The Death and the rainy day

I was alone.
Yes.
She was right.

I didn’t sleep all night. Part of me kept waiting to hear the door. Footsteps on the stairs. Her bedroom door closing.
None of that happened.

I could’ve gone downstairs to the living room, grabbed a knife, and ended it all that very night, but… why didn’t I want to?
For the first time, I was hesitating.

‘Lyse’… Bringing her up was a low blow.
Was she just being cruel?
Was she being herself?
Was there something more I hadn’t seen?

I replayed the scene a thousand times in my head.
Part of me felt disgusted, because maybe I was using everything that happened tonight as an excuse to avoid thinking about the past.

I didn’t sleep.
She didn’t come back.
I didn’t stop thinking all through the early hours.

In the morning, I did the same as always—pretended nothing had happened.
Two cups of tea: one for me, the other for a possibility.
I drank slowly, exhausted, not thinking about anything in particular, before grabbing my backpack and heading to work.
I still had to explain to the old lady why I’d bolted out the day before.

The walk to the town center was as oppressive as ever.
No, that’s a lie.
It hadn’t felt that way lately.

Too much silence—I didn’t like it anymore. A bird or two chirped among the trees—melodies to some, nails on a chalkboard to me.
It’s pathetic to admit the only sound I was waiting to hear was the one that used to annoy me the most.

I stopped for a while in front of the ‘crooked tree.’
In town, they said it was just a willow like any other, but decades ago, it became popular among suicides, bending its branches to one side.
It was almost like it was inviting us all to end the party—the tedious, bitter, endless party.

I’d tried hanging myself from that tree twice. The first time, I was alone.
The second time, I was with her, and as usual, she ended up talking me out of it for another day.

"The branch’ll break, don’t be an idiot, okay?" she’d said, watching me climb.

"This tree’s been holding up suicides for over 60 years" what’s one more gonna do? I’d replied, sitting on a branch. I tied part of the rope to it and started the knot.

“Uhm… what’s my name?” she’d asked.

“Death?”

“That’s a term.”

“I didn’t know you had a name.”

“I don’t…”

“So why the question?”

“What would you call me?”

“Annoyance.”

Her cheeks puffed up, and she kicked the tree. I had to cling on like a scared cat to keep from falling. I didn’t even have the rope around my neck yet.
Even then, I wasn’t sure if her reactions were genuine or just something she’d picked up over all her time.

"Alright, alright… fine… ‘Aranara.’"

"That’s awful." she’d said.

"Pick one yourself then. I’ve got more important things to do," I’d replied, finishing the knot. "Besides… why do you want a name?”

“When I become human, I’ll need one…”

I think that was the first crack inside me.
That was the first and only time I used ‘her name.’
She was talking to me about life.
I was focused on how to make the drop snap my neck so I wouldn’t die suffocating.

"How do you plan on becoming human?"

"Call it… ‘conditional resignation,’" she’d said, tapping her index finger to her forehead like she was searching for the right words.

"Conditional on…?"

"On your useless body staying alive and not dangling from a tree—or whatever other weird ideas you’ve got in that head of yours."

She wanted to live; I wanted to stop.
It seemed simple, didn’t it? Until yesterday, I thought so.
I didn’t know there could be wrong reasons for ‘wanting to live.’

The memory didn’t last long. I’d gotten so lost in my own head that by the time I snapped out of it, I was in front of the store—only this time, I didn’t hear any footsteps behind me.
I felt a mix of shame and fear.

I took a deep breath and went in. The bell above the door jingled as I entered.

"Sorry about yesterday," I said, bowing my head.

"Don’t worry. Feeling better? The air in here can get stifling sometimes," the old lady said.

"Yeah… I guess…"

"It wasn’t the air, was it?" she asked, though she seemed to already know the answer.

"I…"

"We don’t have to talk about what you don’t want to. Sometimes silence is better…

Silence was better? I’d spent years in silence.
My parents never brought it up.
My friends saw me as the one who let her drown.
They all vanished after Lyse’s death.

The noose hanging from that tree back then—it was like a magnifying glass showing me the way out.

"Silence is bullshit, old lady." I blurted out on impulse.

She just looked at me in silence.
I got it.
I needed this.

"We were just supposed to play by the shore, that’s all…"

"It’s over. No one blames you for it. That’s what I tried to say yesterday..." she replied, attempting to calm me.

"No, it’s not over. It’s still in my head, every day since then…" I shot back, pulling my hands off the counter. "I knew we shouldn’t have gone to the river, but I thought it’d be fun…"

"Calm down. You were just kids back then…"

"Can you drop the compassionate crap already!?" My voice echoed. "Say it… I know you want to. You’ve probably wanted to for years, so just do it."

The old lady fell into a long, tense, heavy silence.

"My granddaughter…"

“Yes.”

"Her death… was your fault."

I couldn’t say anything.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? Did you need someone to say it?"

"I needed someone from her family to finally be straight with me!"

"What could you have done back then?"

"Jumped in the water and pulled her out."

"Do you really think that?"

"It would’ve been more useful than running for the police."

"You would’ve drowned too."

"I was the one who heard her calling for help while I ran, old lady."

"And could a kid have freed her leg from the rocks?"

"What…?"

"My granddaughter drowned because her leg got trapped between the river rocks—not because she couldn’t swim."

"I don’t… what are talking about?"

"You couldn’t have done anything. You’d have drowned too, and two families would’ve ended up broken."

I wanted to reply, but my lips trembled as soon as I opened my mouth.
I clenched my teeth and stayed quiet, though I couldn’t look her in the face anymore.

"If you want me to keep saying it was your fault, I can, even if I don’t feel it. The only thing you’re guilty of is sneaking off to play without permission…"

"No, old lady, it’s not like that…"

"We adults are the ones to blame for letting you carry that weight. Didn’t you know? The rocks just trapped her. We should’ve told you. A kid shouldn’t have had to bear a half-truth."

"What kind of nonsense is that?"

"If you want to apologize so badly, then apologize for never visiting her grave—or better yet, go do it already. You both deserve to rest…"

I felt drained. I leaned against the shelf behind me to stay upright.

"You knew how Lyse was… Do you really think she’d have blamed you?"

I hid my face as best I could.

"She saw you run for help, not run away…"

My breathing hitched.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

"Old lady… shut up already…"

"She held on as long as she could, and you ran as fast as you could… There was nothing more you could’ve done…"

She approached me with her slow steps.
Squeezing my eyes shut was useless now.

"If you still feel the same after knowing this, then go see her… And if you don’t know what to say, just tell her what you used to say when you were kids."

As much as it embarrasses me to admit, I couldn’t hold back the tears in that moment.

"What was that phrase…?" the old lady asked. "You always said the same thing to her."

"‘Made you wait, huh… dummy.’"

Some idiot once said the truth sets you free. I’d love to find him and knock his teeth out.
Was I supposed to feel relieved? Was I supposed to let it all go now?
That’s not how it works.
Ten years don’t unravel in an old woman’s honesty.

Only one opinion mattered to me—Lyse’s—and she wasn’t here to give it.

I stood up, silent, still avoiding the old lady’s gaze.
I just left the store.
My steps should’ve taken me home, to pretend again that nothing had happened. But you can only pretend so much, and honestly, I’d long passed that point.

I wasn’t overthinking it. I let the old lady’s words guide me—and the fact that visiting Lyse’s grave was something I’d dodged for too long. But why did I feel like I was about to lose more than I could imagine?

Why did I feel like I was doing ‘the right thing’ for the ‘wrong reasons’?

"This couldn’t be more cliché…" I muttered to myself, watching the raindrops start to fall.

As I walked, I couldn’t help glancing at the graves.
Were there others like me? Tangled in something from the past?
How many had chosen to end it all?

Lyse’s grave was toward the back, and by the time I got there, the rain had driven away the few people visiting their dead.
There was no photo on her headstone—just a name and two dates. The flowers looked fresh, and the grass around it was trimmed. Her family clearly came often.

"Mortals have an absurd tendency to talk to corpses…" I heard a familiar voice say behind me.

I turned on instinct.

"I see you changed your clothes…" I said, scanning her up and down. "I don’t want to pick up yesterday’s talk. I think you said enough… more than enough."

"Ah… My mistake…" she replied—cold, distant, strange. She shoved her hands into her gray Montgomery coat and stepped toward Lyse’s grave. "I take it she didn’t explain much about her deal, did she? Or am I wrong?"

"She?" I saw it. As I finished my question, her eyes were pitch black, like they swallowed the light.

"Your Death… Think of her as an employee…" she said slowly, running her hand over the grave without bothering to look at me.

"An employee? Then who are you supposed to be?"

"Mortals believe a lot of nonsense. One being couldn’t handle all the deaths in the world… No one’s omnipresent—well, almost no one."

"You still haven’t answered my question."

"What’d you call her… ‘Aranara’? Odd choice… She’s just the death of suicides…"

"And you are…?"

"Me?" she asked, leaning slightly toward me. She grabbed my chin and lifted my face, forcing me to look straight at her. "I’m the last thing everyone sees… before the lights go out."

I tried to shake my head free. Her fingers felt icy—not from the winter or the rain.
It was a cold I’d never felt before, one that terrified me in a way I couldn’t describe.

"Now then…" she continued. "What would happen if the death of suicides disappeared? Chaos. Imagine someone who shot themselves in the mouth and can’t die… I can’t allow that, and a replacement isn’t an option. Three seconds for me is a hundred years for you."

"Where are you going with this?"

"So direct—I love it. I’ll keep it simple. I can make it so…"

"You can’t bring back the dead. I’m not an idiot."

"I don’t appreciate being interrupted. Don’t do it again, got it?" Her smile was too unsettling. "What if we went back a bit, and say… you chose not to go to the river that day? Lyse would live, and you probably wouldn’t be the pathetic shell of a human you are now."

"You’re talking about turning back time?"

"No. I’m talking about moving one piece. Don’t flatter yourself into thinking one choice of yours would affect the flow of humanity."

I’ll admit, I wanted to punch her.

"What’s in it for you?"

"Simple. Without that initial spark, your little death wouldn’t have a reason to stick around you."

"Or a chance to ‘resign’…" I replied.

"See? You’re not as dumb as your face makes you look. Correct."

"Are you saying I’m free to choose?"

"Completely."

I glanced at Lyse’s grave for a moment.
How much would’ve changed if she’d lived?
Would we still be friends?
I probably would’ve visited the town more often—or maybe even moved here sooner.

[There’s no such thing as a ‘what if…’]

"Pass," I said, standing up and brushing the mud off my pants. "Wiping away my guilt with a cheap trick says more about you than it does about me."

[There are no magic fixes.]

"I’ll keep carrying that weight."

[I wanted to be selfish, just this once.]

"I’ll figure out how to deal with it all, my way…"

"You’ll probably end up throwing yourself in the river when your head can’t take watching the memory replay over and over and over again," she said. Even through the rain, I heard her nails scrape the marble of the headstone.

"Probably… but for now, at least, I’m ‘resigning’ too."