by SiMa
“What’s the plan?”, I ask. There is an upside-down cross in front of me, surrounded by a jumble of ropes. That thing doesn’t look like it is meant to kill you. In fact, it looks like it came straight from some depraved dungeon, which gives the whole situation a sinister atmosphere I can’t say I enjoy.
If the Reaper registers my disapproval, he doesn’t show it. “Easy enough. We hang you upside down until the influx of blood shuts down your brain.”
“That…”
“It worked for Jesus”, he interrupts way too defensively.
“Didn’t it take him three days and a stab wound to die?”
“Hence the upside down and the blood thinners. Trust me, this will work.”
“You’ve tried this before?”
“Of course.”
I am less than confident that he is telling the truth, but I’m already here, and I doubt I’ll get my money back if I decide to leave. I sigh. “What do I need to do?”
It takes less effort to get me up on the cross than I imagined. Whoever my Reaper is in his casual life, he seems to know his way around that cross. I refuse to contemplate why more than I have to.
“I’ll be back in two hours”, he tells me, once my position is secure.
Two hours! Part of me wants to beg him to stay. Given the circumstances, it feels childish and idealistic but I don’t want to be alone when I die. The other part is relieved, he isn’t using this as some kind of kink.
To no one’s surprise, hanging upside down for longer than a few minutes is less than comfortable. I begin to regret every decision I have ever made, certain the guy merely took my money and left me here until the morning, when a maid finds me in pain but still very much alive. Then my vision begins to waver. A heaviness presses down on me. The kind that settles over your body just before unconsciousness claims it. This might actually work. There is hope in my heart now. Hope, and a fear of the afterlife that I try my best to ignore.
My heartbeat thumps loudly between my ears. Steady and slow. Each one feels more precious suddenly, and I savour them until I realise they are growing more frequent instead of less. The drowsy heaviness starts to fade again, and it becomes clear this attempt will be as much of a failure as the last one. For one treacherous moment, I feel relieved, my body celebrating my survival even as I mourn it. Then I start to feel the pain of having my blood concentrated in my brain.
“Fuck”, I mutter, then startle as someone to my right laughs.
It takes effort to move my head enough so I can see the tall, dark woman lounging on the hotel bed. A large birthmark covers the skin around her left eye.
“Who are you?” And how did she get in here?
The woman grins. “I am Death.”
© SiMa 2024-01-24