Death Is A Cool Guy, Part 1

         I thought I'd take a break from the norm today and present something a little different. I started writing a short story and decided to share the first part of it with you. I hope you enjoy it. I'd also love to hear your feedback. It is currently titled "Death Is A Cool Guy"

       I don’t even remember what we were fighting about. I guess that’s how most arguments go. We were laying in bed talking about what jobs I applied for that day. It had been almost nine months since I lost my job. Well to be fair, I didn’t lose it. I still know where it is, it just isn’t mine anymore. Unemployment benefits had run out and I was officially contributing nothing to the household. Nine months without a job had taken its toll on me. To say I was depressed was too obvious.

                I was constantly on edge and the more we talked about my job situation, the angrier I got. In retrospect, I was probably out of line. So it was no surprise to her when I grabbed my pillow and headed for the couch. I laid on the couch stewing for about an hour before I finally drifted off into an angry sleep.

                It was around 3:30 when I awoke to the sound of the fridge opening. From my spot on the couch I could see the warm glow of the refridgerator light illuminating a figure. It wasn’t like my wife to get up during the night for any reason so I kept an eye open out of curiosity. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when I saw a tall gaunt figure in a long black robe emerge from the kitchen with my last Qingdao in his bony hand.

                The figure sat down on Uncle Rays chair, the orange one that the dog usually sleeps on. I was always a bit hesitant to sit in it because Uncle Ray reportedly died in it. As comfortable as it is, and despite the fact that I think my wife told me that to mess with me, I always thought twice before sitting in it.

                At this point both of my eyes were wide open and my heart was beating faster than an marathon runner on the 21^st mile. There was just enough light coming through the venetian blinds from the streetlight outside to reveal the strangers face. I suddenly became sure I was dreaming. His face, I assumed it was a “he”, was hard, literally hard. I could see from eight feet away that it was just exposed bone with a sinister permanent smile. Somehow, the thought that I was dreaming calmed me down.

                “You’re not dreaming” the figure said, causing my heart to speed up again. How did he know what I was thinking?

                “Among other things, I’m telepathic” he said. Now I was starting to freak out. The more he talked, the better look I got at him. He was an especially bony figure in an oversized black robe that fell down to his feet. Sitting as he was, however, I could see his feet. They were almost transparent. I could see the bones within as the skin seemed to flicker in and out.

                “Are you the Grim Reaper” I managed to squeak out.

                “I’m A Grim Reaper” His voice was strange. It was so deep I felt in it in my chest before I heard it. But at the same time, it had a lyrical quality, almost relaxing.

                “Are you here for me?” I asked, almost a bit hopeful.

                “No”

                My mind raced as panic set in. I was still mad at her, but not enough to wish her any harm. She was still my wife after all, the love of my life. My eyes darted to the bedroom wall.

                “No. Not her, take me instead”

                “Relax, I’m not here for her either. And no, I’m not here for the dog. I came for the old lady in apartment 9. Figured I’d stop in for a beer. I haven’t had Qingdao in years”

                I was confused. Very confused. “I’m confused” I admitted.

                “Well the only other choice in brew was Bud Light. I might be a walking skeleton caught between life and death with no tongue to speak of, but even I have standards. Besides, something drew me here” He took another swig of beer.

                “Yeah, I’m guessing the dead lady is what drew you here” Did I just make a glib joke to the Grim Reaper?

                “Good one. No I mean something drew me to your apartment. I just had a feeling I’d find something good here. I hope you don’t mind that I took your last Qingdao. Where did you find this anyway?”

                We spent the next hour talking about my time in China, focusing of course on my exploits related to Qingdao Beer. It turns out he had spent some time in China during the 60’s. I didn’t bother asking which century he was referring to. I don’t remember him leaving. The next thing I knew, my wife was waking me up as she prepared to go to work. I chalked it all up to a really lucid dream until I saw the empty Qingdao on the floor next to Uncle Rays chair. Never in my life had I been so sure that I was going insane.