He has forever walked alone; this creature of solitude. He wanders on paths unknown to any pattern. His person is but a shadow. His only task to wander and gather.
The night has fallen and the streets are deemed lethal. The night lights are too miniscule to be of any use; they don’t even reach the concrete. He scoffs at the shrieks of joy that find their way to his ears. What are they experiencing that is so cheerful to be about during the hours of the dark? What amuses them so? Why is that they laugh? His thoughts are tainted with an envious flare that shall not be extinguished; it burns away all strains of hope that dare to emerge. Laughter is not for him.
He walks further in to the night. As he approaches the bend in the road, he stands still to observe a couple of homeless men sprawled across a park bench with needles embedded in to each of their arms. The –what seems to be- taller of the unconscious men has his head thrown back at a painful angle. A closer inspection shows his eyes are actually open, and glazed over. His breath is labored. He was visited by a friend of the wanderer but some time ago. She spoke to him, influenced his decisions. Yet, she failed to warn him of the consequences of going in to the neighborhood of outcasts and rebels, or of the effects of the drugs he happily took to relieve himself of the pain. He is the first one to join the wanderer this night.
The wanderer and the homeless man- now wide awake after the wanderer’s nudging- leave the two unconscious bodies behind and continue forward. They keep strolling past streets and townhouses until the wanderer locates the man in black with a crow bar. The man covered in a black hoodie, jeans and a ski mask creeps silently up to the only open window in one of the alleyways. He has a desperate flavor to his steps as he flinches at every sound his movements make. He makes his way through the window and across the room he finds himself in. The man in black walks through the doorway and in to the room he determines as the master bedroom.
His sweat is soaking the cotton that covers his face. He debates taking it off as he walks cautiously to the locked up closet door. The man in black flexes his hand clenched in to a claw around the crow bar; preparing. He raises it up, and forces it into the hinges of the closet door and he pulls. The door gives way to a treasury. He rushes to pull open drawers and snatches up whatever he deems valuable. What he doesn’t realize is the amount of noise he makes in his excitement. What he also fails to hear is the entrance to the apartment opening and the woman with a metal badge on her bosom walking in. She hears him though; she knows something is amiss.
The pistol once strapped to her belt is now in her hands. She yells to him as she stands at the edge of her bedroom.
“Freeze!”
And he does. Freeze that is but he is not one to surrender. He is quick to grab his discarded crow bar and hold it threateningly towards the woman. The woman is quicker in her action to pull the trigger. His body falls back. His wound releasing a gush of warm, scarlet blood. His eyes fade out. The woman looks on with empty eyes; this is her first kill.
He struggles to stand and walk out of the building. The wanderer welcomes him as the man in black joins the homeless man. They walk towards the hustle and bustle of the city’s downtown.
A withered old woman with a tired body walks up the road to join the wanderer and the men accompanying him. Next to join them is a young boy of twelve sitting on the sidewalk; he is soaking wet from a swim he just took in the public swimming pool. A woman with a bloody forearm begs to join them from her perch by an oak tree. The wanderer grants her access to their parade.
The band continues its walk of the windy city of Chicago. They stroll up tone of the places the wanderer dreads the most; the Northwestern Memorial Hospital. The pediatric ward calls to him. He leaves his companions by the ER doors as he walks in. His gloomy presence is noted by many and ignored by most. His being is heavy with emotion he very rarely feels.
The wanderer stands in front of the entrance to the little girl’s room. She is lying there with tubes gingerly inserted in different parts of her petite body. Her body is lethargic yet her eyes move about the room with such vigilance. She feels his presence. She does not ignore it, unlike her sobbing parents that sit on either side of her, each holding one bony, bandaged hand. Both too absorbed in her to notice anything else. She looks directly at the wanderer. She knows he is here to collect her. Yet, she is not ready to accept it. Her eyes start to well up as his form moves forward towards her. Her parents choose this moment to leave the room; they want her to rest now.
The wanderer takes a seat next to her uncomfortable bed. She starts to plea.
“Not today. Please not now. I can’t go yet. They need me to stay. I HAVE TO STAY JUST ONE MORE DAY!”
The wanderer is perturbed by her struggling to raise her voice at him. He reflects back to when another of his companions had spoken to him before joining his parade. He never listened to him. No matter how much he impetrated him to give him some more time.
He bows his head. He debates with himself as the little girl who is growing ever so weak continues to beg, not for herself but for those that hold her dear-so selfless.
He stands up. He nods once. He turns around. He leaves her for another day.
Yet, as he wanders around, gathering more companions, the despairing countenance of the little girl never leaves him. His heaviness grows with each time he thinks of her; of how he must return to bring her to join him; of how he must leave her caretakers with no ward to regard; of so many others he has left broken and alone; of how many more he will do the same to.
Still, the wanderer knows no other way to exist. This is his sole purpose.
A new day begins.
He gathers from all of the places that pull him towards them. Alas, he returns to the Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Making his way through the premises, he meets and gathers a few sending them away to join his companions waiting outside. The wanderer comes to a stop in front of the little girl’s room. She is alone today. She welcomes him today.
“I’m ready now”, her voice is all calm and sweet.
He speaks, his tone all pellucid, “How so?”
“Mama and Papa are having another baby. So they won’t miss me as much.”
He shows no expressions, but he feels warm. Here is this little creature, so trusting and serene with what is to happen to her. She embraces him with tranquility, unlike any other before. Her innocence is a breath of fresh air he does not really need.
“Let us go then.”
So she closes her eyes and stands up on dainty feet. Following him through the doors and joining his companions. Because that is what all ultimately have to do. They have to become his companion. This is how he exists. This is why he exists.
He has forever walked alone; this creature of solitude. He wanders on paths unknown to any pattern. His person is but a shadow. His only task is to wander and gather. This is his domain. This is his purpose. He knows nothing else.
He is Death.
