Death bed. If I were on my deathbed I would oppose some confession, depart with something that would allow further generations to ponder 'What is it she meant?'. I'd provide some family relations ghost stories. Perhaps a great-grandson would attempt to communicate with me through a $15.00 Ouija board they begged for during their parents' annual Black Friday shopping sales. I was told that sometimes there is a middle, a place where people who were not so good but not so bad go. It's a staircase. A missionary in a parking lot once said the more family that prays for me after death guarantees me a safe return to heaven; so the more people that remembered me would be my inevitable escape from facing consequences for actions that may have caused devastation to others. Perfect. I think I like this middle place.

My eyes are heavy, heavier than usual, yet they stay open. Adrenaline, the reaction that keeps you going, tells you to keep on a little bit longer. I do not think that is what this is. Clouds gloomy enough to appear as though water would leak from them at any given allowance, sounds of nearly piercing white noise surround nothing but my ears, a ringing covering any senses I would think would aid me. I lay there. Still, eyes adjusting to nothing more than what currently looks like a blurred frame of grays. My head is spinning. Maybe it's just pain. One hand extended, each finger shielding a small portion of light there was, yet it leaked through the gaps of my fingers. The object above disappeared partially, momentarily. Air circles around, only heard through thin blades of grass changing from left to right; tall enough for me to be overlooked, green enough to look calming yet holding onto a sinking feeling, I feel alone. Peace. I believe this is peace, the calm spilling over, soaking up, dissolving into my surroundings. I would love to return, back to wherever I may have been before this moment. Maybe formally using this as a spiritual awakening, I could capitalize off of this. A generic broadcast TV show; "I died I think!" tell all subject of death, featuring a surprise guest; the pope". Of course, the Pope would feature, his social media manager would have booked it, and the Italians would go wild for it. It is like Easter but better, "a random girl from a town with around 10,000 people has just been resurrected! Here's what the local truck driver had to say about her!" Tabloids would spell that out, and sell it out too.

"Unless you were a big shot which I oppose, I don't think a tabloid would reconcile your grievances."

Beat. I feel myself jolting up. Legs are covered in mud and tiny scars, yet I do not seem to recall the grass slicing them. Tilted up, I find myself looking at a boy. I would call him sickly looking; slightly tan yet in between a mix of pale, long darkened hair almost pitch black sways messily with the wind, strands of hair occasionally meeting his eyes. He looked ill, perhaps he was just tired. His eyes were odd, big, almost bug-like, like shards of any and every color filled them. Strange. The outstretched arm of his meets up face, his fingers brassy, slightly shaded pink around his knuckles. Stranger danger would not seem to assist me with this it seems almost noted that we are to be the only inhabitants of the surrounding field.

"I don't know you."

I squint my eyes, instinctively.

"You are not meant to."

The boy smirks his hand waving slightly beckoning for me to accept his gesture to aid to loft me off the grass. I accept hesitantly as my feet find their grounding. He grins. Almost as if there is a factor of entertainment within the unexplainable situation. There was no need to be alarmed. Even so, I am sure nobody would believe me if I even attempted to explain I was in a grass field with a potentially murderous boy. He croaks his head to the side whilst his gaze is more serious.

"You are dead."

He brings himself closer to me, seeing each other eye to eye. I stay silent.

"This is usually a shock to one's self."

Perplexed, he looks at me.

"It's good I am dead. I think I needed to die. Is there a staircase that you take me to? A heaven or hell?"

"Heaven and hell are concepts to soften the blow for those passing through from life to death."

"Well, then this is boring."

The boy smiles in amusement, nearly cracking a laugh. I did not find his smile uncomfortable, it was warmer than the rest of him looked. He scoffs, folding his arms.

"That is an entitled answer, to what does dying owe you? A trophy? A ribbon? Did you die of selfless reasons? Do you remember your death?"

"You ask me questions but you do not justify why YOU are here. A strange pale boy helps me up from a patch of grass where I lay minding to my own accord then questions me as if I am supposed to understand where I am and what it is I am doing here."

Am I annoyed? Perhaps in the slightest. The boy smiles, more arrogant than anything, His head twirls while he pivots, lifting each leg he begins to walk away. Yet I am angry, I am annoyed. I would have been better off lying in an endless patch than to receive empty sentences with no left or right. Instead, I bear three minutes only for a boy to announce my supposed death and then to turn away. If he is a grim reaper as such he has the attitude of a disgraced millionaire.

"You can't just walk away..."

I yell as he slowly seems to distance himself from where he was standing. Although I am no fan of begging I don't take my words as a plea, more a statement. Possibly an instruction however I would be a fool to believe he would even think to listen. His head once again turned with excitement and anticipation. Lips curl into a small smirk. Was this funny to him?

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"I have an Omen."

"I don't speak medieval, pale boy!"

He seems to huff walking back towards me. He steps closer, still at arm's distance. One arm extended, his hand a few inches away from my face. fingers are placed down, holding up only two fingers since the thumb never counts.

Beat.

I feel a blur, my eyes stay focused only on the hand as if everything else does not exist. It changes, the field, the long weary grass, gone. Instead replaced by a checkered table smudged with grease, possibly a mustard stain. Opposite a red leather chair although not in great condition good enough it seems for the boy to sit.

"Diners, do you like Diner's?"

He smiles, this is off track.

"You know they were popularized during the 1950s rock and roll. That was a centered pinnacle point for the evolution of music. Progression not so much, and trust me I have met enough dead Elvis impersonators to know that the only message translated to current time was the disco flared pants and hound dog."

Beat. The boy smiles and laughs to himself.

"This is off-topic."

"Are you Hungry, Field girl?"

I lean forward more placing both hands on the table.

"Do you avoid every question, or do I sit here and let you waffle on."

"Waffles, good choice!"

The boy grins. His body shuffles adjusting himself to appear more relaxed. Eyes drift to what's around. A lady, in an old apron, with edges, loose seams, and chipped-off fabric paint. Her hair is barely tied up, although it appears she made some type of effort. Footsteps, each one tracing nearer, closer to our booth. Yet she turns as if we were not visible.

"They can't see us, not unless you want them to... peckish maybe, do you still feel hunger."

I Strengthen my gaze to almost challenge him.

"I just want chips."

He nods, positioning himself, and the boy strides to the nearest worker. Although from afar I could never tell you what he was saying, I was never gifted in lip reading. Calming the strange boy marks each step making it back to his seat.

"I am death."

Another statement, maybe it's a metaphor. Yet, there is no straight answer.

"I don't know anyone named Death"

"Do I need a name? I was simply telling you what I am."

A hand places the chips down although in a decorative classical diner dish. I allow myself to take one since it seems the stranger opposite me has no interest in them.

"Like the Grim Reaper. Do you also wear a ragged coat, or only for those who deserve the full experience?"

"I am not a costume or custom. The reaper is a fable!"

He looks annoyed.

I smirk eating the chips. The grease on the table covers nearly every asset of the dinner, and specks of sauce stain the chairs and windows around us.

"The table's a mess."

"I can make one's surroundings change, almost skip in time, and yet your only concern is a dirty table."

"If I were to question any trick of yours would you answer it?"

Checkmate.

"Usually I would have you gone, turned into nothing.. Yet I am in debt to fix my wrongdoings very well meaning you will help me."

He steals a chip from my hand while eating it.

"And if I do not agree?"

"You will agree."

The boy reaches for another chip which I take, from his hand. Revenge.

"I need to know what it is I am agreeing to, no?"

"I have both best interests at heart. That is your only concern."

I lean more forward.

"Mine being?"

"Your sister."

A sting, a word which still aches.

"Mine of course being my redemption."

"That answer is not vague at all"

I find myself rolling my eyes. Leaning in he smirks almost as if this is another exciting riddle. His voice sends echoes around me, just to blur out the surroundings I was close to recognizing, earning some familiarity. Instead, I stand, twilight purples red and blues mixed with the sky, whilst I stand next to the boy on a rocky bay. I would find it more appealing if it included sand however I don't tend to count gray as any type of sand acceptable to even call this an inviting bay.

"Think of me as a guide, I assist the transition from death to oblivion. The cease of existence."

The boy swings his legs back and forth dangling his legs on the rock.

"I am the essence of life, the completed task."

"Not everyone gets to complete it, you take children there? You have no second chances for those who are robbed?"

The boy looks at me and smiles softly. It is not completely clear but he has a look of nostalgia.

"You remind me of the rogue."

"Who?"

"Now and then the higher powers that may allow the redemption of a soul, should they agree to their new performative role receive a second chance at life."

"And what is-"

He places a finger on my lips, giving me a silent shush.

"Att-Ta-ta-taa. Her role was to be guidance and morale. Think, if there were two people tied to a railway track one was a child killer, the other-"

"Ellen! Can the other one be Ellen?"

"Ellen is not near a child murderer!"

He rolls his eyes.

"A child killer, and a PTA board mother, except the child killer killed someone who had abused them for years, and the PTA board mother although donated to cancer research, and is the top Facebook channel for new mothers, she is seen as charitable yet she shuns her child from the world due to their undisclosed illness subjecting them to life long-suffering."

"The PTA mother, every time. I'm telling you they always have the deepest secrets man-"

"That is not the point. The just is keeping order, balance moral balance. You will be karma, alongside the assistance of helping me find the damn rouge."

"What happened to the last one."

The boy goes silent as if to say do not ask.

"The rouge failed, resulting in my bad omen. If you are to agree I will adjust the terms."

He gets up placing his toes in the sand and picking up a small pebble.

"Adjust them for what reason.?"

"You have a sister, is she dead?"

Beat. The word again.

"You don't know what you are talking about."

"But I do."

He skims the rock, across the water, The ripples echo through as the heaven they are surrounded in becomes water-only, flowing through creating a blurry vision and changing the setting to twilight skies where a bus stop the sign slightly tilted off the concrete greets them.

"Delving into the past with no ability to avenge is painful, I get it."

"You are always here so you really wouldn't get it pale boy."

"I think deep down you are angry, anger fuels justice, it fuels karma. Do you want to find her? Think of finding her as a side quest, you get your sister to work within balancing the world's right and wrongs."

"I'm in."

The boy raises his eyebrows.

"Hmm, very well. You can't have karma without revenge."

He extends his hand out once again.

"Don't fuck it up."