Dramatic Scene-A Time to Die

The day had started strangely for Andrew Hoadley, and only proceeded to become worse as the day dragged on. By the time his last class was over Andrew was devoutly wishing he had stayed in bed.

His alarm had awakened him at seven-thirty in the morning. After a lengthy debate, he had decided to get up and actually attend class not that he wanted to; it was one of those days when every little detail seemed to stand out in shocking clarity, but at the same time require an extraordinary amount of effort to concentrate on. All in all, it was not a day conducive to attentiveness.

For the vast majority of the morning Andrew drifted in and out of his classes wrapped in a fog of indifference; he was present physically, but mentally he was out dancing with the fairies. No matter how hard he tried he just could not bring himself to focus on what his professors were saying. A voice in the back of his mind kept whispering to him that today something important was going to happen, that today he was going to change and change drastically. So it was that Andrew spent his morning drifting from class to class with a small voice buzzing in the back of his skull that kept nagging him.

It was around three in the afternoon when his last class let out -- a fact for which he was extremely grateful. His professor seemed to know that he wasn't altogether there that day and had gone out of his way to call on him. As a result, much of the class time was taken up with Andrew saying, "What was the question?" or "Could you please repeat that?" or, eventually, just "hmmm." To say that by the end of the day he was not only disoriented but also growing more and more irritated would have been an understatement. Andrew was more than merely out of sorts; he was furious. His attitude did not improve much when he returned home to find his answering machine merrily blinking at him: he had a message from his mother. All he wanted was to crawl back into bed and put an end to this marginally horrible day. Instead he walked over and pushed the play button.

His mom's voice came out of the speaker, tinny and distorted, asking him to please run an errand for her. Of course she would have done it herself, only something had come up. She had to meet her girlfriends after work to discuss a party (or something) that they were throwing for a pregnant girl at her office.

This was just great, just fandamntastic! What a wonderful cap to an already crappy day. Swearing fluently Andrew dropped his backpack on the floor, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door with that irritating voice buzzing louder and louder in his head.

He looked up. It was one of those unnaturally warm November days that  'sometimes' (always) occur in the southern states. The air was still, heavy with the smell of the plants that had been tricked into thinking it was spring and were brainlessly filling the air with their perfume. It was a beautiful day, but it was completely wasted on Andrew. But, then, everything was wasted on Andrew. It was all he could do to concentrate on his driving. He went here and there, picked up this and that-- it was all the same, all alike. Finally, he was done running his mother's errand. All he wanted to do now was go home. His mother could pick up her wretched packages tomorrow, or never for all he cared.

The small voice that had been buzzing in the back of his head all morning had upgraded itself to a shrill, banshee-like wail. It made his teeth ache; his gums felt as if someone were sticking pins in them. He had to do something to take his mind away from the pain he was feeling. Flipping on the radio he settled back with a cigarette and tried to make it home before the top of his head came flying off.

It didn't work. The cigarette tasted horrible, it tasted something like tuna. Not a particularly sought after taste. He had hope, however, that the experience would improve so he lit another.  The radio, on the other hand, was mainly burbling out commercials and traffic updates.  It didn't matter which station it was on it was all the same: "Living-room suites as low as $900 and no interest until" or "It's slow going south on I-45 today folks. Best try these alternate routes."  It all just made his head hurt worse so he turned it off.

Andrew was about six blocks away from his apartment when bursts of color and light started appearing before his eyes. Great. Perfect. This was all he needed. Squeezing his eyes shut he shook his head in an effort to clear it. When he opened his eyes the lights were still there, only now the pain in his head was throbbing in time with them. He thought he was going to be sick. The pain was getting too intense, he didn't think that he was going to make it home.

He was four blocks from home when he saw a woman. She was standing on the sidewalk in front an old boarded up building. She was pale and dressed all in black: black jeans, boots, and tank top. Even her hair was black. Andrew didn't give her a second thought; she was probably a Goth or something, it didn't matter. All that mattered to him now was getting home as quickly as possible and calling a doctor, so he stepped on the gas and the car shot forward. He had gone about twenty feet when something in his head seemed to explode. The pain became excruciating, he couldn't see, couldn't breath. The car started swerving across the road, eventually coming to a jarring halt up against a light post.

Andrew opened his eyes and stared in great confusion at a boarded up old building and the woman who was lounging up against it. Shouldn't he be in the car either dead or senseless? Glancing over his shoulder he saw that his car was still rather intimately connected with the light post, a small crowd of onlookers was even beginning to gather around it. Oh yes, he should definitely be dead; the whole front end of his car was so mangled that it was virtually unrecognizable. Then why in the hell was he standing here? It didn't make sense!

"That's because you are dead, love."  The lady in black had moved away from the building and started to walk toward Andrew. This was crazy! How could she know, she was just some crazy Goth. She couldn't be right. She could not be right!  "How else would you explain your situation then? How else would you explain the fact that you're standing well over twenty feet away from where your car crashed?"  But...but...dead! He couldn't be; he just couldn't be. Could he?

"Sweet heart, we can go over there," she said pointing to wreck, "so you can see for yourself. I wouldn't recommend it though; it's not a very pretty sight. It's up to you." How could this have happened? How could he be dead? "Andrew, listen to me." The lady said, grabbing him by his shoulders. "You're dead. I wouldn't be here otherwise; you died from an aneurysm in your brain, it ruptured. That's why it was so hard for you to concentrate, why you had the head pain and the light flashes. You were dead before you even hit the light post. I tried all morning to tell you so this wouldn't come as such a shock."

He just stood there staring at her. This was too much; he couldn't handle it. Finally what she had said began to slowly register in his mind, 'I tried all morning to tell you...' Wait. That would mean...that nagging voice, it was her? Why?  No, oh no! That would mean...No! It couldn't be! That would mean that she was...that she was... "Death, that's right." She said with a smile. "Who else do you think would be standing here trying to convince you that you were dead?"  It was true; it had to be. Nothing else would, or could, make sense. Oh, God! He was dead!

"Andrew, come on it's time to go. We've taken too long."  Andrew just stood there for a few minutes and looked around him. Off in the distance sirens could be heard, once again help was a day late and a dollar short. It finally struck him; this was a beautiful day! He glanced over at Death; she opened up her arms and with a sigh Andrew Hoadley stepped into her embrace. The last thing he heard as the sound of her beating wings.