Date Of Birth

FLIRTING WITH DEATH

I was busy scything one of the Elysian Fields, trying not to chop any bits off the fops lying around all over the place, when the call came through. The merry sound of Doris Day whip-cracking away earned me a few foppishly stern looks, as the Deadwood Stage thundered through their thought processes, rudely interrupting poetry composition, wishy-washy song writing and boring old harp playing. I let Doris have her head for a chorus or two. It was about time someone woke that lazy lot up; always lolling around daydreaming and getting in my way. Personally, I blame my brother, Momus; he encourages these arty types far too much.

“Hello?”

I leaned my scythe against a handy chariot as I answered the call. Taking out my battered old pad and stubby pencil, I scribbled down the details the pimply Work Experience youth gabbled down the phone at me. I had no idea which pimply youth it was, but it didn’t matter, they were all pizza-faced.

“Hypnos. Wake up!”

I gave my twin brother a kick. Handily, he was lying under the very chariot I’d put my scythe against.

“Eh? What?”

Hypnos sat up very suddenly, bashing his head on the underside of the chariot.

“Ow!”

I grabbed his ankles and pulled, dislodging the propped-up scythe. As it fell, the substantial oak handle gave him another crack on the head.

“Hell’s teeth, Thanatos!” he said, rubbing his head and readjusting his circlet of poppies. “Hesiod was right about you. If you had fur and a tail, you’d be a terrier.”

“If I had fur and a tail, and a terrier’s teeth, I’d bite Hesiod and every other bloody poet,” I said. “They all give me a bad press. Now, get up. We’ve got work to do.”

“What is it this time?” Hypnos asked, ruefully rubbing his crushed petals and cracked skull. “It’s obviously not a violent death, since they’ve called you. What’s the date of birth? Do we need to take Geras with us?”

“No, it’s not an old person,” I said. “Let’s just get down there and assess the situation. Then we can decide which siblings we need to call, if any.”

The young woman lying alone in her studio flat down in the earthly world had an empty bottle of pills and a note beside her.

I picked the note up and read it, as Hypnos checked the pulse in her neck and stroked her sweat-beaded brow.

“I’m sorry, Mum and Dad,” the note read. “I didn’t want it to end this way, but I loved Mike so much. I can’t forgive him for his affairs but I don’t think I can live without him either. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. I’m so sorry to have let you both down. All my love forever, love from Cherie. P.S. Please look after Daisy for me.”

I sighed. “She’s another one just flirting with me. She doesn’t really want me here. So many of them invite me, but very few are actually pleased to see me when I arrive, even the ones who’re sure they will be.”

“Her pupils are dilated,” said Hypnos, fully awake now, his eyes full of concern. “And though she is sweating her skin is deathly cold. We don’t have much time to sort this out. How long did that Work Experience idiot delay before calling you? I’ll turn her on her side and then you give her a thump in the stomach to make her vomit.”

I looked down at them both – her on the brink of death and him brimming over with pity. Technically, she was mine to take.

I opened the handbag which was on the floor nearby and took out her driving licence. ‘Cherie Watkins. Date of Birth: 29th October 1984.’ She was 31 years old and today was her birthday. Hesiod was wrong, I don’t have a heart of iron and my spirit is not as pitiless as bronze - what does that even mean, anyway? I do have it in me to be kindly, just like my twin brother. I’d had far too many, and much younger than her to deal with recently. Mankind has no need to fear the reaper; mankind has more to fear from its own stupidity, cruelty and duplicity.

“You’d better call Panacea and Aceso,” I said, going outside the family. “To make sure there’s no lasting damage to her liver. And what is that god-awful noise? It’s been going on ever since we got here.”

My brother smiled and punched the numbers into his phone before opening the window and picking up the tortoiseshell cat that had been desperately clawing and yowling to come in.

“This is Daisy,” he said. “She’s the one who called us.”

“Bloody cats,” I said, pulling up my hood and putting my Grim Reaper face on. “They’re always doing me out of commission by making things meet violent deaths.”

“Oh, stop moaning,” said my brother. “Ambrosia isn’t everything. Emotional riches are far more important. And this cat really does care about her loved one.”

“Yes,” I said, picking up a framed wedding photograph from the bookshelf. “She really does. I’ll give our sisters Apate and Nemesis a ring. They can visit this Mike character and teach him a thing or two.”

The next morning, after a healing sleep, Cherie woke up to be greeted by her loving cat. She didn’t have any vomit to clean up because I scythed it away along with the pill bottle and the note. My brother cleansed her memory and her soul.

A week later, we made sure of it, Cherie Watkins, had to suppress her giggles when she heard her ex-husband had suffered a penile fracture when suddenly interrupted after-hours by an office cleaner, whilst engaged in a vigorous ‘fact-finding’ overtime mission with his female accounting assistant.

According to the expert opinion sites linked to the cleaner’s Facebook post, that kind of fracture was quite rare and, since it involved torn tissue, very painful. He had also lost his job.

Cherie, on the other hand, had been offered a publishing contract.

As our sisters Apate and Nemesis said, as they high-fived each other,

“Job done!”

And Daisy? She called us again and sent a ‘selfie’. She was cuddled up to a smiling Cherie and looked like the cat who‘d got the cream.

I’m not normally one for smiling, but I have to admit that I was after seeing that photo, even as I accidentally lopped off a poetic foot or a hand here and there as I went back to scything the Elysian Fields.

END