. Her son is in a faraway land and visits once a year. He brings about Swiss chocolates; which she secretly enjoys, but won’t admit. And finally, she has a dog named Mee. A savvy little pup who gets way too much attention from her in my personal opinion.
“You are a good listener,” she announced at the very end. Meanwhile, she had clasped her hands over mine, warming it as much as she thought possible. Indeed she did; for the cold air around us also vapourized into the atmosphere. Leaving behind traces of what once was… a cold climate.
Every ten minutes of Marianne’s storytelling, Juniper crossed our table. Sometimes interrupting the presentation with coffee and biscuits, other times with queries of further orders. On the third time, Marianne insisted on buying me garlic bread, which Juniper jotted down reluctantly.
“Now tell me… who are you?” she asked.
I froze. The warm air vanished. The skies above the roof closed into an overcast dimension. Who am I? I asked myself. The empty void in my chest provided no answer; but only echoes of the same unending question.
“I — ” I stuttered. “I… don’t know how to answer that,” I replied shamefully. Soothing that she could not see my hung-down head.
Marianne gently rose from her seat. Her coffee had been emptied by the time I took to answer her question. She trodded herself to my side of the table, carefully aligning herself to the edge of the same. Her hands once again fell on my cheekbones and raised me from the chair altogether. “It’s okay,” she said. There was a tepid smile on her face. It was warm and had all the love she could never give me. “I understand what you feel. Probably more than anyone. That feeling of not knowing oneself. Not knowing where you are supposed to go in life. Trust me. No one really knows. Even the ones that think they know, they don’t. Life is unpredictable. Unnarratable. And worst of all unfair. But… what I learned after losing my eyes 40 years ago is… that no matter what happens in this small time we’re alive on this blue rock, we can live and prosper. All you need… is belief, a smile that never fades, grit so hard that it breaks granite, and a few good friends who keeps pushing you on.” She gently caressed the top of my head. “Now, as for the first three things… that’s your duty. But I trust in you to make it happen. And as for friends… I think you got the best one… Me!” She exclaimed, and laughed again for another full minute. “So… Grimm, don’t be so worried and…” she pulled my bony cheeks from side to side. “And smile… Because you are a kind soul.”
I listened. To all the stories she deduced about me. Of course, it was not real… For I would never be human. But… If I was, I would have cried. Maybe that is why, my human skin too wept in her arms. Yet I was curious, about her final declaration. Curious as to how she reached that conclusion. Ugly, terrifying, horror-reincarnated, death, and end, were the names I was used to hearing myself portrayed as. Kind… was never one of them. Thus I asked the old soul in front of me, “How? How do you know I’m that?” I kept my hands over hers so that she would not freeze to the tears of the Lord’s creation. “How?” I repeated.
Marianne smiled gently and replied with her motherly allure, “It is because I am blind. And my dear… no one sees the world clearer than the ones who lost the ability to see.”
It was at that moment that I was perplexed. For she was the only friend I had in my eternity. The only one I will have for another. Yet… As we parted ways, some fraction of me wished, wished adamantly to the Lord of creations. To let Marianne not meet me again… Not for the final time. Not for my eternal duty. For the god of death would be powerless against her smile. For he shall perish before it does, into dust.
