“A Deal Concerning Death”
Posted on 28. Nov, 2009 by New Forum in Fiction, New Forum
A Deal Concerning Death
By Daniel Tozier
So we made this bet, him and I, that whoever died first had to go up to the devil and ask him if his refrigerator was running. You see, we would have done this in our current life, but we weren’t sure of the Devil’s phone number and the operator only hung up on us when we asked. I think she thought us to be making a prank call on her expense.
She flatters herself; we have bigger fish to fry.
So anyways, I die first. We’re climbing an old oak tree which arches over the river. The branch breaks, the water splashes, and I quickly learn how important oxygen is to the ongoing beating of my heart.
When I was on Earth I was always hearing people ask what death would be like. Eating cake, I would tell them. Dying is a lot like eating a cake. That way when they actually did die they would be immensely disappointed when it was not at all like eating a cake, but rather much more painful. We would meet up in the afterlife and I would ask with a grin, “So… how was the cake?” And they would flip me the bird and walk away.
But I digress.
So then I see him through the burning smoke, the head honcho himself.
The Devil.
Lucifer.
The Morning Star.
He needs no introduction.
I walk over and strain my neck to look him straight in the eyes but before I can speak his words come out like a passing train.
“You are here to pay for your sins and trespasses.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, “But do you know… if your refrigerator is running?”
“I will infest your brain with flesh eating worms, and replace your blood with boiling acid”
The joke is lost. The timing, totally thrown off. I don’t bother with the punch line but he hardly seems to notice. Instead I wonder if the acid really needs to be boiling.
A refrigerator runs past us.
“Is that yours?” I ask, hoping to reprise my joke.
“No. That’s a man I turned into a refrigerator for a thousand years.”
“Oh”
“He was a glutton.”
“Okay… oh I get it, very clever.”
“Yeah, thanks”
There’s a moment of awkward silence as Satan quietly fingers the point of a hanging stalagmite, checking to make sure the point is still sharp enough. Suddenly I feel in my lungs, not acid or worms, but a sudden blast of air. Then pushing on my chest, followed by more air. He had said he knew CPR, but I didn’t believe him. I’ve never been so glad to be so wrong.
“Well, I’m outta here,” I say to Satan as my heart catches a pulse.
“The hell you are,” he shouts back. Before I can throw him a pity laugh I see a flash of light and feel a rush of cold air, followed by a strange, quiet warmth. I am laying on the bank of the river and open my eyes to see my friend looking down on me.
“So did you ask him?”
“Yeah,” I reply, slowly sitting up.
“And?”
“The Prince of Darkness has a poor sense of humor.”
“Go figure.”
I get to my feet and brush the dead leaves off my wet T-shirt. “Let’s get out of here. I’m freezing,” I say. The sun is already setting and I wonder how long I was dead for. The I wonder how long my friend let me float face down in the river before fishing me out.
We’re just about home when he turns to me and asks, “Hey, so what’s dying like?”
“Cake,” I reply, “It’s a lot like eating cake.”
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