The lost posts
You may or may not have noticed the site has been down for a few days. But we’re back and looking a little different. Some posts (about 4) were irretrievable. This one, previously written elsewhere, was easy to re-create. Part 3 of the Moribund suggests that, in some instances, you’d be better off making a deal with Death. Because your final request is not in her perview.
Moribund
I don’t eat. That is to say, I don’t need to eat. Not human food anyway. But it is something I enjoy, it gives me frames of reference for the different flavours your Akashic records present to me. That is why, right at this second, I am sitting in a cool, cream and green tiled, café. Out of the midday heat. I don’t mind the heat but it’s nice to get out of it sometimes.
The waitress took my order ten minutes ago and two minutes ago brought me a strawberry milkshake. It’s nicer than the smoothie. It has sprinkles. I chose to eat a salad along with it. Simple and green, the most exciting part being the crispy onions adorning the top. Green tastes nice with strawberry. The onions are crispy and pleasing on the tongue.
I will do nothing but watch the world go by whilst I imbibe my sustenance. Sustenance I don’t need but choose to imbibe anyway. Strange as it may seem I can appear to anyone however I chose, and it is much easier to order lunch if you are corporeal. I’ve noticed waitresses get jumpy if you whisper your lunch order in their ear.
Left and right the people go. Loose, casual, summary clothing in an attempt to keep cool. It hardly works in this heat. I might be the only one not sweating. People come in and go out. Order food. Drink. Eat. Chat. Sit. I barely pay attention. Sometimes something will perk my interest, something related to a dying relative or some accident they’ve witnessed. This is the ideal café after all, not far from the hospital but nice enough that it feels like a pleasant escape from terrible things. I come here often.
‘You’re the Moribund aren’t you?’ a woman in a nurse’s uniform is sitting at the next table from me. There are no other customers close enough to hear her words.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I smile softly and go back to my salad.
‘Yes you do. I’ve seen you in the hospital.’ She continued.
‘I go to the hospital; it doesn’t mean I am this thing you say I am.’ I don’t look at her.
‘My great Gran saw you once, she told me about it. The Moribund is the creature who comes before Death.’ She shuffles her chair closer.
‘Not always.’ I mutter, thinking about Death.
‘That you grant a last wish.’ She says, insistent.
‘No.’ I say, I knew it wouldn’t be accurate.
‘You granted one to her mother, but her mother didn’t die.’ She hisses.
I look up and peer at her. The one that got away.
‘You shouldn’t exist.’ I tell her.
‘Great Gran said you granted her the gift of life, so she could watch her baby grow.’ The woman insisted.
‘She gave her child, the twin of your Great Gran, up in her place. Death accepted, not I.’ I all but growled. It was before we had met. She’d accepted my offer, and then made a secondary deal with Death. This woman’s ancestor should have died and the twins lived, only to have died not long after from contracting a disease only mothers milk would have prevented. This woman was out of place. Out of time.
‘That’s not the story she told me!’ The woman said.
‘You weren’t there.’ I said and slurped the last of my shake.
‘She never said she had a twin.’
‘She was probably never told.’ I shrugged. It happened a lot.
‘I need your help.’ She got up from her table and brought her coffee and her bag to sit opposite me. I frowned.
‘Are you dying?’ I asked. Knowing already that she wasn’t. Knowing I was going to regret even talking to her as much as I already had.
‘No.’ she shook her head, her eyes filling with a sadness she couldn’t hide. ‘My husband is. We are soul mates, meant to be together.’
‘No you’re not.’ I said. ‘You’re not meant to exist remember.’
‘I want you to be there when he is ready to move on, grant him a last wish bring him back to me.’ She leant in so only I could hear what she was saying. I leant back pulling my plate and glass with me for protection.
‘That’s not how it works.’ I got up from my chair. ‘A life for a life and you must make your deal with death.’
I left her there at the table, her head sagging down to her chest. I should have known it wouldn’t be the last I would see of her.
Making a Deal with Death
It has been suggested, in many a movie and book, that you can make some kind of deal with death. Before you head off to wherever it is you’re going. Sometimes this is depicted in the form of a game:
But whose to say he’s the only one who turns up, or even that he’s the only one you can make a deal with. It’s one of those ever pondered but never answered questions. And leaves a whole lot to the imagination. We hope, that even after death, we have a chance. I think I’d pick Monopoly or Ludo. What about you?
P.S. If you’d like to read more from K.T. McQueen try The Soul Game – why wait to make a deal with death when you can make a deal with the devil right now?
