The Murder That Never Happened

“I will kill you, Adonis,” I said from his moonlit bedside. “Right here.”

“Save your breath, darling,” interrupted the Grim Reaper, serenely adjusting her shimmering robes. “Spare me the empty threats. You are dead.”

I turned, “Can you please, please, kill him for me. Or leave me be.” 

“We’ve been over this for days; there’s nothing in this realm you could offer me to tempt me to take his soul. Nor can I leave until you are following me.”

I studied her. She pulled at her robes again, draping them back over her exposed skeleton, muttering about modesty. 

“Please,” she said, “just go peacefully, this is so deathly boring.”

“I can’t! This isn’t fair! He deserves to die!”

“He deserves to die!” I sobbed again, striking at that stupid head. His curls remained undisturbed, mocking me.

“So emotional,” she huffed, inspecting her nails.

“Stop beating at the resting human. For the millionth time, you are a ghost, you cannot murder anyone.”

“I hate him.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I hate you!”

“Many ghosts do.”

The heater automatically shut down with a whirl. Slowly silence settled in the messy bedroom, and I shivered again. I was dead. Stone dead.

“It’s over, I murmured, sinking to the carpet.

“Let it end. Let it go.”

We sat waiting.

“He killed me,” I said softly, breaking the silence. “You don’t understand, he killed me.”

There was no witty comment or sarcastic laughter. My confession just hung in the still air between me, the angel of death, and a murderer.

“Oh darling,” Death said, sitting and slowly leaning over me, “you never loved life.”

Her fragrance engulfed me but it smelled pleasant. It smelled tempting.

“Where would we go if I went with you?” She smiled but didn’t answer.

The clouds shifted again and the glasses on the window sill winked at me. Would the murder ever be found out? Would he even be caught? How could he lay sleeping knowing nearby I laid dead?

“Let it go.” Death said again.

Then we left the sleeping figure, who did not stir.