Getting hit by a truck hurt. It hurt a lot.

Magical Matthew had been on his way to a kid’s birthday party. He was a clown, and that’s where clowns belonged, not splattered on the side of the road like meat confetti.

Luckily, he’d been in his car.

Puzzlingly, he was now standing outside of it, and a guy who looked pretty familiar was sitting in the seat of his car. It was definitely his car. White van painted over with circus art, talents his mother always told him should’ve put him in museums being used to make his vehicle more magical.

The body? Head torn to pieces by shrapnel from the truck he’d hit, glass in his eyes, slumped over like he’d passed out instead of dying a horrible death. He wore the same clown makeup and silly poofy hair and the same traditional outfit, even down to the silly nose and the silly shoes.

But no, that definitely wasn’t Matthew. After all, he was on his way to a birthday party.

The driver of the truck got out, falling to his knees. He scrambled over to the van and knocked on the window, praying to the lord above he’d get a response.

He didn’t.

He threw down his hat, started biting on his fingernails.

“Good job, Jason. You killed the clown who was supposed to entertain your kid, on his own damn birthday. He’s never gonna live it down.”

Matthew would reflect on how maybe he should be more concerned about the guy he’d just killed, but he was a bit busy reflecting on how that corpse was his.

He’d confirmed it. He recognized the man right away: Jason Cowbell, father of little Jonathan Cowbell, the boy who one Magical Matthew, favorite local clown of the few kids who didn’t hate him and whose parents didn’t think he was shady, was supposed to make happy.

He had a little problem: he couldn’t entertain anyone if he was dead at his steering wheel. There was no denying it, either. That was very obviously him.

Then why was he-?

And then he appeared, time freezing around them as concerned neighbors started coming out of their homes to see what all the hubbub was about, old Miss Parkinson dialing on her outdated phone.

The Grim Reaper himself.

He was shorter than expected, but no less… Well, grim. He had a skeleton’s body, shrouded in old, worn black robes, a big ol’ scythe in one hand. The thing that stood out from the usual expectation was him only being half Mathew’s height. That, and the brown and black chihuahua at his side.

Matthew swallowed, after stifling a laugh, of course.

“...Who are you?”

“I think you know that already, Matthew. Or should I call you… Todd?”

“Hey, I don’t use that name in costume.” Matthew corrected him, pulling at his own sleeve and biting his lip.

“In death, everyone is themselves. Their true selves.” He gestured for Matthew to look himself over.

He slowly turned his eyes down, and saw his costume was gone.

Instead of Magical Matthew, the greatest of three clowns in the sleepy town of Salisbury, there stood Todd Wilsons Jr., son of Ted Wilsons, the magician who’d died on a live stream from a trick gone wrong. He was clad in a white t-shirt, baggy pants, and his short blond hair sat messy around his shoulders, face without makeup, an eternal frown on his face he couldn’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard he tried.

It was genuine right now, not resting.

“Is that why you’re so short?”

“No. Death comes how you imagine him.” The reaper said it almost defensively, which was jarring.

“...Didn’t think death seemed small to me.” Todd muttered. Death had been the center of his life since he could remember. More specifically, since his father died, and ever since he’d been trying to make people happy, like his father. His mother hated seeing him in his father’s shoes, and not even on such a grand level. You have a talent for art, she always said. You should use it. Do something useful.

He had never made her smile with his acts. And he realized now, he never would.

“Well, that’s for you to decide. Perhaps it’s small because it’s the impact it has that matters.” The reaper said before turning his empty sockets to the crash.

Todd couldn’t bring himself to look at his body.

“You’re coming to take me away.” He said, numb. It was something he’d realized immediately, but didn’t want to say. He didn’t want to leave his mother behind. He had a brother, she might be able to live with it, but even so, he was sure she still loved him despite everything she’d said.

That, and he had unfinished business.

The reaper spoke, sensing his thoughts, or perhaps reading them outright. Now that he was dead he was basically naked, wasn’t he?

“You want to finish the party.”

“I-”

“You don’t want to let little Jonathan’s twelve birthday be ruined.”

Todd swallowed, but slowly nodded.

“Your death cannot be avoided. But…” The reaper scratched the naked bone of his chin. “I can put it off, perhaps.”

“...For how long?” Todd did not want to get greedy with the reaper, but… Well, when your life is literally on the line…

The reaper tilted his head. “I would teach you a life lesson about not getting too greedy, but…”

Todd gave him a nasty look.

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“Fair, bad time. As a reaper my humor gets dark.” He chuckled, then began to wave his scythe, the little dog barking. “I suggest you pick a good spot for your death. Same time, but two weeks from now.” He warned, and all Todd could do was nod.

He blinked.

He was back in his car, on his way to the party. He would be right on time.

There was no truck.

He got there, got out, and trembled, swallowed, as he stared at the door of the house. The next two weeks went by in a haze, fog between every decision as death hung over his head. Everything, but the party.

He greeted the mother at the door. Watched as the dad pulled up in the same truck that’d killed him, carrying a last minute gift he’d had wrapped at a store somewhere just in time, sweating and cursing as he carried it.

He waited for his moment.

The party went well. He did his usual tricks. He juggled, did balloon animals, the works. But he also pulled out something special.

He briefly left for his van, leaving the parents confused, a little concerned, and when he came back he had special paints, an ice cream machine, and an old trunk.

He did magic tricks, from the coin behind the ear to picking your card to escaping in front of them all from a pair of handcuffs while they watched. One kid muttered something about there being a ‘stupid trick, it’s not real’, but to Matthew’s surprise the birthday kid nudged him in the gut with an elbow, said something about the ‘cool clown deserving respect’. He’d been told by the father the kid had a thing for entertainers, but he was always told that.

This time, it was true.

The ice cream machine had a false start, and for a moment Matthew thought everything would be ruined. But he got it going, and the kids were happy. Even the judgmental ones who thought clowns were lame or looked at him like he was up to no kid were happy as could be when he brought out the rockin’ star flavor ice cream.

His dad had invented it. He had been an ice cream maker once before he turned entertainer, after marrying Todd’s more down to earth mother of course, leaving her bewildered. But then, she’d been happy. She went with whatever his father did, as long as he was smiling.

Until he died. That’s when it changed, when it became bad and ruined.

He remembered his father serving the special treat to him for the first time, and Matthew gave a sad little smile. For a moment, it wasn’t Jonathan’s twelve birthday party, it was his, back when his dad was still alive and his mother and brother still smiled. Long before his brother had moved out, leaving him to deal with her trauma and his alone.

“What’s wrong?” Jonathan asked, as it was his turn to have his face painted. He was one of the few who did, who wasn’t a girl, at least.

It must’ve shown on his face. “Nothing, Johnny.” He forced a smile. “Just thinking.”

“You seem sad. What about?” The kid was curious, genuinely concerned. “Clowns are supposed to be happy, shouldn’t they?”

Matthew paused. “They are, yeah, but deep down we’re all just people trying to make others smile. Sometimes we forget ours.” He admitted, before chastising himself. He shouldn’t be telling this to a kid.

The kid just nodded, though, as Matthew put on the finishing touches. His paint was almost photorealistic, jarringly so, like a real honest tiger. “Like my dad. Sometimes he looks at mom and I can tell, it’s not real.”

Todd was almost instantly made uncomfortable, the comment hitting a little too close to home, though his was reversed and you had to replace ‘dad’ with ‘old photos and videos of him’.

He finished up, and started to pack up everything but the ice cream machine. His job was done here, and all he could do was hope he’d done it right.

The kid followed him just as he was finishing taping the recipe he’d used to the side of the machine. He didn’t intend to bring it with him.

“Hey, wait. Clown guy.”

Todd winced. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what, kid?”

“For making this the best one I’ve had yet.” He gave Matthew a hug, and all he could do was awkwardly return it, pat him on the back. “When I grow up all the way, I’m gonna be a magician. Just like Wilson the Wonderful!”

Todd winced again. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the new xbox or something, kid?” He muttered. He looked at Jonathan and was startled when he saw himself.

The kid furrowed his brows at him, but Matthew just smiled, played his part, and muttered an apology before finishing up here.

He was about to leave when the kid was unwrapping presents, and he heard the kid yell as he went around the bend to exit the yard.

“An Xbox 360?! Best. Birthday. Ever!”

He looked over his shoulder to see the kid holding it up like a trophy at the picnic table they’d dragged out back, and couldn’t help but smile. It was the exact same one he’d seen the dad bringing in. He imagined the father working last minute and running to the store to get the only thing his kid wanted. A good parent.

That’s right kid, forget about me, and everything. Just play with your toys.

He was startled again when the father touched his shoulder. He turned around to see the man pursing his lips.

“Thanks. For coming, I mean.”

“You paid me to, didn’t you?” Todd smiled.

“I did, yeah. But still. This stuff is special to him. Grandfather had it in his blood, you know, and when he passed, well…” The father looked sadly at the party. “He became obsessed.”

Todd let himself frown. “Go to your kid, man. He needs you.” For a moment he saw his father, and as the father nodded and left he pictured him going to talk to a young Todd about his next trick while his mother took the place of Jonathan’s. She watched and nodded, just as his own mother had, oblivious to whatever the future might hold for them.

After talking face to face with the man who’d ended his life, he left the scene.

The rest was a blur.

He called his brother, told him how he felt about him, but said he still loved him, that he wished him well, and blocked the number.

He sold everything he owned but what he needed for the next two weeks, and whatever he had managed to pry from his mother’s attic that his dad had left for him.

The games for his xbox he delivered to little Jonathan’s doorstep with a note, leaving the puzzled parents to give it to their kid, smiling awkwardly at giving their kid a gift from a clown. He’d received a thank you call, but when it’d gotten too questioning, he’d hung up.

His last act on this earth was to write a note, a note to his mother, apologizing for ignoring her concerned calls and letting her know he was fine. That everything would be alright, and he loved her very much.

He couldn’t keep the note from getting wet with tears, and couldn’t help but feel stupid, realizing how bad that note would seem when she found it after he’d died. He watched her pull up for a moment, come to check on her son, but he pulled out as she did, silenced the phone when he got the ensuing call.

He went to grab a bite to eat from the local burger shack. His favorite.

It was the last thing he ever ate, and his next step was to go outside, call his mother.

“I love you.” He said, choking, before he hung up as she asked what was going on. He then pretended he forgot to look both ways, went to cross the street, and was left as red confetti all over the street.

His last thoughts were full of regret, but also hope.

Hopefully at least this time, he got hit by someone who didn’t have a kid with a birthday today.

“Are you satisfied?” The reaper asked when he appeared, little chihuahua giving a sad whine. He was taller, now, twice as big as Todd was.

Matthew forced a smile. “No, but we don’t get to pick when we go. All we get to choose is to do the best we can before we die, right?”

The reaper paused, then nodded. He sounded satisfied. “An apt sentiment. Now come, your father is waiting for you.”

Todd blinked. “He…?”

“He’s been waiting for you ever since. I’ve never seen a man make an angel smile with card tricks before.” The reaper grinned, awkward for his lack of a proper face, but for the first time in two weeks Todd smiled back.

It was genuine.

The news passed around quickly. Magical Matthew, real name Todd Wilson, had died in a car accident. Was it suicide, pure bad luck? Who knows?

His mother was distraught, and her only living son came back to comfort her. She was overwhelmed with pain when she found the note, left only with her own guesses. But the most surprising?

The painting he’d left behind, depicting the last birthday party he’d ever worked at. In his honor, it was hung at the local art museum, and as little Jonathan looked up at it he couldn’t help but think:

I will remember this. And I’ll make everyone smile, just like he did. I won’t forget you, Mr. Todd.