Death: A Life by George Pendle Page A

I mean, God did say this was all going to end someday. I just didn’t think it would be the next fucking day.”
    “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. But secretly I was thrilled.
    “Listen,” said the Unicorn, “I’m getting a bit uncomfortable here, why don’t you help me out of this body?”
    “How do I do that?” I asked.
    “How the fuck should I know?” cried the Unicorn.
    I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, and the compulsion took over once again. My hand reached over to the Unicorn’s body and suddenly slipped straight into it without leaving a mark. I heard a slight popping noise. Instantly I felt as though I had done something right, something truly right, for the first time in my existence.
    “About time!” said the Unicorn, as a thin gleaming luster drifted up from the body. I realized instinctively that it was the creature’s soul. The Darkness, which had been nipping at my heels excitedly, leapt forward, spreading in size, enveloping both me and the Unicorn’s soul within itself. The earth began to slip away, and I was left at the center of an utter blackness. Everything receded, became nothing, and I was now gripped by an ecstasy that threatened to overpower me and wipe me from existence. But something held me back, a curiosity about what else I might learn on Earth, and I steadied myself and fought my way out of the Darkness. From inside it I heard the sound of a spectral hoof tapping impatiently.
    “Well, I would say it’s been a pleasure,” said the Unicorn’s soul as it slowly dissolved from view, “but it hasn’t.”
    “Where are you going?” I gasped. I was giddy with revelation.
    “I see a light,” said the Unicorn, its voice growing softer and softer, “a bright light…it’s spelling out a word…two words…the words say…”
    “Yes,” I said encouragingly.
    “…the words say…”
    “What do the words say?”
    “…the words say…Fuck…You.”
    There was a brief whinny of mocking laughter, and then nothing. But I was hardly paying attention. I felt as though a bottle of black ink had been spilled inside me, coating me in a wondrous gloom that shaded my whole being. I had arrived at a moment of illumination, or rather its opposite; a gloaming of wisdom.
    The Darkness sat in front of me looking rather pleased with itself. A strange tingling pervaded my essence, the thrilling chill of my first transmuted soul. The Unicorn’s body lay cold and still on the ground. The edge of the forest surrounded me. Everything seemed to be the same, but I had changed. I could see now that I was not a misfit, that I truly belonged, that I was one with all living things. I could see all of existence balancing precariously on a tightrope above me. My role, I realized, was to catch it. At last I had found my calling.
    I’d be the Death of you all.

 
    Dead Man Talking
     

     
     
     
    F rom that moment on, I was hooked. If this was dying, I wanted more. For the first time in my existence, I knew what I was born to do: not torment, or tempt, or even rend asunder, but to usher, to escort, to shepherd others into the Other.
    Admittedly it took some practice before I became proficient in my trade, but fortunately the fatalities in Eden from accidents alone were tremendous. Trial and error was the defining principle in those early days—after all, it’s hard to live by your instincts when you’re the first of your kind ever to exist. Millions of totally pointless and often contradictory creatures had been created who were quite unsuited to survival. There were root vegetables with claustrophobia, rocks that cried after avalanches, fish that were allergic to water, and vain insects who were so revolted by the way they looked they couldn’t bring themselves to reproduce.
    Self-loathing and stupidity swept through Creation like a plague. Phoenixes forgot to flap their wings, griffons overlooked eating, leviathans beached themselves while sunbathing, and small furry creatures with soft paws