Death took in the moment and saw his chance to slip out the back door. Even from the street he could hear the LightScribe Gate Group’s party commencing and getting out of hand. He hurried back to his apartment so he could change into a suit and start growing his hair back. The singing, chanting, and hollering slowly died out behind him.
A Callback for Death
MAN WITH BAC OF 9.4 LIVES TO SEE NAME IN RECORD BOOK
Winchester – When Winchester Police arrested Steven Brums, 39, Thursday night, he had a Blood Alcohol Content level of 9.4%, a new world record.
Brums was picking flowers in his neighbor’s garden when police found him.
“We got a call about a man severing agapanthuses on private property,” Chief of Police Alfred Writ said. “When we picked him up, Brums was shouting incoherently and trying to light himself on fire by rubbing two sticks together.”
When Brums’ BAC level showed 9.4%, the officers assumed the testing equipment was faulty. “We ran seven more tests all with the same result,” Writ said. “How this guy isn’t dead is completely out of my grasp.
When reached for comment, Brums greeted reporters with repeated shouts of “Carl Perkins” and an a capella version of “Daniel” by Elton John.
Meanwhile, doctors are trying to isolate Brums’ blood to see why he is still alive.
Brums was charged with destruction of property and lying to police about having written the song “Daniel.”
Death was lying down in his room, pondering the stars and the universe, when he decided he needed a drink. He walked out into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. No sooner did he put the cup to his lips when the door of Brian’s room opened. A cloud of smoke plumed out the doorway and filled the entire apartment, trailing with it Brian and three very greasy looking Egyptian teenagers. The one closest to Brian, who had a mohawk and a sweatshirt that was four sizes too large for him, came face to face with Death and began sniffing his hair. Death reeled back into the cabinets, hitting his head.
“Oh…yo,” said Brian vaguely, casting a glazed expression toward Death. “Uh, what’s up?”
“Nothing really,” said Death. “Say, Brian, as a human, do you ever think about dying? Does every person think it’s all that bad? I mean, which would be worse, being dead or living forever while your mind deteriorates? Do you ever wonder if dying is really the enemy of humankind, or if it’s something to embrace, like an old friend? Does death make life that much more special, or is the prospect of it just too depressing?” Death was out of breath by the time he finished, but he was happy to get his musings out into the open.
“Yeah,” said one of the Egyptians, a taller man with a ducktail haircut and square sunglasses. “Yeah, man. I always think about that.”
“I..” started Brian, losing his train of thought as he stared at the ceiling. “Hey, Derek, someone called for you. Some chick named…uh…”
Death raised an eyebrow and looked at Brian intently, eagerly waiting for him to finish. As Brian placed a finger on his chin and looked at nothing in particular, Death said hopefully, “Sheila?”
“Sheila who?” asked Brian. He looked at one of his friends, who shrugged.
“Was it Sheila who called?”
“Wait, what?” asked Brian, leaning back and laughing. “Oh, yeah, that. Yeah it was Sheila. She called for you. Sheila. Hm.”
Brian led his friends to the couch where they all sat down and began listening to music on his laptop. “Yeah, dudes,” he said as the dreadful tunes ravaged Death’s eardrums. “In ten years, you wait. Drake is gonna be legendary. Our kids will listen to Drake and we can all say we were there when he was big.” As Brian’s friends nodded in agreement Death went back into his room and shut the door, muffling the inane noise. He dug Sheila’s number out of his jacket pocket and dialed it with shaking fingers and trembling internal organs.
Three rings, then a loud “Hello?” from the other end.
“Hi,” said Death. “Sheila? It’s Derek.”
Sheila gasped loudly and as Death tried to quickly recover from being startled he heard Sheila drop the phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Oh my God, Derek it’s you! I knew you’d call back, I knew it. OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!”
Death laughed at Sheila’s wild antics, a quality he truly enjoyed. “Yup, it’s me. So I got your message from my roommate, and—“
“That was your roommate?” interjected Sheila. “He tried to sell me some sort of pizza with a ‘special topping.’ He’s wild!”
“Yeah, he’s…something,” said Death.
“But anyways,” started Sheila. Death could practically hear her bouncing around and throwing mad hand gestures into the air as she chuckled. “I wanted to see if you wanted to go to dinner with me.”
“Oh,” said Death, “yes, of course.”
“HURRAY!” screamed Sheila, making Death jump backwards. “I’ll make reservations at The Beehive for eight. Know where it is? It’s on Maine Street. Right next to that crappy FreePay place. Don’t be late, Dee-Dee.” And before Death could answer she hung up the phone noisily. Death hung up too, and suddenly he felt like dancing. A real date, with a real person. He was fitting into city life no problem now.
In the evening, Death sat on the couch watching a Pirates baseball game with Brian. “Yeah, I know I’m from Boston, but I like all the Pittsburgh teams. Don’t know why,” said Brian as though Death had inquired about his choice of fandom. “I mean, the Sox games aren’t even that good. Fenway Park is, like, the worst. I’ve never actually been before, but my brother has, and he said it was terrible.”
Death did not quite know what Brian was talking about, but he nodded anyways. He was too busy straightening out his suit nervously and thinking about how he was going to conduct conversation with Sheila.
