The Woman and a Rather Annoyed Death

This takes a little backstory, and that is: In Latin class, we had to translate a little story about a woman who laments and groans and weeps over her poor dying husband. She begs for Death to kill her instead of him. Of course, he answers that call. Why not? A death is a death and hey, he's not really losing here. So he comes knocking and she freaks out and doesn't want to go. I thought this sounded very much like Terry Pratchett's Death, who I love. So, bored and nothing to do, I decided to write something. And, voila, here it is.

...

The woman sniffled and walked through the door. She set down the tray and walked over to the bed, where a relatively ill-looking man was laying. A tear went down her cheek as she kneeled by the bed and grasped his hand. She held for a while looking fairly forlorn and lost. She was always so fond of him and it would just break her heart to lose him. She sniffled loudly.
The man had noticed his wife but didn't quite feel like answering her. She sniffled a little more loudly and he rolled his eyes. She was fairly nice and not too bad at cooking as long as you stayed away from her soups and sauces[1]. He looked over at her and said, “It's ok dear, I'm just a little sick.” She looked up with pouty lips.

“Dear, you must get better. I just couldn't stand it, my love. With you gone, oh what shall I do? Oh, you must get better.” She said pleadingly. Her husband couldn't really stand her. He thought to himself on how much better off he would be once he as dead. He wouldn't really be alive anymore, but then he wouldn't have to deal with her.

She opened her mouth and he secretly wished to smack her. She raised her arms up and moaned, “Oh great gods, oh cruel Death, how could you do this to us? We are husband and wife. We are the land and ocean. We are the rose and aphids![2] Please, please, please, Death, do not take my innocent husband away! If you must, oh nasty Death, take me instead. Take me and leave him whole and healthy.” She inwardly smiled to herself as she flopped onto the bed and cried dramatically. She thought this would be such a nice little act for her dying husband and gossiping slaves. What she didn’t count on was that Death, who was relatively bored at the moment, listened in to her dreadful moaning. There was a cold draft coming from the corner of the room, the one with the scroll-shelf and a light flapping of heavy cloth. A tall ominous figure stood there. The husband stared at it, hoping for sure that this tall ominous figure was not who he thought it was and had not come for what he thought he came for. The wife remained oblivious.

I HAVE THOUGHT ON IT AND HAVE DECIDED THAT A DEATH IS A DEATH. IT DOES NOT REALLY MATTER WHO DIES, JUST SO LONG AS SOMEONE DIES WHEN A PERSON OUGHT TO.

The wife looked up and screamed at the tall ominous figure. “I-it... erm... Well, I take it back! I don't want to die anymore!”

The tall ominous figure stared at her for a moment. The husband thought it looked as though it was thinking. The figure then shrugged and said:

WELL, I HADN'T REALLY EXPECTED THAT.

“Then, can I not die?”

The figure looked over at the husband.

The husband looked back.

And shivered.

[1] She had problems with the stirring. She always kept it on the burner for a little too long or a little too short. Well, that and she did not have the knack for choosing out the best of veggies. They were almost always a little old and rotten and she was not the gentlest of veggie-holders, causing them to bruise rapidly. Or, for the matter, the best of meats. On the whole, it was wise to stay away from her cooking. For his own sake, he tried to make her happy and secretly munched on their head of house slave's dishes instead. Understanding his predicament, the head of house slave always made two helpings worth of food and got paid rather well for it, too.

[2] When she had first thought this up in her mind, she thought it sounded poetic, romantic even. After all, it had the word rose in it. As she said it, she realised just how stupid it sounded. Her husband would have agreed with her.

NO. YOU DID CALL ME CRUEL... AND NASTY. I DON'T THINK THAT WAS VERY NICE. I’M A PRETTY GOOD GUY ONCE YOU GET TO KNOW ME.

“So... I'm going to die? For... INSULTING YOU?”

YES. THAT IS PRETTY MUCH IT.

The husband figured that this wouldn't be a good time to mention that he felt a little light-headed and his feet were getting cold. He was pretty sure that this was something to do with him dying.

“Well, then how do I die?”

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

“If I'm to die, I need a reason. People just don’t go around dying for no good reason. I don’t have a reason to die. I’m healthy.”

THERE ARE OTHER WAYS OF DYING.

“Such as?”

WELL, YOU COULD BE STABBED.

“By who?”

SOME ONE WITH A KNIFE.

The husband thought that this would be pretty obvious.

“I don't want to be stabbed.”

YOU DO NOT GET TO CHOOSE HOW YOU DIE, I DO.

“Pick another one.”

FINE. HOW ABOUT BEING RUN OVER?

“Too messy.”

ANIMAL ATTACK?

“Nope.”

The husband felt his abdomen was feeling a little chilly.

HOW ABOUT FALLING OFF A CLIFF?

“What cliff?”

By now, Death was getting annoyed. This woman asked to be killed, then refused to and now wants to choose the way in which she died. Most just died with fear and got over it.

THEN FEAR. YOU CAN ALWAYS DIE OF FEAR.

“But I'm not afraid.”

THEN YOU COULD FALL AND BREAK SOMETHING... AND, WELL, PUNCTURE YOUR HEART.

“Not graceful enough.”

Death was, by this point, getting very annoyed. He just remembered that he was to meet Pestilence at a quaint little café in the 21st century. This woman was taking too long. Death looked at his watch. He was going to run late if this kept up any longer.

By now the husband felt rather dead, which was odd because he wasn't.

THEN YOU COULD DROWN.

“And become all bloated and ugly? Ew, no.”

HOW ABOUT A HEART ATTACK?

“My heart is fine and it just sounds so violent.”

There was a pause as he tried to think of something.

A WILD ANIMAL... WITH A DISEASE.

“What kind of wild animal?”

A WOLF?

“We're in town.”

IT IS DISEASED, IT WOULD NOT MATTER.

He was now five minutes late. Pestilence liked people who were on time. Death liked being on time, he was a very punctual person.

I AM LATE. THE WAY IN WHICH YOU DIE DOES NOT REALLY MATTER IN THE END. YOU ALL END UP IN THE SAME PLACE ANYWAYS.

Deciding that he was late enough, he ended it.