Nothing is quite like those first, bone-thuddingly loud steps onto a barren stage. The lighting is dim, the crowd quiet, and according to the banshee that had helped with my makeup, I look drop-dead gorgeous. Or was it dreadfully gory? Either way, she had known what to say to ease the tension in my bones.
I’m dressed in my best. The sort of attire that I only wore to make a statement. It flows at the hem like an evening gown, while the fitted front flares out into a bone-white suit’s lapel. It’s a far cry from the black robe and cowl I would’ve worn a millennium ago. Of course, there is a hood, soft satin, bespeckled in rhinestones, but I don’t wear it up. Not yet, wouldn’t want to hide my cheekbones after all.
Thousands and thousands of soulless, hollow sockets stare back at me, tracking my movement across the stage to the podium. Behind me, a screen much larger than I am flaring brightly to life and my shadow stretches long and dark over the attendees. There are familiar faces in the crowd, and many, many new ones.
“Death,” I say softly. My voice projects, though not through the microphone attached to the podium. “Is for the living.”
I exhale and lock a stare with Cat, Lady Catrina, to those who aren’t close to her. She, and her underlings, are a bright, festive island in the sea of darkness.
The screen flashes through countless lives, tracking Tim Donahugh from birth to death, then Alice Walker, then Aki Chen, Tyrese Gibbs, and so many more. Birth to death. Tears to tears, but also smiles to smiles at times. Not all of the lives flashing are pleasant, but neither are all the deaths terrible.
“Why then, is living also only for the living?” I step away from the podium and stalk across the stage. “I’m here to tell you why it’s not. Why we can, and should, find work-afterlife balance. And I truly mean that.”
A few chuckles. A clap or two. The silence that swallows them is like a blanket made of shadow, heavy and impenetrable. Many an ancient saying has been crafted by men and women who have had conversations with one of our kind. ‘There is nothing to fear, but fear itself.’ A popular phrase to be sure, but one spoken by a fool who hadn’t met Him at the time of the utterance.
I notice Him in the back. If I had skin, there would be bumps. If I had a heart, it would be racing. If I was alive, I would likely drop dead right there.
I snap and stage lights, red and blue, shine down from the vaulted ceiling. Each a spotlight creating a purple haze of fog between them where I stand.
“Humans have stopped fearing death. Some might deny it, but the truth is irrefutable. And I can stand up here for the next fifteen minutes and sputter about the numbers, graphs, data, and so on, but we have enough of that sort of thing already, don’t we?”
Another snap turns off the blue light, leaving me painted red. Despite my modern look and form-fitted gown clinging tight to my slim frame, I can imagine the effect is as ghastly as it was intended to be based on the gasps from the crowd. I look downright wicked and they love it. More claps sound for this than for the opening point and I let the applause take indulgent bites from my remaining time.
“No, I’m not here today to show you graphs you can look up on your own, or results you can see just by watching humans. I’m here to tell you how we can stop being afraid to live!” A thousand lives pass behind me every second, a thousand people fearing or accepting their death.
A loud clink echoes through the silent auditorium as the red light trades with the blue. I pace to the other side of the stage, the light following me as I draw my hood up, sparkling gems weighing heavy on my skull.
The back left side of the room is dark and oppressive but my gaze is drawn there over and over again. He hasn’t moved, clapped, shifted, or even breathed since I took the stage. Not that many in the crowd still breathed.
“So what do I mean? I’m sure you’re wondering. Or maybe you’re wondering how much longer you have left to listen to the loon on stage?”
A louder string of chuckles, some raspy coughs, and a high-pitched Woot! from Cat fill the void. Moments like these make me glad that I don’t sweat. It would be a shame to ruin the outfit, as much care as I put into crafting it.
“I mean, we are taught constantly, to take from the living, no?” Some sounds of agreement. “From the shinigami transporting souls to the grim’s reaping, we take lives. There is no argument there. So why can’t we take and learn from other aspects of humanity as well?”
I snap, something that really doesn’t feel great without skin, for the third time and the lights coalesce into a purple beam, casting the light over me.
“It is all about mindset. If you work one-hundred and sixty-eight hours a week, shouldn’t you enjoy it?”
The light dims and turns yellow. I drop the hood and stare across the stage. Cat nods along, pink and yellow hat dancing in the air.
“What if they do enjoy it? Enjoy taking the lives?” His voice makes my bones rattle. This wasn’t supposed to be a Q&A, but I had also originally been told that He wouldn’t be here.
“That is why there must be balance, Oh honorable, Man in Black,” I say, sweeping an arm across the crowd. “There is simply, especially amongst our younger generation, a mindset that we are wicked. That we can not appreciate life and living.”
I steeple my slender fingers together in front of me, arms raised. “As I mentioned it’s about mindset. For those doubting, for those unsure if working in the afterlife is for you, I’m here to tell you that it is okay to doubt. It is acceptable to be unsure. But it is not in our nature to take.”
The next bit is hard to get out. Hard to speak into the void compared to the mirror I had practiced with a thousand times.
“We are givers.”
I pace. My gown feels tight enough to strangle me and my lapels don’t seem nearly flared enough. Cat is encouraging as always. She should be the one giving this speech. She should be the one up here.
“We give people closure, release, relief. We are the great shepherds and we give a piece of ourselves with each crossing. I spoke of work-afterlife balance.”
There is no telling the time left, but it feels like an eternity. That’s the common misconception about the afterlife; that time ceases to exist. On the stage in front of all my peers, I can guarantee it is still very much a real force.
My arms fall to my side and rings shine in the light on my finger-bones. I snap for the fourth and final time. The light turns off entirely and smaller lamps at the edge of the stage illuminate me in black light. I took a page from Cat for the makeup and I know I look stunning and bright.
“The balance I speak of, the mental state, it all can be rooted in the way we perceive ourselves and our roles. I am not a taker of souls. I’m a giver. I do not mourn the countless lives I shepherd, I choose to celebrate them! And you can too. It’s all mindset.”
Cat and her entourage clap and cheer but the rest of the auditorium are still smothered by the blanket of shadow coming from Him.
Ticking echoes through the room, soft at first and then growing louder. The sign that my time was up. Or rather, would be in fifty-five seconds.
“Balance. Celebrate where you can, internally and externally. Cherish the joyous but respect the awful. Remember that none of you are taking souls because you’re wicked. If you love what you do, really to the marrow of your bones love it, it won’t feel like you’ve worked a single day of your afterlife. Thank you all for attending and listening, and try to remember to live a little.”
The ticking stops and my eighteen minutes come to an end. I would have liked to speak more, but there is never enough time, never enough things to say. It reminds me of the moment that someone loses a loved one. Surreal, painful, but full of love all the same.
Orbs of souls hang overhead, lighting the masses of entities meant to guide them to their next stage in life.
Cat stood tall and proud, clapping as hard as her bony hands would allow. It was rather like striking two thin sticks against each other the way it clacked. There were other old names and faces in the crowd too, visible now that the overhead lights had thrummed on. To think that I stood in front of them, speaking to them about finding happiness.
There was a thrill that lanced through me at the presumptiveness of it.
I stand stiff, staring out across the crowd, gaze drawing back to the oldest one in the room. The Man in Black. Even under the full lights, his shadow persists. He is ancient but he dressed for the occasion, with a tailored suit. Black satin, silk, and suede all work in harmony. Watching Him move is like watching night fall.
He rises and claps, like thunder. He is one of the few with flesh, one of the few whose smile is made real by pulled muscles and joy in His eyes. Actual joy.
That broke the levy and soon polite claps and clacks sounded throughout the auditorium.
I nod and bow and wave. Changing perception, really changing it, would take time. But I had my whole afterlife to work towards that goal. I turn and the screen fades to black as I summon my scythe and part the curtain.
The home is small, cramped, and beautiful. An entire family is gathered and the elderly woman centered on the bed in the middle of the room has a smile on her face. She can see me, and I hope she thinks I’m as gorgeous as I think she is. This should be a celebration after all.