You are Death.
You remember when the sun sparked into existence. You remember the first lifeforms of the universe, and you remember its last. You remember the span of time and the span of space like it was yesterday (or was it tomorrow?), and you remember the face of every human being you have ever lead, snatched, or followed into the great oblivion beyond. History is tied to you irreparably. You know it, all of it, like the back of your hand; in a way, it is. You have brought the greatest men to their knees and the smallest souls to their feet. You are the universe, in that you are infinite and all-pervasive and encompass it whole, never coming to a true end.
You are Death.
You did not know that you could be fired.
*****
Sitting politely in the uncomfortable plastic chair, you stare silently at your replacement. Irony does not suit you—years of being its closest embodiment has rendered you incapable of understanding its effect. Being the butt of a joke is new to you. Luckily for you, you have had the eternity that is five minutes of someone awkwardly shuffling papers to think long and hard on this new feeling, and you have come to the conclusion that you maybe hate it, just a little.
Reveling in this newfound sympathy for humankind, you don’t notice the first time your replacement coughs in nervous interruption. They have to do it again before you shuffle back in your seat and resume your staring contest.
“Our biggest goal is to keep the transition period as smooth as possible,” they say, pulling out a sheet and placing it respectfully in front of you. They have been talking like this despite your pointed silence for over an hour, often repeating strange phrases like pension, retirement, and bucket lists that you know and want to know nothing of.
Despite this, the reality of what’s happening doesn’t sink in until they usher you, gentle as always, out of your own door.
You are Death, and you are out of a job.
*****
It has been 4 hours, 23 minutes, and 19 seconds since you were “let go” as the humans now call it. You have experienced another enlightenment; unemployment sucks. Wandering the streets of a city you certainly know and don’t care enough to remember, you attempt to get used to the horror of being released into the world unprepared.
Somehow, you find yourself sitting in what you think might be a public park—there’s a bench (for sitting, which you have done), and a large grassy lawn. A multitude of humans meander around the area, doing human things like talking and running and spilling little pretzel crumbs on the sidewalk very, very sadly. You think the sun is shining, but the unfamiliar warmth makes you itch.
Being a practical sort of person, however, you get over it and walk to the pretzel stall supplying the sad crumb-spillers. At least, you think it’s a pretzel stall—to be completely honest, you have never been entirely sure what a pretzel is. It sounds nice, though.
You are observing the pretzels—there are different types, how entertaining—when you feel their presence. Turning around sharply, you find yourself correct; your replacement is waiting behind you in line, as awkward as they had been just a couple of hours before.
You stare at them. They stare back. This time they’ve inhabited the body of what seems to be a small child—wide eyed and brown-skinned with messy little pigtails that spring out of their head with wild abandon.
“You forgot this,” they say around the little thumb lodged solidly in their mouth.
“What?”
“Your body,” they say patiently. “You forgot it. It was in the contract, remember? Your pension plan.”
Guiltily, you find that you do remember that part of the conversation—remember not paying attention to it, anyway. “What am I meant to do with it?” you ask, desperate without meaning to be. Around you, humans stream in every direction. “It’s so—” You fumble, at a loss for words. “New.”
Your replacement goes silent, pulling their thumb out of their mouth with a small pop.
“I know,” they say after a moment, almost shy. “I thought it’d be a nice change of pace.”
You don’t know how long the two of you stand there together, but, eventually, you nod.
*****
You are Alive.
