Death

Gently brushing against him, I flinch.  I feel him, closer than ever, his rotting breath on my neck and his enticing voice in my ear.  

I cannot give in.  Dragging myself to my feet, I trudge on.  Each footstep is thunder and each ragged breath is hell.  Every rumble of my stomach, deafening.  The averted eyes of strangers pierce my soul.  Their blank faces loom in and out of focus.  Muffled voices ask about my wellbeing.  I stumble and fall.  No, stand, please legs work, please, oh god, please stand up, don't let me fall, he'll catch me, he'll take me, oh please, stand…
Gripping the wall, my head pounding, I begin to buckle – again.  My knees threaten to collapse altogether.  But I walk on.  Stumbling, staggering, slow.  This is me.  My once round face is hollowed and hungry for food, for anything.  

He stands on my thin shadow, almost tripping me up.  His black robe rustles at my feet.  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his face.  Afraid, I careen into a crowd of no one.  I fall, hard.  He gently lays me out, placing my head on the side.  I struggle.  Not today.  Please, give me another chance.  He places a mottled hand over my mouth.  I am mute.  With the utmost care, he reaches into my heart and plucks my battered soul out.  The wound heals instantly.  

I lie in his arms, tired.  Hours march by.  

He takes me up, whispering soft reassurance.  He tells me you sleep not in empty doorways, but on clouds and you are served food on golden plates, instead of scrounging in the bins.  It does not get so cold your bones ache as though you were eighty years old.  You do not line up once a month at a centre to bathe.  This he tells me, is heaven.  But I disagree.  It sounds like paradise.