The Death of Andrew Bennet

Andrew Bennet, late as always, got home half past eight.

“We must be gone!” his lover yelled, “we can’t make our friends wait.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Andrew replied, “I haven’t the want nor the will.

Another’s next week, I’ll come to that. I promise, my love, that I will.”

His lover chortled, donned his cap, but paused with his hand on the door.

“I love you, dear, but this talk of tomorrow, I’m done, I can do it no more.

I’m tired of waiting for you, Mr. Bennet--what are you waiting for?”

Andrew Bennet was fretting his dinner and how it would taste in the end.

He burned the chicken neck to foot, which is not a quick thing one can mend.

He ran to the pantry to find something else, but all of the cupboards lay bare,

when something suddenly clawed at his heart and pulled it as tight as a snare.

Then just as quickly as it came on, the clench no longer was there,

which is when he turned around to find a figure’s icy stare.

“Andrew Bennet?” asked the shade, whose cloak was black as night.

“Get thee gone! How did you come? I locked the entry tight!”

The human grabbed a knife and then he steeled himself to fight.

Andrew lunged with all his strength, but it was of no use.

The blade and he passed through the shade. “I see you are obtuse.

I am Death,” it said with ease, “though I have many names.

I come to all to ease their fall, for all are just the same.

Your fear is justified, my man, I know this is bizarre.

Sit thee down and I’ll explain, we have no need to spar.”

Andrew, shaking, found the chair and, in the silence, sat.

The cloaken figure filled the air, “I’ll tell it to you flat:

Your consciousness and body both have reached their journey’s end.

They’ll dissolve, like all things must, and slow they will append--

a cup, a rose, a newborn babe, who knows the things you’ll be

as all the particles and parts that make up you come free.”

“I’m not ready,” begged the man, “I’ve only just begun.

I’ve a list that I could pen of things I have not done.”

“You’ve had more time than most men get before their final sun.”

Andrew knew not what to say to contravene the shade.

Then suddenly he saw a path: he would make a trade.

“What a shame,” mused the man, “that Death can never die.

Must you always watch the world with an outside eye?”

“It is true,” admitted Death, “I’ve longed to be a part,

growing as a blade of grass or beating as a heart.”

“How long have you worked at this?” “Since the dawn of time.”

“Have you ever had relief?” Nay, this task’s just mine.”

Andrew feigned a realization, op’ning wide his face:

“I’ve just had a fine idea: let me take your place!

Though I know the task is great, for you I’ll do it well,

so you can join the great life force near which you’ve always dwelled.”

The figure for a moment seemed it might refuse the deal,

but then began to nod its head, “There is a strong appeal.

If you swear that you’ll be there to ease all being’s death,

I’d love to live and die and join the great collective breath.”

The two shook hands and then the cloak was passed from shade to man.

“This fabric binds you to your task and takes you ‘cross the land--

it knows which being next will pass so you can take their hand

and guide them through the process of becoming dust and sand.”

Andrew nodded, took the cloak, but when he threw it on,

felt a sinking loneliness, for now the shade was gone.

He waited for his love to come, but just one moment passed

before the cloak took hold of him and pulled him ‘cross the grass.

He went through walls and towns and hills and journeyed to the east

to stop in front of some young queen choking at her feast.

“I am Death,” he muddled through, “though I have many names.

I come to all to ease their fall, for all are just the same.”

Years went by and Andrew lived the life that Death enjoyed,

calming those who needed aid returning to the void.

With every creature he helped pass, he watched their forms disband,

and marveled how they all let go of all the things they’d planned--

how in the end they all accepted that they were not they:

their sense of self was transient, let go with short delay.

No one ever fought as hard as he had done to stay.

Decades hence the cloak transported Andrew to a place

that had a style so distinct, he recognized the space.

Then he saw his lover’s face, though it was wrinkled so,

and watched him slip and fall, which dealt a quick and final blow.

The man turned over on the floor and saw Death in his way.

“Andrew Bennet?! Is that you? You haven’t aged a day!

We never heard or saw of you, no trace or body found.

We figured you were hidden well or six feet underground.”

“I made a pact with Death itself, I took over its work.”

The old man couldn’t help himself as steadily he smirked,

“Ah, I see: it was the last thing you could shirk.

You never changed, did you love? Right up to the end

you put off til tomorrow all the things you could suspend.

But here’s your chance to change it all! My dear, come with me now.

Let another take the cloak.” “I am not sure how.”

“Dear, your tongue’s so silver you could sell milk to a cow.”

The shade of Andrew Bennet turned it over in his mind,

But something in his stomach still was prone to twist and grind.

“If I am just the parts of things then what was ever me?”

“I’ve no clue,” the old man said, “but won’t you like to see?”

The cloaken figure shook his head, “It’s not my time to flee.”

A thousand years elapsed and then another thousand passed.

He comforted and answered all the questions people asked.

The animals were simpler, they were quick to take their place

among the shifting mystery that spun its way through space.

A loneliness set o’er his heart and curled into a burl,

as he watched but never joined the ever-changing world.

He realized Death was in the right to want to trade its fate;

Andrew’s lover too was right to chide his urge to wait.

He hated how he always came to everything so late.

And then one day the cloak brought him to meet a girl of nine.

“You have no need to fear me, dear, it simply is your time.”

“I’ve been ill for all my life and have awaited thee.

Though some folks may be afraid, you’re not scary to me.

In fact I envy deeply how you walk about this earth.

I never once could leave this bed, rarely I’ve felt mirth.

Tell me, Death, are you not tired from your weighty task?

If you wish to pass this work, you only need to ask.”

He saw his chance--it fin’lly came! He could fool the youth

and make her want to take o’er Death...but Andrew told the truth.

“It’s better you dissolve, I think,” the shade of Andrew said.

“You’ll become a million things as your essence spreads.

In my years I’ve learned one fact from all of my observing:

you’d much prefer the unknown to just constantly preserving.”

She shook her head, “I’m not so sure that all of that is true.

if everything is changing so, if that’s what all things do,

someone else can become Death--it needn’t just be you.”

Andrew Bennet thought about it. “Maybe you’re not wrong.

To be fair, I’m not the first to take this mantle on;

the shade before me, after eons, too wished to be gone.

If you swear that you’ll be there to ease all being’s death,

at last I’d love to die and join the great collective breath.”

He passed the cloak on to the girl and felt himself disperse,

and slowly he could start to feel a freedom from his curse.

Because there was no more of him, he felt no more concern,

a part of life that’s after life to which we’ll all return.