#i've had countless sleepless nights to plot this out so i guess it was bound t

[tomahawk-swing]

Death and all of his Friends

The subway was moving at normal speed. It wasn’t too crowed, and never remained longer than usual at the stations. Dingo’s luck couldn’t have been any higher.

He sat at the far edge of a seat row, his head leaning agaisnt the railing. His uniform felt tighter than ever, his bag weighed onto his knees. Classes might be over for the day being, but his ordeal wasn’t. Just thinking of all the homework he had left made he want to fall asleep, and never wake up.

He envied the man who sat across from him, his feet tucked under his seat, preventing the large bag he had set under the row from moving away. The man had his face entirely hidden in the shadow of his hood, his hands tucked in his sweater’s pocket. Dingo couldn’t wait to get home, rip off his tie, get rid of his shirt and blazer, and finally slip into his beloved hoodie.

The train pulled into yet another station. Amongst the several people to climb up, Dingo spotted an elderly lady, walking with the help of a stick. Automatically, Dingo stood up from his seat, and gestured for the old woman to take it. He received a grateful smile, which he returned, before he moved to the other end of the alley.

A few minutes passed. He was only one station away from home now. At the penultimate station, he saw the old lady climb down, and address him another smile from afar. The man with the sweater climbed down as well but left he bag behind. Dingo wanted to grab the bag and run after its owner, but the alley was too crowded. The automatic doors closed.

The bag exploded.

The blast engulfed the crowd in a cloud of thick smoke. The windows exploded, the passengers’ screams of horror, pain, terror, all blended into one voice. It went out at once, replaced by a heavy silence. A silence of death.

The stenches of burnt metal, charred flesh, singed hair filled the train. Not a single passenger was still standing. People could be heard screaming outside, calling for help. Some tried to open the doors, but the heat of the explosion had melted the metal, trapping the survivors inside. Help could only crawl through the broken windows, at the price of burning their hands on the frames.

Time was slowing down. Dingo’s ears buzzed painfully, as if a drill was piercing through his eardrums. Torturous pain coursed through his side, a weight pushed his body down, making it impossible for him to move or breathe. The sickening stenches and the lingering smoke only made it all worse.

Unable to hear, Dingo could only try to move. His eyes were blinded by the stinging smoke, so he pushed at the weight on his body without realizing what it was. Using all the strength he still possessed, he managed to free himself. He pressed his eyes against his sleeve, and threw a quick glance at the obstacle, before tears came streaming down his face again.

Wide opened eyes stared back at him. Dull, drenched eyes. The eyes of a corpse.

Time stopped. Dingo felt intensely cold, a clear contrast to the wave of scorching heat that had followed the explosion. The buzzing in his ears slowly faded, but he still couldn’t hear a sound. He was able to wipe his eyes again, and prop himself on one elbow. The pain through his side was unbearable, but he held on.

He looked down at his torso. A large piece of metal pierced through his side, and had remained stuck there. His white shirt had already turned scarlet, and the stain kept spreading.

The boy’s attention was taken away from his wound, when he spotted movement in the corner of his vision. A figure was standing a few meters away, swiftly making its way around the fallen bodies. Dingo first believed that they were gracefully hopping between the corpses.

The silhouette was dressed in a long, pitch-black dress, that went down to their ankles. There was nothing below it - the figure wasn’t hopping, it was floating above the bodies. A deep hood covered their entire head. The only part of their body Dingo could see were two skinless hands, sharp, bony fingers sprouting out of the dress’ overlarge sleeves.

“What a mess ...” The silhouette commented, unnoticed to Dingo’s wounded eardrums. “This is how low humanity has stooped ... Cowardly crimes, where the murderer runs from the crime scene to be, leaving his victims to such a cruel fate. How am I supposed to take those tortured souls with me ? This makes me almost regret the times of the black plague ...”

The figure carried a large stick, topped with a crescent-shaped, pointy blade. A scythe, Dingo recalled. It took his foggy brain a few seconds to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Death itself was standing right next to him.

He hadn’t heard the silhouette move closer. Were his eardrums still out of commission, or was the figure perfectly silent ? He soon figured out the truth.

“We meet again, young man.” The cloaked figure spoke in a deep voice, so deep that it seemed to resonate within Dingo’s very bones. It was chilling, frightening. A single shiver crawled all over Dingo’s skin. The last of his strength finished to faded, and he collapsed to his side again.

“How many times have we crossed path ? How many times have I leaned above your agonizing body, only to be denied the honor of taking you with me ?” The figure was now crouching next to Dingo. They slipped a finger under his chin, the sharp end of it digging into Dingo’s skin, allowing another chill to course down his entire being.

“Too many times, you’ve clung so deseperately to life that I could only let you go. You forgot all your encounters with me, of course. I couldn’t let you brag about defeating Death itself so many times.” The figure commented, in a tone filled with cold anger.

“Too any times, I’ve leaned over your agonizing body ... I’ve heard you beg for another chance, say that you still had people to protect, swear that you would never get into such a situation again ... But all those times, you broke that promise.”

Dingo was at a loss for words. Even if he could form a coherent sentence, the words might not make it through the knot that tied his vocal cords together. All he could do was listen, listen to the surreal figure, listen to its unbearable words. Listen to the last words he would ever hear, before Death lost their patience.

“This asks for punishment.” The cloaked silhouette concluded. They released Dingo’s chin, and slowly stood up. Without warning, a fleshless hand grabbed hold of the metallic piece that dug into Dingo’s skin, and pulled it out in a brutal motion.

Dingo howled in pain. He curled around the now open wound, and felt a warm fluid pool under his side. As cold as he felt, he didn’t want this warmth to keep spreading. He knew all too well that it was only a temporary relief.

“Here is my first suggestion : you will die here. The explosion will be branded a ‘terrorist attack’, your name will be added to the list of casualties, and every year, the entire country will mourn your death, along with those of all the corpses that fill this car.”

“You will die a sad, pitiful death. A victim of this new kind of ‘war’ modern humans have invented. You weren’t able to stand for yourself, and simply try to stop the villain from seeing through with their evil plan. The villain was sitting right across from you this whole time, but you had no idea.”

Dingo couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t accept such an end to his story. “I don’t ... I don’t ...” He croaked. His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it still carried all the despair he felt. “I don’t ... want to die here ... I can’t ... I still have ... things to do ...”

The figure let out a short chuckle : “Of course. How could I expect your speech to be any different, this time ?” Their head shook in the depth of their large hood. “Very well. You might want to consider my second suggestion, then. Or rather, let’s forget that I’m giving you a choice ...”

“You won’t die here. But here’s the catch : you won’t walk away from this tomb with your life, either.”

“Allow me to explain.” The silhouette crouched down again. Their cold hands closed around Dingo’s, and took them away from his bleeding side. "Your life as you’ve lived it so far will end here. You will become the new bridge between life and death.”

Dingo felt Death’s hand reached for his head. The cold palm met his forehead, while the fingers digged into his skull. The silhouette picked up their scythe again, and made a swinging motion.

The blade stopped a millimeter away from Dingo’s neck. Very slowly, it was pressed into his skin, just deep enough to open a slight cut there. Blood trickled from the wound, one droplet, another one ... then no more.

A tremendous shiver spread through Dingo’s body. His veins were filled with cold fire, devouring his every nerve and muscle, shaking his frame with terrible spasms. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth. Only his twisted traits and tortured body conveyed the unbearable pain he was going through.

The pain slowly subsidied, leaving only a cold sensation, as if Dingo had been laying in a deep layer of snow for an entire day. He couldn’t feel any of his limbs, nor hear his heart beating. He felt cold, so cold. Cold as a corpse.

The pressure was lifted from his forehead, and the sharp blade stopped digging into his neck. The silhouette stood up, a hand held out for Dingo to take, and commanded : “Stand up.”

Feeling returned to Dingo’s arms and legs, and he noticed that he no longer felt any pain in his side. He took the fleshless hand, and lifted himself up to his feet.

The moment his palm met Death’s, Dingo felt a prickling sensation spread across his skin. He jumped slightly, and immediately stared at his hand. What was wrong with it ?

“You’ll want to watch what you touch with those hands.” The silhouette warned, with a hint of amusement. “Of course, this wouldn’t truly be a punishment, if there weren’t some drawbacks to it ... But I will let you discover all the details of your new condition on your own. I have wasted enough time on your case.”

Dingo was utterly confused, but he found himself unable to speak again. His eyes were looking for a face in the shade of the silhouette’s hood, but there was nothing to be spotted in the pit of darkness.

"Do not think you have escaped my wrath. If you try to run away from your punishment, I will personally come to put an end to our little agreement. One doesn’t simply make a deal with Death itself, and break it in all impunity.”

“Honor my name. Adore it, fear it.” The silhouette solemnly commanded. Their voice became louder all of a sudden loud as a crack of thunder, louder even than the explosion that had started this all.

“Respect that name, young man. Because from now on, it will be yours.”

Silence fell at once, and the silhouette disappeared. In its stead, only a black cloak remained, similar to the one the figure was wearing. Dingo picked it up and slipped it on, only to realize with surprise that it suited him perfectly. Without a second glance for the corpses that lay all around him, he bolted for the nearest window, and ran away.

The rest of the world was slowly starting to move again, and by the time it had went back to normal, Dingo was already climbing up the stairs, escaping the attacked subway station along with the panicked crowd.

Death’s words kept resonating at the back of his mind. He couldn’t make any sense of them, but his instincts were on high alert. This couldn’t mean anything good. Whatever the ‘punishment’ was, he would suffer from its consequences. But in a way, he was relieved.

Whatever the implications of this ‘deal’ would turn out to be, he would have to live with them. If it meant that he could still share the existence of all his loved ones, that he could still protect them ... It had to be worth it.

How could it be any worse than death ?