A Matter of Life, Pt. 1 (Original Short Fiction)
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
ka-ching
No one knew where it had come from. No one even knew how it worked -- simply that it did. There was rampant speculation about who had built it, and for what purpose. One party believed adamantly that it must have come out of one of the numerous secret projects during the Cold War; this was not a popular belief, as The Machine seemed to have no strategic military usefulness whatsoever. Still others believed that it had been built and left on the earth by aliens; this also was widely disbelieved, as it seemed a strange and unfitting gift for an extraterrestrial race hoping to make first contact.
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In fact, there were more wild conjectures -- none of them particularly well-founded -- about the origin of The Machine than about the origin of man himself. It was discussed by journalists, news reporters, talk-show hosts, and casual passers-by every hour of the day. Young friends would joke about it, old barbers would jaw about it, and some lone nut on the street corner who hadn’t quite put everything together yet could always be seen gibbering madly about how it was a harbinger of the end. He was right, of course, but people never like being told something they already know.
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The truth was that, despite the ever-widening bulk of guesses about the origin and purpose of The Machine, no one yet had gotten it right.
Ian stood in the lobby of the Institute for Science and Technology, where The Machine was currently on display. A few meters away, across the glistening tiles and throng of scrambling people trying to push their way to the front, stood the devilish thing in all of its ominous allure. It did look devilish, Ian thought. It was made of some kind of metal -- no one was quite sure what -- covered in red paint, and gave off a lustrous shine under the bright fluorescent lights. Across the top, in bold Gothic type, were the words “KNOW YOUR FATE”. Beneath them was a small receptacle, just large enough to fit a plastic medicine cup.
Every few moments Ian could hear what sounded like a typewriter ring as some poor soul cursed himself. He watched as the people made their way from the machine to the exit, each with a unique expression -- some looked disillusioned, others smug; occasionally someone would have their hands over their eyes, trying in vain to hide the tears. Yet they all had something in common, Ian thought: they were all taking the fun out of life. After all, one of the great things about life is that it can end at any moment. Once there’s no more mystery, what do you have to look forward to but your inevitable demise?
“Tried it yet?” A fellow gawker was smiling nervously out of the corner of his mouth. Ian looked him over, then turned back to the machine.
“No.”
“Me neither,” the gawker said, sounding almost relieved. “I’m not sure if I want to. I mean, knowing how you’re going to die? It seems like that’s the sort of thing we’re not supposed to know, right?”
Ian shrugged slightly. He agreed, of course. The details of your own death should be forbidden knowledge. And yet here it was, available to anyone for the cost of a syringe. It seemed so unnatural.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s like, why would you want to know how you’re going to die?” the gawker continued. “It seems to me that if I knew how I was going to die, that’s all I would think about. I mean, what if, like, it said I was going to drown? I could never go swimming again, because I’d be too nervous.”
“You’d end up drowning anyway,” Ian observed nonchalantly.
“Right, right! And I would have wasted all that time avoiding pools and lakes and the ocean instead of enjoying myself. That seems like a terrible way to live. At least to me.”
Ian glanced back at him. He looked young. Probably a college student, he thought. He had a patchy beard and messy brown hair streaked with a few strands of premature gray. Definitely a college student.
“Why are you here, then?”
The gawker shifted his feet uneasily. “Er, well, I dunno. I was on my way to join my friends on a camping trip in the mountains, but suddenly I found myself here. I mean, I thought maybe I’d come see it, at least. To see what all the fuss is about. I didn’t really think I would want to try it, though. No, I don’t think I want to try it.” Ian nodded slightly. He didn’t really want to try it, either. Then again...
“Here’s an idea,” Ian said, turning to face the gawker. “How about we both do it? But we’ll swap papers. That way, if it’s something we wouldn’t want to know, we’ll at least be warned ahead of time.” The gawker looked back and forth from The Machine to Ian. “Well, umm, I mean, I guess that could work. Yeah, okay, let’s do that. But, er, how do you want to die? I mean, like, what would you want it to say for me to show it to you?”
Ian hadn’t really thought about that. How did he want to die? Well, he didn’t, really, but that wasn’t an option. “I guess...something unusual. You know, unique. Not something ordinary that happens to a lot of people, like heart failure. Something...spectacular.” The gawker nodded. “What about you?” Ian asked. The gawker shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’d rather die of old age. Something comfortable, you know? Not like an accident or anything.” Total opposites, Ian thought. The gawker held out his hand. “I’m Seth, by the way.” Ian reached out and shook it. “Ian,” he said. Seth's mouth broadened a bit in a smile of genuine amicability. “Pleased to meet you, Ian. Well, shall we?”
Ian and Seth made their way over to the crowd. After a few minutes of being pushed around, they eventually emerged at the front. Beside the machine was a chair and a nurse ready to draw anyone’s blood for the paltry sum of five dollars. “They’ve got a real racket going, huh?” Ian mumbled to himself. Seth looked at the chair, then gave Ian a nervous smile. “I guess I’ll go first, then.” He handed the nurse a five dollar bill and sat back in the chair. After she had drawn his blood into a small cup, he placed it in the receptacle of The Machine. The cup disappeared into the beast, and after a few clicks, a small slip of paper popped out the front.
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Ian pulled it out and read it. Seth tapped his foot nervously. “So, er...what do you think?” he asked. Ian looked up and turned the paper around. In plain type were the words “NATURAL CAUSES”. Seth smiled and released enough tension to level a building. “Awesome, awesome! That’s just what I was hoping it would say! A nice, comfortable death.” Ian wondered at that. Is that really the best way to die? You’d have time to come to terms with it, at least. But wouldn’t it be better if it took you totally by surprise?
Seth hooked his thumb at the chair. “You’re up,” he said through his grin. Ian nodded and sat down, producing a ten dollar bill. The nurse handed him a five and prepped his arm. After a few agonizing seconds of searching for his elusive vein, she eventually managed to fill a small cup. “Sorry about that,” she said, “sometimes they’re deeper than you expect.” Ian shot her a sardonic smile and took the cup over to The Machine. He placed it in the receptacle and listened to it whir and click.
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There it is, he thought as the paper popped out the front. My death. On a little slip of paper. What a world this is.
Seth retrieved the paper and looked it over. His grin faded. He looked it over again. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. He looked up at Ian. “Uhh...” he managed. Ian looked at him expectantly. “Well?” he asked. Seth looked back down at the paper. “Er...I think maybe you should take a look at it yourself.”
Ian sighed impatiently and took the paper. His eyes ran across it. His mouth dropped open a bit. He turned it around and looked at the backside just in case. A crowd was starting to form around him. “Well? What does it say? Tell us!” people were shouting. Ian looked at them, looked back at Seth, then stuffed the paper into his pocket and pushed his way through the crowd. A cacophony of complaints arose behind him, but he wasn’t listening. He had other things on his mind.
Night was falling as Ian leaned over the railing of the inter-city bridge. He had wandered aimlessly all day thinking about the paper, but somehow he always wound up at the bridge when he let his feet do the navigating. Sprinkles of light shimmered on the river’s surface as he gazed listlessly across the horizon. A cool breeze blew up from beneath the bridge, rustling the paper in his hand. He held it out in front of him and stared wanly at it in the evanescent twilight. It was, to the unaided eye and most likely in all actuality, blank.
Now what in the hell did that mean? He couldn’t die? How could that be possible? He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife. He flicked it open and made an experimental cut in his forearm. He winced. He could certainly still feel pain.
Immortality. That’s what he had wanted, right? Not now that he was actually thinking about it. Suddenly, immortality seemed like the only thing worse than a slow, boring death. Surely life’s drudgeries would take their toll eventually. And then what? He would just keep going, never able to escape? Trapped? Eventually the sun would burn out. What happened then? He would live on in the frozen void of space? Able to feel pain but unable to die? Was this somebody’s idea of a sick joke?
Small undulations in the surface of the river created a kaleidoscopic, almost hypnotic sheen that held Ian transfixed as his mind revolved. Here and there a fish would jump, breaking his focus for just a moment before he lapsed back into languid passivity. Another breeze flitted across the bridge, tousling Ian’s hair. With a sigh he relaxed his hand and allowed the currents to sweep the paper away. He watched disinterestedly as it slowly wafted beneath the bridge and out of sight. Occasional pedestrians wandered past looking concerned but unwilling to approach him. They probably think I’m going to jump, he thought. How ironic.
Ian allowed his gaze to drift across the skyline. The twin cities were beautiful at night. Each one gave off a faint glow, almost an aura, from the streetlights and buildings and cars that bustled to and fro at all hours. The funny thing, Ian thought, was that you could tell them apart. Not just by how they were designed, but by the light they gave off. It was subtle, but each city had a distinct hue. Over the river, where they converged, the lights danced on the water, producing something extraordinary -- not quite a mixture, but no longer distinct. It could play tricks with your eyes if you were looking too closely. Ian could almost swear that they formed a new color in the night haze. Almost...
There was a brief shudder in the fabric of reality, as though the universe had hiccuped.
Ian stared blankly at a room full of shapes. They varied greatly in dimension and texture. They even seemed to vary in geometry, contorting into indescribable figures that seemed to waver in and out of possibility. They were vaguely humanoid in arrangement, at least occasionally, but in a way similar to how a blind man might attempt to depict a human simply going off of descriptions. Ian thought he could count four of them seated around a table, but their number seemed as indeterminate as their configurations. They didn’t quite have faces, but he suddenly had the acute impression that they were staring at him.
“Greetings,” one of the figures said in a modulating ululation. The effect was like glass shattering.
“Who...what...” Ian started, quite unsure of what to say or even how he should be reacting.
“The poor boy is probably terribly confused,” another figure chimed, apparently addressing the first figure. This one had a distinctly feminine quality in its voice -- insofar as the tintinnabulation of a thousand silver bells can suggest gender -- though its shape was as indescribable as the rest.
“Allow us to explain, then,” a third figure intoned. Blades grinding on a whetstone came to mind this time.
“You see,” the fourth figure rumbled with tectonic force, “you are no longer alive.”
Ian blinked a few times, his mind turning slowly around the words. “You’re saying I’m...dead?”
The first figure attempted what seemed to Ian to be a shaking motion with what he assumed was supposed to be its head. “No, not dead. Not exactly. More like...unalive.” This did little to abate Ian’s confusion.
“Perhaps it would be best if we explained what we are, first,” the second figure suggested. There was some mutual agreement from around the table, and the first figure spoke again. Its words seemed to be coming from deep within Ian’s mind. It was vaguely unnerving.
“We are the four Universal Forces. We ensure that everything works as it should. Without us, the universe would collapse into chaos.” Ian thought about this. “Universal Forces?” he said quizzically. “You mean, like, love and hate? Or good and evil?” The fourth figure gave off what sounded like an earth tremor, ostensibly a laugh. Ian’s teeth clattered from the vibrations. “Those feeble human concepts? Do not insult us! We are the Fundamental Forces of nature. It is by us that reality is held together.” Ian still did not quite grasp what was going on. Sensing his confusion, the first Force spoke again.
“Surely you have learned about us. I am Gravity. Beside me is Electromagnetism.” Ian attempted to follow Gravity’s multidimensional gaze to the second Force. She -- Ian was starting to think of them more in terms of gender now, and this Force was clearly more feminine than the rest -- gave him a quasi-ethereal smile. Much to his surprise, he found himself trying not to blush.
“I am the Strong Force,” the third figure grated. It felt as though all of Ian’s nerves were being pinched. “Beside me is the Weak Force. We make nuclear reactions possible.” Ian looked at the two together, noting that Weak was considerably larger than Strong. “I would have thought it would be the other way around,” he said without thinking. Weak drew himself up and growled with intimidating puissance. “And why is that?” he thundered. “Because I am larger? A bold thing to say, human. Without me, no star would light the night sky!” Ian shook, partly from the force of Weak’s bellows and partly from fear. Electromagnetism jingled softly in placation. “Easy, Weak. He did not mean to be insulting.” Weak grumbled some more and slumped back in a huff.
Ian looked around the table nervously, his heart rate still elevated. “So, if you’re the four Fundamental Forces, what am I doing here?” Gravity motioned in a non-Euclidean manner to an empty chair at the back of the table. “You see, we were originally only four Forces. However, once life made its appearance several aeons ago, it was clear that the four Forces were no longer sufficient, and a new Force emerged: Death.” Ian marvelled at this. It made sense, in a cosmic sort of way; the final Natural Force was Death. It was almost poetic. “Where is he?” he asked, unsure of whether he really wanted to know. Strong made an attempt at clearing his throat. “He is...retiring.”
Retiring? Death? “How can Death retire?” Ian asked, perplexed. A quiet nagging started festering in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. “It is quite simple,” Electromagnetism reverberated in twinkly tones. “Death was the first of us to be named by intelligent life. Shortly afterwards, he was anthropomorphized. Given shape. It was not long before he began to change.” Weak cut in. “It started with simple things: he began using contractions, speaking in metaphors, using slang that he picked up while on Earth -- in short, he started becoming more human.” Weak didn’t say the word so much as spat it.
Gravity’s words began echoing in Ian’s mind again. “At first, we found his changes disagreeable. We even considered separating ourselves from him. However, it was not long until we were given names as well.” Strong shifted in his seat. He seemed to be slightly uncomfortable, if that were possible. “The thing about names,” he said, picking up where Gravity had left off, “is that, once a thing has been named, it has a tendency to become more...tangible.” Weak resounded with the shifting of continents. “Not more real, mind you. We have always been real.” Electromagnetism rang out now. “Simply more impressionable. Once a thing is named, it can be identified. Visualized.”
“So you see,” Gravity picked back up, “his characteristics began rubbing off on us. We started taking on more humanoid forms. Experiencing emotions. Communicating with sounds. It has been a very...educational experience.”
“A horrible experience,” Weak grumbled.
“Yet full of peculiar delights,” Electromagnetism chimed.
“And strange new desires,” Strong said quietly, eyeing Electromagnetism sheepishly.
“However,” Gravity said, “we have not taken full shape in the human mind yet, and so we are still rather incorporeal. Intellectually nascent, if you will.”
“Not like Death,” Strong said. “You humans seemed to have no trouble creating a suitable persona for him. Quite theatrical, too, I must say -- what with the robe and the scythe.” The grim reaper? Ian thought. Death actually looks like that?
“It was his solid form that accelerated his anthropomorphism, though,” Weak said, almost indignantly.
“Accelerated?" Ian asked, puzzled. "What do you mean?” Ian was starting to wonder if he was having a frighteningly lucid dream.
“He started to change more radically,” Strong explained. “He quickly developed a unique personality. It was not long until he developed perhaps the most human trait of all: boredom.”
Ian was flabbergasted. “You mean...Death got tired of killing people?” This was utterly ridiculous. Perhaps somebody had drugged him.
“In a sense, yes,” Gravity said. “He told us that he wanted to try something new. So he is retiring.”
“Ridiculous!” Weak roared. “To think, a Natural Force giving up his job! Suppose we all decided that we were ‘bored’. What then? There would be nothing left!” Electromagnetism soothed him in dulcet tones. “We do not need to worry about that, right? We are still detached enough.” Weak nodded in assent. “Right. We are not as feeble as Death. We will endure.” There was some mumbling of agreement from around the table, though Ian was under the impression that it did not sound entirely sure.
“Regardless,” Gravity said after a brief pause, “the universe still has a need for Death. Like any of the Forces, it cannot function without him.”
What had been pulling on Ian’s subconscious finally made itself noticed. A grim new understanding washed over him. “So you need a replacement,” he said slowly. There were metaphysical nods of confirmation. “But...” Ian stuttered, “but why me?” Electromagnetism looked almost sympathetic. “You were the best candidate,” she said.
“But can’t you just make another one or something?” This is too weird to be a dream, Ian thought.
Gravity shook his head. “I am afraid it does not work like that. Once a Force takes shape, it cannot be recreated. It can only be replaced.”
Ian rubbed his face with his hands. They want to make me the new Death? he though. Surely there are better candidates out there. “What makes me so special?” he asked, lowering his hands. “Nothing,” Weak scoffed. “What Weak means,” Electromagnetism said, shooting him the equivalent of a scornful look, “is that there was nothing in particular holding you to Earth. You were the only person that could be removed without it -- well -- mattering.” Ian could hear the delicate tone in her voice. “Ah,” he said. “So I’m special in that I’m not special. Nobody will miss me.” Electromagnetism gave him a compassionate smile.
“Your festering cynicism and apathy towards your fellow man are certainly perks,” Strong said, almost jokingly. Weak rolled his eyes, or would have if he had actually had them.
“I don’t get a choice, do I?” Ian knew it was a pointless question. “I am afraid not,” Gravity said.
“Okay, so, wait.” Ian’s mind was running in reverse now. With all the new information he had been flooded with, he seemed to have forgotten something important. “What was with The Machine? You know, the death machine? Why was my paper blank?”
Gravity made an effort to steeple his hands, though the end result was something much less coherent. “Ah, yes, ‘The Machine’. That was an invention of Death’s. He needed it in order to find you.” Ian’s brow furrowed. “To find me? Didn’t he know where I was?” Gravity shook his head again. That, at least, seemed to be getting easier for him, though he still needed practice keeping all of it in the same set of dimensions. “He is not omniscient, after all. There are simply too many people in the world. It would not be feasible to keep track of where each person is at any given time. Besides, his concern is with the dead, not the living. He either had to wait for you to die, which was not an option, or he had to find another way to locate you. I am honestly impressed with his solution. It was quite elegant.”
Elegant. Hah. A machine that tells you how you’re going to die? Of course, such a thing would be irresistible once it was proven to work. People would flock from all over the globe just to try it. And all Death had to do was wait. He knew who he was looking for. He knew that the readout would be blank, because Ian wasn’t going to die; he was going to become Death. And as soon as that paper had been delivered to its rightful owner, bingo. Elegant. Perhaps Gravity was right.
“I don’t know anything about being Death,” Ian said in a final, half-hearted protest.
“Do not worry about that,” Electromagnetism said. “Death will train you. It was his one concession in order for us to accept his retirement.”
Ian nodded glumly. That was it, then; he would spend the rest of his life -- or, at least, existence -- ushering people from one world to the next.
“We are sure you will do fine,” Gravity said reassuringly, “but all the same, good luck.”
Ian wondered briefly if Lady Luck existed somewhere before blinking from the ethereal plane.
This is brilliant. Once I started reading you had me hooked. I would like to make this my first ReSteem. I hope this get a bigger audience. Looking forward to the continuation.
Thank you very much. I really appreciate it.