The Immortal and Death
Since the beginning of the Earth, Death walked on it. For eons he led the souls of men and women into the next world. Nobody escaped him, nobody could fool him. He was the true ruler of this world. Sooner or later everybody, rich and poor, had to clear off their last bill. Only once there was an exception, the humiliating truth, that even Death himself makes mistakes. And this is his story:
On a normal day like every one before, Death had his scythe in one hand, and his list in the other. He just got to the bottom of it, already thinking about the end of the day in his house, deep in his kingdom, when he found his last victim: a man in his late twenties, usually an age where everybody is in his prime, but who was already anguished by many painful years of a horrible, incurable disease. It ate up his body in an excruciating way. He looked as if only his will was holding him up on his legs. The only small bright spot was his face, which was the utmost handsome. He indeed was one of the best looking men in the land by far. But there he was, hobbling on a bridge that was so narrow, that not even kids could walk next to each other without one falling into the fast-flowing river beneath. He walked, his winter boots deep in the snow that covered the bridge. Death met him in the middle of the bridge, and thought that, maybe for the first time, he was doing a good job, by releasing the poor man from his suffering. There they stood, facing each other, Death in his black robe, the man in his winter clothes. It was Death who spoke first, “I came to release you from this world, which only gave you pain and sorrow.”
“But I don’t suffer,” replied the man. “I have a loving, beautiful wife and three children that I have to feed. I am not yet ready to die!”
Death saw that he thought wrong, but still, the name of the man was written in blood-red letters on the black paper of his list. “Nevertheless, I have to take you with me, if not peacefully, then by force. And beware, as I have taken souls that were a hundred times mightier than yours is!”
“Then let it be so,” the man said. “But give me one week, to say my goodbyes to my loving family!”
Death felt pity for the man, who had to leave life so early. “So be it,” he granted, generously. “But be on time. If you are only one second late, your trip will become horrible, and ineffably painful.”
The man promised to be there on time, and so they parted. The man soon forgot about the strange meeting, and forgot about Death waiting for him. The granted seven days flew by, without the man returning to the bridge. Sometime after, the man once again came to cross that bridge, and once again, he met Death. This time Death was furious. For the first time, he had granted a wish, and had instantly been tricked. “This, I will guarantee you, will have earned you nothing. Those seven days you will pay back for an eternity!”
The man begged and pleaded, but Death was unyielding. Finally, he said, “Fine… One more week I will give you, under one condition: your wife will come with you, when you go.”
Those were the words of Death, as he secretly was in love with the man’s wife, who, like her husband was the most beautiful thing that Death had ever seen. He hated the man, for envy was one of his flaws, and now he saw his chance. If the man was in his kingdom, he would have enough time to ensnare his wife. This time the man did not forget, and when he came home and told his wife the news, she began crying. They thought about cheating Death, but as so many have, they failed to think about something that could work.
At last the man said, “I will go alone, and ask for a third week. If I don’t come back, flee, and don’t wait for me.”
And so he went, bent as ever, being eaten up by a disease that he blamed for Death coming so quickly. He walked, and it was as if he walked past his whole life. While the snow was cutting his face with little needles, he saw himself playing as a toddler, and getting his first teeth. While sinking knee-deep into the snow, he thought about his excitement when he, for the first time, touched snow. Then, he nearly could sink into it, like into water, and make little caves. Now, it was only a hindrance to getting to his last destination. It started snowing even more, as if saying, “No! Good man, turn back, only worse awaits you at the end of this road.”
The man knew that, but he was determined to give his family a lead. At least Death should not have it easy. There was the bridge, and there was the black figure, that was so persistent to collect his suffering soul. He stepped onto the iced bridge, walked towards Death.
“Where is your wife?” he asked.
“That is not important,” the man said. “What´s important is where I am, the one who really is on the list of the dead, but not my wife.”
“Then how should we solve this problem,” Death replied. “I will take your soul by hook or crook, but I will give you a fair chance, as it seems as if you deserve it. Think of a competition, and if you win, I grant will you your life.”
“We will have a race,” simply answered the man. “You from one side of the bridge – I from the other.”
“Ha-ha, you amuse me,” Death laughed. “You? With your body? Even a snail would have a better chance to win this race. But you have spoken, so be it!”
They each walked to the other end, and got ready. A voice from nowhere counted slowly to three, “one… two… THREE!!!”
The man watched carefully. As if time itself got slowed down, he saw Death running in a blink of the eye, to the middle of the bridge, where he stopped. But the force of his run was so great, that he could not stop, and he slipped… and in the last second before plunging over, he grabbed onto the edge of the bridge. Slowly now, slowly, the man walked to where Death hung, leaned over the edge and calmly spoke to Death.
“Well what now?” he said, as Death hung at his feet; it would only take seconds, until he would lose his grip. “Maybe now it’s my turn to offer life in exchange for something? How about this: I will help you up, and you will guarantee me, that you will never ever go after me, that I will live forever, without any disease.”
“Yes, yes, I agree,” Death pleaded. “Just help me up! I will do anything for you!”
And so it happened that this man started a new, happy life. No disease troubled him, and everybody agreed what a wonderful pair he and his wife were. But while she got older and older, he just stayed as he was, in his best years. He outlived his children, his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren. He became an outsider, not really belonging to the family anymore. Nobody wanted to be around him, everybody avoided him by any cost. How often he, the Immortal, thought about his wish. Why hadn’t he chosen just health, wealth, or anything else? No, he had to choose the one wish, that now he now cursed. And so it came, that even though the Immortal had cheated Death, he would pay him back for eternity.
On a normal day like every one before, Death had his scythe in one hand, and his list in the other. He just got to the bottom of it, already thinking about the end of the day in his house, deep in his kingdom, when he found his last victim: a man in his late twenties, usually an age where everybody is in his prime, but who was already anguished by many painful years of a horrible, incurable disease. It ate up his body in an excruciating way. He looked as if only his will was holding him up on his legs. The only small bright spot was his face, which was the utmost handsome. He indeed was one of the best looking men in the land by far. But there he was, hobbling on a bridge that was so narrow, that not even kids could walk next to each other without one falling into the fast-flowing river beneath. He walked, his winter boots deep in the snow that covered the bridge. Death met him in the middle of the bridge, and thought that, maybe for the first time, he was doing a good job, by releasing the poor man from his suffering. There they stood, facing each other, Death in his black robe, the man in his winter clothes. It was Death who spoke first, “I came to release you from this world, which only gave you pain and sorrow.”
“But I don’t suffer,” replied the man. “I have a loving, beautiful wife and three children that I have to feed. I am not yet ready to die!”
Death saw that he thought wrong, but still, the name of the man was written in blood-red letters on the black paper of his list. “Nevertheless, I have to take you with me, if not peacefully, then by force. And beware, as I have taken souls that were a hundred times mightier than yours is!”
“Then let it be so,” the man said. “But give me one week, to say my goodbyes to my loving family!”
Death felt pity for the man, who had to leave life so early. “So be it,” he granted, generously. “But be on time. If you are only one second late, your trip will become horrible, and ineffably painful.”
The man promised to be there on time, and so they parted. The man soon forgot about the strange meeting, and forgot about Death waiting for him. The granted seven days flew by, without the man returning to the bridge. Sometime after, the man once again came to cross that bridge, and once again, he met Death. This time Death was furious. For the first time, he had granted a wish, and had instantly been tricked. “This, I will guarantee you, will have earned you nothing. Those seven days you will pay back for an eternity!”
The man begged and pleaded, but Death was unyielding. Finally, he said, “Fine… One more week I will give you, under one condition: your wife will come with you, when you go.”
Those were the words of Death, as he secretly was in love with the man’s wife, who, like her husband was the most beautiful thing that Death had ever seen. He hated the man, for envy was one of his flaws, and now he saw his chance. If the man was in his kingdom, he would have enough time to ensnare his wife. This time the man did not forget, and when he came home and told his wife the news, she began crying. They thought about cheating Death, but as so many have, they failed to think about something that could work.
At last the man said, “I will go alone, and ask for a third week. If I don’t come back, flee, and don’t wait for me.”
And so he went, bent as ever, being eaten up by a disease that he blamed for Death coming so quickly. He walked, and it was as if he walked past his whole life. While the snow was cutting his face with little needles, he saw himself playing as a toddler, and getting his first teeth. While sinking knee-deep into the snow, he thought about his excitement when he, for the first time, touched snow. Then, he nearly could sink into it, like into water, and make little caves. Now, it was only a hindrance to getting to his last destination. It started snowing even more, as if saying, “No! Good man, turn back, only worse awaits you at the end of this road.”
The man knew that, but he was determined to give his family a lead. At least Death should not have it easy. There was the bridge, and there was the black figure, that was so persistent to collect his suffering soul. He stepped onto the iced bridge, walked towards Death.
“Where is your wife?” he asked.
“That is not important,” the man said. “What´s important is where I am, the one who really is on the list of the dead, but not my wife.”
“Then how should we solve this problem,” Death replied. “I will take your soul by hook or crook, but I will give you a fair chance, as it seems as if you deserve it. Think of a competition, and if you win, I grant will you your life.”
“We will have a race,” simply answered the man. “You from one side of the bridge – I from the other.”
“Ha-ha, you amuse me,” Death laughed. “You? With your body? Even a snail would have a better chance to win this race. But you have spoken, so be it!”
They each walked to the other end, and got ready. A voice from nowhere counted slowly to three, “one… two… THREE!!!”
The man watched carefully. As if time itself got slowed down, he saw Death running in a blink of the eye, to the middle of the bridge, where he stopped. But the force of his run was so great, that he could not stop, and he slipped… and in the last second before plunging over, he grabbed onto the edge of the bridge. Slowly now, slowly, the man walked to where Death hung, leaned over the edge and calmly spoke to Death.
“Well what now?” he said, as Death hung at his feet; it would only take seconds, until he would lose his grip. “Maybe now it’s my turn to offer life in exchange for something? How about this: I will help you up, and you will guarantee me, that you will never ever go after me, that I will live forever, without any disease.”
“Yes, yes, I agree,” Death pleaded. “Just help me up! I will do anything for you!”
And so it happened that this man started a new, happy life. No disease troubled him, and everybody agreed what a wonderful pair he and his wife were. But while she got older and older, he just stayed as he was, in his best years. He outlived his children, his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren. He became an outsider, not really belonging to the family anymore. Nobody wanted to be around him, everybody avoided him by any cost. How often he, the Immortal, thought about his wish. Why hadn’t he chosen just health, wealth, or anything else? No, he had to choose the one wish, that now he now cursed. And so it came, that even though the Immortal had cheated Death, he would pay him back for eternity.