Well I'll be doing that, but first I gotta share it with those who take time to follow creations.
Legal: The short story below is my own creation, any resemblance to character's living or dead is purely coincidental. The following short story is an original creation by me (Sean Ropp), and is my intellectual property. No distribution my legally occur without my expressed consent.
~~~~
Death is a Bugger
By: Sean Ropp (03/20/2019)
He heaved out a
heavy sigh. The reflection in the
bathroom mirror was not one that inspire confidence. Another sigh escaped as he
examined the paunch that was his gut which seemed larger than it had been the
other day. It must have been his imagination.
His hand strayed up to the goose egg of a scar on his chest and rubbed
at it. It felt like something was
growing, painfully, under the skin. He had taken a shower and strayed away to
give the room time to clear of steam, but the self-examination only made him
wish that the mirror was still obscured.
He remembered how
he acquired the scar, a mishap of his youth involving his old dog, a squirrel,
and not being ready for just how strong and determined that dog had been to get
its quarry. She had dragged him for a
few short feet through the gravel of the alley they ventured down. These days alley ways were often paved, but
twenty some years ago you got dirt and sharpened gravel instead. His shirt, torn, bloodied from the scrapes and
cuts, while that one spot on his chest had been the lucky recipient of its very
own souvenir to take home.
Glancing down and
opening a drawer, he pulled out a tube of hydrocortisone cream. Maybe if he had gone to the hospital to get
it cleaned out properly back then it wouldn’t be giving him problems now. He squeezed out a dab of the cream like
toothpaste on a couple of fingers and immediately massaged it in, grateful for
the relief it would eventually bring. Of
course, the dark pink scar was not egg shaped, but more like a guitar shape.
Well from a certain point of view it looked like one.
Once thin and fit,
a soldier in the U.S. Army, he hardly looked the cut of a soldier now. Exercising wasn’t something he ever enjoyed
and seeing how he worked in an office as a security consultant he found excuses
to not stay fit. At least he had the day
off, plenty of time to sulk and lament upon the long lost six pack. He also needed to go get groceries, and the
sunny day meant shelving the lamentations for later. With his attention focused on the scar as he
applied another dab of ointment, he was only faintly aware of the barely open door
behind him swinging in further as someone entered. He was home alone, and his wife should not be
off work for another six hours.
He turned, the man
he faced looked almost like himself, save for a few distinctions. His doppelganger was dressed in mostly
tight-fitting clothing that accented his muscular physique. The face, so much like his own, differed in
that a long scar curved across from the corner of his upper lip to just below
the corner of his left eye. His eyes
drifted down now to what the man had leveled at him, an odd pistol.
“What the hell?” Was all he got out as his twin pulled the
trigger.
~~~~
His senses burst with the pain of a
red-hot needle jamming through his chest!
Dimly aware from the flare of pain, he noticed the weapon emitted only a
high pitch screech with greenish-white light.
There was no recoil for the pistol, and the impact did not shove him
back like a bullet impact would. Smoke
curled up to fill his nose with a scent of something akin to cooked pork and beef
with a heavy overlaying charcoal scent.
His
eyes drifted down and looked at the small smoking hole that had been punched
through him, through his scar. “I just
put ointment on that.” He found himself
saying as the strength poured from his body as if someone had just cut the
bottom off a balloon to let all the air out.
He crumpled and sagged against the towel rack, ripping pulling towels
and it down with him. His mind reeled,
color drained from him, and his thoughts drifted to his wife. She would come home to find him like this! Damn, he forgot the flush the toilet! He never flushed when he was done since the
scar had pained him at that necessary point.
Why was he not more worried for his wife?
Casually,
his assassin turned his attention to the ointment that was laying on the floor
from where it fell. He picked it up and
examined it. Then tucking the pistol
under an arm, he turned his attention to the mirror and began to apply cream to
the ugly scar that ran across his face.
Maybe where ever he was from, they didn’t have any hydrocortisone
cream. Maybe what was there required
violent conflicts in order to get just a bit, and this poor schlep just did not
know better.
His
right hand flailed uselessly at the wound.
The killer regarded him a new as his vision was starting to fade
now. With a sighed the pistol was
leveled at his head. He said something,
about his wife, the toilet maybe? It was
impossible to say as his mind was blistering with pain and lack of focus.
The
doppelganger nodded silently after a moment of contemplation, he was agreeing
to something. He turned, reached, and
flushed the toilet. Once more the pistol came up, and instantly turned to black
in what was all but the breadth of a hair of time.
In a place far
removed from any mortal existence, someone cursed, and slammed a pair of bony
hands down on a keyboard. “Bugger it! I should have seen that coming!” The being said. With a sigh he hammered away at the keyboard
for a few moments, correcting the mistakes that had been made with his
outburst. Only these bits could be
changed, everything else, however, was set in stone once put down.
Black robes, robes
that seemed to be alive and made from writhing shadows and darkness seemed to
react to his mood, rippling with his irritation. He finished his work in what one would
perceive to be only a few seconds, he stood and was also no longer there in the
next moment.
Two other hooded
heads poked up from over a wall, seeing him go.
They looked at each other then they too were no longer there.
Most people believe
that when you die you see a bright light, pearly gates, a black sand desert,
flames, pits of agony, and other colorful scenes. The man saw only darkness. The pain was gone, and he felt like he was as
light as a feather, solid, and yet not wanting to scream and lament upon what
was just stolen from him.
~~~~
“This is most inconvenient.” A voice said after what felt like an hour of
being adrift in this sea cool of darkness.
Wait, a voice, but he was dead?
The voice was deep, masculine, and seemed to echo from everywhere in a
manner that made his teeth – if he had teeth – want to vibrate. It was a tone of voice that seemed to come
with a feeling of ‘foreboding’ and was impossible to ignore. “Open
your eyes already, we must get on with it.”
The man opened his
eyes, and he was not sure just how he had, the sensation was different. He was also standing, or floating, (it was
hard to say which), and his body was gone.
Well the flesh and blood one was gone, his current one had a translucent
nature to itself, easy to notice when he looked down at himself. The bathroom was still there, but was it his
imagination or did it seem bigger now?
This was oddly the first thing he noticed; the second thing being the
apparition that stood before him. Its
swirling black cloak had a hood pulled over a human skull that
was…frowning. Present in the skeletal
beings’ hands was a scythe that seemed like some sort of impossibly ornate
reaping scythe, beautiful to behold, but frightening beyond comprehension as
well.
How could a skull
frown? He thought, and the eyes, no eye
balls, but those eyes that bore into him were like two brilliant distant stars
that cut through the darkness of the sockets they sat in, unsettling him more
than a skull that could frown.
“This is inconvenient, and I should have seen
it coming – BUGGER IT! Everyone has an
appointed date, and now its all buggered up!
The paperwork alone…” The
being said trailing off in his own lamentations. This Death was not as he had been expecting.
“Sorry, but I was
the one shot!” The man said
heatedly. “Bit more inconvenient for me
I’d say.”
Death looked
around and slumped his shoulders. “And he’s gone too, that would figure. He’s outside of our providence after all.” Death regarded him now. “John
Anderson, I do apologize for the unscheduled death. You will receive compensation for this
inconvenience.”
He wanted to rage
and scream, and while there was a feeling of anger, irritation, and even
sadness it was not the over powering emotion he would have once felt, like he
could easily express, control, or just dismiss them if he wanted to.
“I feel like I
should be screaming, and I’m not, why?”
John asked.
“You no longer possess a body. Thus, you no
longer possess glands and their chemicals that impose uncontrolled emotional
outbursts in you humans while you live.”
Death explained.
Odd as it was, he
processed this in mere moments, and accepted it. An odd sense of logic, or untapped mental
potential was starting to settle into his mind.
It was like he could make use of that mythical one hundred percent of
his mental capabilities. Although he
knew that such claims had long been refuted, he could not help but feel that
maybe, just maybe, with the trappings of life gone, all that mental power could
now be put to the full use people thought possible. And with this understanding came a question
he wanted answered – why him? Then
another, why had he been killed, and then who the hell was that duplicate of
himself?
~~~~
Death sighed
helplessly. “You can’t imagine the trouble this is.
And we all got the memo! I’m such
a fool. At least I haven’t-“ He started, but was cut off as another Death
suddenly was there like he/it, had always been there. A flash of motion and its scythe was imbedded
into the chest of his Death!
“OH BUGGER!” His Death bellowed helplessly as he suddenly
dissipated in swirls of shadow and darkness that was almost like smoke.
This new Death
looked the same as the previous one, though the presence it seemed to exude was
decidedly different, almost inquisitive.
“Hey now, why’d you kill him?”
John asked.
Death number two,
regarded the room intently. As it did
so, it spoke to John presenting a male persona like his original Death, though
he noted a British accent to Death’s voice.
“It was necessary, though you are
foolish to assume that your Death is dead.
I simply forced his return. Now
then, I require the input for which I can make sticky grey earth into square
blocks.”
Another Death now
appeared and looked about in a flustered manner for a moment before regarding
number two. “No sign of the blighter.”
Death number three said. “He’s scarpered like the others.” This Death also had the same decidedly
British mannerism as well, though like number two he exuded his own differing
presence.
“Umm, could one of
you explain to me what’s going on? I
mean, I was just killed by myself after all.”
John asked, not holding the irritation completely out of his voice.
The two looked at
each other then back at John. “Your inquiry is understandable.” Death number two started. “There
exists an infinite number of probable possibilities of realities that is known
in human terms as the multiverse. A
quantum disruption of the reality matix has occurred within the possibility continuum
that has resulted in the unexpected expirations of too many mortal beings
before their ascribed time.”
The response John
gave was a look of utter confusion.
Death number three sighed and swatted his companion on the
shoulder. “That’s not answering his question.”
He said pointedly.
“But it did. It is not his fault that he
cannot facility an understanding of what he is adjoined to.” Death two said.
Death three moved
a bit closer to John, again those eyes bore into him, though not in an unkind
way he felt. “Some persons have broken across the boundaries of realities. They are
killing variations of themselves as they go.
You my friend are another unfortunate victim in all this.”
It was strange, he
became aware that the robes of these two weren’t really robes. Both seemed to be wearing some sort of suit,
with number three having an old-fashioned bowler hat on while number two seemed
to be wearing two baseball caps, one facing forward and the other backwards.
Death three
continued on. “To what end this will all play out is what my associate and I are
aiming to learn.”
Number two seemed to
smile, as disturbing as it was to see, and his starry eyes twinkled. “The
game is a body part with which one walks with.” He intoned.
~~~~
“You mean a
foot?” John asked.
Death two
nodded. “Indeed, that is the appendage.”
John sighed in
frustration and stalked about the limited space. “This is all well and good, but what am I
supposed to do? Do I get a mulligan, or do I get to join in on this hunt? You’re the damn experts, guides for the
departed and all that. Well guide me!”
He said bitterly and gesturing to the two of them.
The two were
silent, looking at each other as if in some sort of silent communication. John’s hand drifted to the scar on his chest,
and oddly found it there – well with a hole now added into it. It hadn’t itched or hurt but an odd
compulsion had gripped him to rub at it.
He really took stock of his appearance now since his two companions were
otherwise engaged. The flab of his past self was gone and now he physically
seemed to be as how he had been in his prime.
Well this was certainly proof that dying was the ultimate weight loss
program.
“You wish to help?” Death two asked.
“Damn right I do,
if that’s even possible.” John said,
pulling his attention back from his altered physique.
“Sorry boys, but this is all taking too long
and we need to get this darling moving along.” She said. The voice seemed like that of a southern woman,
but there was an underlying quality to it as well that gave the impression that
a subtle shift in tone could pitch the voice to being more male, or far more
distinctly as a female than as how her presence seemed to convey. More over the voice lacked that ‘from
everywhere’ quality that the others were all using.
“Our palaver is not done.” Number two, or…Holms as John was distinctly
starting to think of him as, said. “He may be of use to us.” The Holms Death said, his voice also seemed
to draw back, sounding more normal like that of Death four.
“Well done or not, love, he has to move
along. It’s not like you’re in a big
hurry after all. Let’s get him squared
away like the others and we’ll see if this darling can get approved to help.” Death four said.
Death three, and
if he was going to call the one Holms why not this one Watson, spoke up. “She is
right Death, we can afford to wait. It’s
not as if time were meaningful to us.”
Time not meaning
full, then why not just go back to before I died and put a stop to this whole
mess? John thought heatedly but stayed
his tongue. Lash out could be a mistake
with these three, especially since he did not know what would happen if he did.
~~~~
Number four
gestured at him. “Come along now, lets get you to your desk.”
He followed her
out of the doorway, stepping through a wall of darkness that gave way to
blinding light. When his sight returned
a moment later, he was standing amidst cubicles. John glanced around and behind him. In all directions for as far as he could
perceive there stretched endless rows of cubicles. It was like looking upon the
ocean and seeing it stretch out to the horizon.
“Welcome to the bureaucracy of the
hereafter. Don’t worry sugar, we’ll get
you orientated.” She said in a
mater-of-fact tone and welcoming gesture.
John looked and around
to see into the cubicles around him, or at least some of them. The cubicles were larger than a typical one
he’d seen and used in offices. And ones
that he could not see into were obscured by some sort of thick fog. In the other cubicles, Deaths like the one he
had first met, typed away at computers.
Little to no decorations were present in them, though one had a pair of
crystal vases with one live flower in one and a dead one in another. There was even a ‘hang in there’ cat poster
in another cube.
Death took him by
the shoulder and started to walk him along, her touch was unsettling on his
shoulder, and he noticed that he was no longer translucent. “I know
that your hurt, confused, and want your life back – but that can’t happen
honey.” She said. Her mannerisms reminded him of a woman he
once knew, Darlene had been her name, and the name he quickly applied to this
new Death.
“Now each Death is a fragment of the big
boss, the Death of all things.” She
started. “The boss found the work tedious to go and reap every blade of grass,
insect, tree, so on and so on. So, it
created fragments of itself, and set them to all things that live. We’re each our own Death, but under it all we
are the original Death as well.”
They walked for a
time, he spoke briefly of his naming of them (which amused her), and she took far
longer to explain things. Breaking it down, first and again, he wasn’t the only
victim in this. Second, he would, like
all who die, get his own cubicle and computer.
Oh, he would be compensated for cosmic mishap, but there would be no
returning to life – unless he wanted to roll the dice on reincarnation. Each Death also did not have issues with
names like mortals did, even if they were all Death. Inflection and mental
awareness of whom they were talking about was easily conveyed to another Death,
much like having a name of a mortal. But
she understood his imposition in this.
“You’re not the only one confused by this,
though you’re the first that Holms and Watson, as you call them, has taken an
interest in. Maybe it’s because this
time they were close to one of the rule breakers.” She said as the continued upon their long and
uneventful walk.
There was a sudden
loud ‘THUMP’ followed by a Death standing up abruptly from one of the
cubicles. “You bastard!” She yelled,
still direct and no hint of the resounding voice that the first three used.
~~~~
From an adjoining
cubicle another Death stood and held up its bone hands as if to ward her
off. “Don’t blame me, he’s the bastard.”
He said, and John noticed that the voice and demeanor of this death was
like one would assume a weaselly used car dealer to have.
“Oh, don’t hand me that, you could have
interceded and filled out the proper form before he killed her. Its not like you owe me one or anything like
that!” She said. With a gesture the scythe appeared, and she
faded away. A lingering “bastard” hung in the air.
He stopped
walking, and Darlene stopped as well.
“Hey, listen this is all interesting, but I want to help get this
guy. I mean there has to be something I
can do to help.” He said.
Darlene placed a
hand along her chin and seemed to think about this for a moment before shaking
her head. Suddenly they were no longer
in the endless field of cubicles, but in a simple office like one he used to
work in. He shook his head in
disorientation as she opened a file on her desk, not having moved at all to get
it from the filing cabinets from what he could perceive. Not there one moment,
there the next.
“Well there has been a president for it
before…but the paper work is staggering sugar.” She said as she flipped through the
file. “As helpful as you could be, it would be impossible for you to help
right now.”
He was about to
protest when she held up a hand, stopping him.
“You’re mortal and know nothing of
how things work here. Yes, you have
knowledge and skill, but you’re not the first or only victim in this
hoopla. And you’re…fresh, too fresh to
help.”
John’s hand again
drifted unbidden to the scar, rubbing at it as he fumed inwardly. There had to be a way to help! He may have been some fat guy in life, but he
was never one to sit on the side and let others do work he could do. There had to be something, anything he could
do; a way to return to his life!
Suddenly they were
back amongst the cubicles. If he had a
stomach he would have vomited, instead there was only a disorientation like
before. “Could…could you not do that
again…please.” He said queasily.
“Sorry, I don’t get a lot of customer
interaction, so to speak. We’re at your
stop anyway.” She said.
~~~~
John looked at the
cubicle, a black computer, monitor and its accompanying gadgets waited for him
in the other wise sparse cubicle. Her
turned back quickly to Darlene. “Listen,
I can help, I just want my life back, that’s all. I’ll do anything to help stop all this! Please, there has to be a way!” He said, desperation coming too readably to
his voice though he had tried to repress it.
Darlene favored
him with a sympathetic look, if a skull could look sympathetic. “Just
how do you think you can help?” She
asked and waited a moment for him to respond.
When he didn’t, she continued. “Tracking these incursions is like tracking
white cats in a blizzard while blindfolded.
We don’t see it happen until we have it put down. Death, I mean Holms, believes he sees a
pattern. I think he’s full of himself. You are new, you have had only what I’ve told
you to learn from and even that is a drop in the bucket of what you would need
to know to help.”
She moved him into
the cubicle and pressed him down into the seat that hadn’t been there a moment
ago. He felt what hope he had been
clinging to eb away. Then he caught his
emotions, she hadn’t explicitly said no to him helping at all. No, he was new here and if there was one
thing you always did with new people you hired on, (or planed too), it was to give
them an orientation. You didn’t just
say, ‘Hi I know you’re new here, but I need the Smith report done by Thursday,
oh and I need you to come in on Saturday, the Jones account needs some
attention. So, I’ll just put you down
for the whole weekend then, great. See
you around slugger.’
His mind kicked up
to speed and all that processing power that was now at his disposal came to
bear on his dilemma. John was right in
his assumption, he had to be. His new
existence had rules that he was ignorant of, but there was a chance to join in
somehow. He glanced to the computer and
found that it was already on, and the screen and operating system was like that
of a standard Windows PC, and open on that screen was a PDF file. Its title read:
‘So, you died early.
What you need to know and what happens next.’
Glancing back, Darlene
Death was gone. She may not have been a
people person, but none of the Deaths were he thought. Holms and Watson Death were likely not as
sharp as they thought themselves to be, in that he agreed with Darlene. John pursed his lips and bent over the
keyboard and mouse. Unbidden the quote
that Holms Death had screwed up flowed into his mind, ‘Data! Data! Data! I cannot
make bricks without clay.’
Indeed, there were
bricks to be baked here, and an infinite number of Deaths who were too
self-absorbed, such as the other two Deaths (Eve and Adam as he could consider
them), that they would not see the iceberg until they hit it! The clarity, the lines of logical detail that
he was thinking across were so succinct that he wondered where they had been
all his life!
“Your mind was
busy operating a sack of meat and glands.”
He said mostly to himself, and he laughed. With a shake of his head and renewed hope, of
a sort, he tucked into this orientation document. He doubted he was alone in this task, but
he’d be damned if he didn’t try something.
Every journey began with a step.
Absentmindedly, his
hand drifted up and rubbed at the scar that was ever present on his chest. Unknowingly, across a spectrum of infinite
cubicles, amongst the living in an unending expanse of all probabilities and
possibilities, others who bore the same, or at least a similar scar – all
rubbed at theirs as well. And somewhere,
another Death, or maybe it was the same one, yelled “Bugger it!”
Copyright: "Death is a Bugger" Sean Ropp 2019
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