[ WP ] Death is looking for you , but you try to convince Death that you are not the person Death is searching for .

I never thought that Death would take a physical form, let alone of a forty-something-year-old, morbidly obese man who looked like he spent just a little too much time in the office. He was already balding, and what remained of his hair was thin and peppered with grey. To be honest it was anticlimactic, and the thought of this being the image that took me to the afterlife was borderline offensive. 
 
 
 
 We sat at my kitchen table, lights off, in awkward silence. He ’ d been here almost an hour now, and insisted that he wouldn ’ t leave without me. But I, like most people, wasn ’ t quite ready to go. So I decided to be difficult. At first I tried fleeing my apartment, but that was short-lived; somehow he was able to lock my doors and windows at the first sign of resistance. So being the civil gentleman I was, and knowing how improbable it was for me to overpower Death, itself, I offered for him to sit down for some coffee and offered a small bowl of fruit as a centerpiece. 
 
 
 
 So here we were. 
 
 
 
 After his first sip, he sputtered and cursed, “ This is shit water. ” 
 
 
 
 “ You know, I think under the circumstances, I did pretty good. ” 
 
 
 
 Death placed his mug back on the table and heaved a sigh. “ Well, hopefully you have a backup plan for you backup, because this isn ’ t winning you any points. ” 
 
 
 
 Despite his critique I took a sip from my own mug, and had a similar reaction. Whatever abomination I ’ d concocted, it certainly wasn ’ t even a distant relative of coffee. My taste buds were sobbing, my stomach churning. “ Yeah, ” I admitted between coughs, “ this is pretty awful. ” 
 
 
 
 I looked across the table and was taken aback. Death wasn ’ t the generic office worker anymore; now my guest was a young dark-skinned woman in her twenties with heavy bruises around her neck. But Death continued on as if nothing was different, despite his voice raising about three octaves higher. “ Got anything else for me? ” 
 
 
 
 For a while, I just sat and stared at her awkwardly, biting the inside of my cheek. I sifted through my mind for any more ideas, but was coming up short. “ Not unless I can bet my life on a quick game of poker. ” 
 
 
 
 A wrinkled old man slowly shook his head, and I found myself hypnotized by the immense size of the liver spots that covered his face. It was beautifully disgusting. “ No, ” Death answered, “ I don ’ t think I have much time for that. I have a queue lining up here, as you can tell. ” 
 
 
 
 I had to ask, “ Jesus, how old is he? Eighty? ” 
 
 
 
 Death looked down to himself with a raised brow, inspecting his newest form. “ Nope, ninety-nine. ” 
 
 
 
 “ Wow, he almost made it. ” 
 
 
 
 “ Yep. It ’ s a shame. ” 
 
 
 
 We sat there for a few minutes more, and as time passed I grew more confident in the fact that there was no way out of this. I highly doubted those other strangers had a choice. What made me special? But still, the stubbornness that came with my youth held strong; it wouldn ’ t hurt trying something else. Especially since Death was already behind schedule. What was a few minutes more? 
 
 
 
 In a series of quick flashes, several different children appeared before me, many of them with prominent head and neck injuries. Death stopped as a chubby middle-aged woman who looked like the type to own fifty cats, and I watched as he shivered. “ Bus accident. ” 
 
 
 
 “ It ’ s a shitty world out there. ” 
 
 
 
 Death looked prepared to take another casual sip of his coffee—but shortly afterwards set the mug back down when he must have remembered what was in it. “ Sure is. Ready to leave it? ” 
 
 
 
 Then Death became a strange, gangly young man with too many freckles to count. His hair was uncombed, his glasses were dirty, and all he donned was a pair of old checkered boxers— “ Oh, ” I looked down at my own checkered boxers. “ You don ’ t say. ” 
 
 
 
 I stood, removed my glasses, and then sauntered my way across the kitchen to grab my eye patch from yesterday ’ s National Talk Like a Pirate Date celebration at the office. I slid it onto my face, turned around, and gave an animated shrug. “ Look at that. You got the wrong guy, matey! I ’ m Captain Dan, the Desperate Man— “ 
 
 
 
 Death was now wearing an eye patch. 
 
 
 
 “ Well fuck me, ” I muttered. 
 
 
 
 I watched as mirror me rose to his feet, offered a smile of condolences, and walked my way while offering his hand. “ Time to go, Captain Dan. ” 
 
 
 
 “ Aye. ”
