Are You Ready to Die?
by Daniel Beadle - Monday, October 19, 2009
Stalker gasps for air. He finds it difficult to breathe, as the black veil of his unconscious state is lifted. He hears the hum of his truck’s engine, and the overpowering smell of exhaust. His eyes blur and focus, looking through the windshield at the forest that surrounds this lonely dirt road. It’s late afternoon, and he’s lost between realities, sitting in the driver’s seat of his black SUV. He glances at the partially open driver side window, and the green hose dangling into the cabin.Stalker breathes slowly, feeling the fumes of his car engine lull him into a state of complacency. He questions the events of his recent past, and wonders which of his memories actually occurred. Suddenly, the passenger side door slams shut. Stalker looks to his left to see the living shadow of Mr. Dark sitting beside him.
"You wish it could be that dramatic, don't you?” says Mr. Dark, in his typically cold voice. “…As if your life progressed like some movie plot, with all the answers given to you at journey's end. It must be comforting to think that there are larger forces at work, and that your choices aren’t your own. It frees you from guilt, doesn’t it?”
Mr. Dark motions toward the hose in the driver side window. “Let me guess,” he says. “You saw this in a movie once, and it seemed like a nice, peaceful way to kill yourself.”
Stalker stirs lethargically in his seat. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“My business is death… and the closer you push yourself in that direction, the more you’ll see of me.”
“Mr. Dark,” says Stalker, with a hint of condescension in his voice. “Something tells me that you’re not just a figment of my imagination.”
“Perhaps.” Mr. Dark sighs and looks out the window to his right. “How long have you wallowed in this state of perpetual misery? I forget. Has it been four months, or four years?”
Silence is Stalker’s only response.
“You seek death because you think Hell can’t be much worse than your life in this world. …But you have no true experience in pain, and the monster it makes you become. Sure, you’ve fantasized about it. Imagined yourself to be some savage killer… but you have no real teeth. You can’t even kill yourself properly.” Mr. Dark motions to the hose sticking in the driver side window once again. “Carbon monoxide poising is impossible with modern cars, son. You can thank your government and it’s air-quality regulations for that much. The best you’ll get is a mild headache, and maybe an altered sense of self.”
Mr. Dark hints at laughter as Stalker looks at him coldly. “You really are pathetic.” In an instant, Mr. Dark reaches out a gloved hand and grasps Stalker’s face, pressing the back of his head into the driver side window. Stalker struggles, fighting vainly against Mr. Dark’s grip. “Let’s stop playing games, son.” Mr. Dark uses his other hand to open the car door, letting Stalker fall onto the dirt road.
Before Stalker can rise to his feet, Mr. Dark is walking toward him from behind the car. Stalker watches from one knee as Mr. Dark produces a Mark XIX Desert Eagle from his jacket. Mr. Dark immediately kicks the side of Stalker’s head into the dirt, keeping his shoe pressed against his opponent's neck. Stalker looks up to see Mr. Dark’s black tie flap in the wind as he pulls back the slide and points it at Stalker’s temple. “Let’s stop half-assing this process. Are you ready to die?”
Stalker’s green eyes look up with an expression floating between shock and fear. Time slows to a crawl as Stalker looks into the silhouetted face of Mr. Dark. Stalker knows despair, he knows pain… but there are forces in this universe that are greater than anything he could imagine. Stalker fears the future, and considers himself ill equipped to deal with it. But the unknowns of this world pale to the unknowns of the next. And in that realization, Stalker closes his eyes and whispers his response: “No.”
Mr. Dark steps back, and offers a swift kick to Stalker’s sternum. Lying in a fetal position in the dirt, Stalker looks up at his antagonist. Mr. Dark holsters his weapon and straightens his tie, refusing to give Stalker even a wayward glance. “Humans are an endless source of disappointment. …And you… you really are a useless human being. Your influence is like the spread of some insidious disease. The misery that you inflict upon yourself is well deserved, I suppose. You’re a failure in every respect. Truth is… I’m surprised you haven’t tried to kill yourself before now.
“Death is mercy for failures like you. There is a fate worse than death. It’s called life.”
Mr. Dark looks at the afternoon sky. “Perhaps… there is another option.” He looks down at Stalker. “But I’ll let you figure that one out.” He crouches down next to Stalker. “Just let me know when you’re ready to make a deal.” He smiles. “I’ll always be there for you. As long as it works for me.”
“Death is a safety-device because, once Man has fallen, natural immorality would be the one utterly hopeless destiny for him.”—C.S. Lewis
