He walked through the
corridor. Pristine white, and synthetically clean like a hospital. His eyes had
grown bored of the white gleam after centuries and centuries of prowling.
Immortality could be exhausting. The exhaustion was not that of a tiresome day of
work, but one that tides, mountains and rivers of the world shared with him. He
did not remember when he started, but he had gone through every street, every
highway, every house that the light went into. Quietly and with an eventful
finality, he approached those at the end of the light, and took them to their
final destination.
He felt the air around the light. There was nothing. There
never was anything. As long as he had remembered, it was quiet and clean. At
the other end, as he would leave, he’d hear fading sounds of wailing, sniffles,
the loud sounds of ambulances or sometimes, occasionally, a laughter. He’d keep
walking with his hand on the shoulder of his passenger. Driving them towards
their destination. In silence. Without a glance in their direction. This was
his routine.
He could see the fading circle of the light at the end of
the road. There was a silhouette emerging from the distant white shadow. Lean,
weak and trembling, it continued to move in his direction.
One, he thought to himself, only one. Well, so much for the
excitement.
He continued his walk. His passenger looked as though he had
escaped through a war. Or not escaped, as it would be. The clothes were
tattered, but they counted for little.
As he reached the frail body, the passenger looked up. With
tired and frightened eyes, he said,”I am the last one. There is no one else
left”.
For a moment, the angel of death paused. Then he smiled as
he placed his hands on the passenger and took him to the destination. Rest in
peace, he thought.
