Prophet

She is smiling at him. At Death. Not the insane smile he sometimes gets, or the nervous, forced one, or the relieved, satisfied grin he gets from the suicides. Not even the peaceful smile he gets from those who are ready. The dying girl is smiling at Death with welcome. He puts a hand to her face, feeling the skin harden and grow cold.

“Will you hold my hand?” she asks suddenly, surprising him. Her voice holds no fear.
“What?”
“While I die, will you hold my hand? Please.” Death shouldn’t, but he keeps one hand against her face and uses the other to hold hers. She smiles again, thankful. “My name is Sadie. Thank you.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath as more blood leaks from her side. “When I die, will you tell my family? Their address is on a piece of paper in my pocket.” She gestures vaguely at her side.

“I’ll tell them,” he lies, sensing her life slip away even further. It won’t be long now. Her eyes have been closed the whole time, the reason he assumes she thinks he’s just a friendly stranger. Then she opens them, revealing milky white. She’s blind. He wonders what she’s doing out on this stretch of road, alone, with a bullet in her side. Death isn’t told why people are dying.

“May I touch your face? To know what you look like,” she explains, reaching a tentative hand upwards.
“Yes,” he says, surprising himself. She squeezes Death’s hand tight and he leans down, letting his cheek touch her fingers. They’re in the same position now, hands clasped, a palm to the other’s cheek. Her arm is trembling.

She gently touches his eyes, his nose, brushes the pads of her fingers across his mouth. She sighs and removes her hand, letting it fall to the ground.
“What do you think?” Death asks, curious.
“You’re older than I thought. Your skin is uneven, that’s why I know that. How old are you?” He laughs softly.
“Older than I care to imagine.”

She smiles with him, blank eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder. Death has taken many of the blind, but usually even they look at him, recognize what he is. This girl is still relaxed, content. She’s affecting him.
“You have very prominent cheekbones, and a strong jaw.” Her smile is playful. “You must be stubborn. Your eyes are deep set. What color are they?”

“Black,” he tells her. Black as night, black as the abyss, all encompassing and endless.
“Mine were hazel. At least, that’s what my mom told me.” Grief touches her face for the first time. “She’ll be destroyed by this. I hope...I hope Dad will be strong enough for the both of them.” Her lips tighten for a moment before the calmness returns.

“As for the rest of your face, you have a long, thin nose. Slightly hooked. And your mouth is kind, but sad. You don’t smile often.” Blood is gathering at the corner of her mouth. The pang of misery Death feels at that is unexpected. The girl has seconds left. She raises her head, wiping the blood away. Her lips move as she tries to say something. He leans closer to hear, her breath ghosting across his skin.
“Sadie. I can’t hear you.”
“I never got to...ask. What’s....what’s your name?”

He can’t lie to her. He doesn’t want to. “My name is Death.”
She laughs instead of growing fearful. “I must be very lucky to have such an important being comfort me during my last moments. Or do you do this for everyone?”
“No. Almost never.”

“Then thank you, Death. For your kindness.” And she kisses his cheek. Not to seduce, not from respect, but to thank. An innocent motion that changes everything, because Death knows now that he can’t release her to the Other side. So he stops her death, freezes her as she is, and takes Sadie with him.