Death's Holiday

Author's Note: This is a response to L.C. Schäfer's fun little challenge she issued with her Moonlighting piece. You can find out more about it here:

Basically, write about Death as a character.

*

As I approached The Hawley Arms, a popular pub in the heart of Camden Town, I ran through my lines as I always did "It is your time, James Wilson. You've lived a long and fruitful life...well 38 years...longer than some." Normally I would wait until the pub was closed and entered dramatically through the wall or drop down from the ceiling in a cloud of smoke.

These days, I was bored of all the pomp and ceremony that came with my job and prefered to just use the door and take a more subtle approach to ushering people to their death. It was less messier...some would say lazier, but I am getting on a bit in age, so I like to take a more leisured approach to my work. Also, this world is full of too much rushing around.

There was a time when people admired you if you took your time to give them their death warrant. I missed those days. Also, there was a distinct lack of people protesting their time had come. I missed having to chase after them.

I do realise that I said I liked a slower pace and also that I liked to chase. It's not a contradiction, pedant! I'm a complicated being, don't you know.

Anyway...where was I? Oh yes...

The pub was loud and lively. Normally, because of so much living going on, it was the last place I liked to spend a Saturday night.

However, tonight was different. I don't know what had got into me lately, but it was a lot of fun. I had a couple of hours to kill (to kill har-har, get it, get it?) so decided to make the most of my time by sinking a couple of pints and some shots before giving the barman the bad news.

I even had a go at darts and narrowly avoided a fight with someone who accused me of being a cheat. How can you cheat at darts? He claimed I was clearly a professional. I mean, weilding a sycthe does require similar skills and muscle memory to throwing darts...it's a stretch, but maybe the girl had a point.

As the clock struck 11 o clock, I had 30 minutes to prepare Mr Wilson for his untimely death. I decided to take a more personal approach than I usually do. I have been known for a long time for just appearing as a spectre and being quite cold. I saw James talking to many of the patrons of the bar throughout the night and took a leaf out of his book.

The more I got chatting to him, I realised we had a lot in common. He was tired of his job and actually welcomed death, becuase he had no alternatives.

That was when I came up with a good idea...

You see, once every 1000 years, I can, even if it's uncommon, swap places with someone. It's like a holiday for me.

What it essentially meant was, James Wilson would take over as Death for a couple of nights and I would take over as the barman and assistant manager of The Hawley Arms.

Between you and me, I had a few other reasons why the time was right for me to switch places, but I didn't let on to James about those...

We agreed to meet at the bar again on Tuesday night at 11 pm and then the deed would be done.

I finally had a break for a few days and was free of the pressure of ushering people in the final throes of life.

The humdrum conventionality of running a pub in London was a welcome change of pace. Across the two days, I managed to familiarise myself with some of the locals and got to know their stories, without seeing them die after they told me their tales.

I even had a flash in the pan affair with the barmaid Tina. She was from Thurrock and had the most delightful, if slightly grating, laugh. It was nice to have a job and someone to wake up for in the morning. As a bonus, she was a dynamite in the kitchen and the sack. Apparently, I was a bit out of practice, but I showed her centuries old moves that she was impressed by.

I barely thought about James Wilson and the couple of days he would be experiencing. There was a couple of young children that were due to die from cancer while he took on the job and a bus crash full of immigrants heading to their new homes.

I couldn't think of that, though. I just concentrated on ensuring the Carlsberg, Konenberg and Guinness were topped up and that there were plenty of packets of pork scratchings, peanuts and cheesy corn snacks.

By the time Tuesday came around, I was really not looking forward to taking up the cloak and sycthe again, but the look on James' face when he walked into the bar said it all. "I'm ready to die now...How do you do manage to do this job?" he asked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Someone has to" I said with a shrug.

I quickened the process up and put him out of his misery before saying goodbye to Tina and giving her the keys to the pub. She would need to take over as the new assistant manager. "Alright babes...will I ever see you again?" she smiled ever so slightly. "In about 10 years, yes". She laughed "You're a funny man, babes." She didn't really understand that I wasn't joking.

Although to many people it may seem like I wasted my holiday time, the experience refreshed me and I was once more enthusiastic for my job as the last being people will see before they die.

*

Thanks for reading!

Well...there you go. Death's days off.

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