Inversion [Camp NaNoWriMo July 2021]

day viii | part ii

d a y   v i i i

( p a r t   i i )

Cian explains.

The entire time, we're sat at the edge of the grass, surrounded by children and laughter, but it feels like we're thousands of miles away, separated from everyone else by the impossibility of Cian's words.

Cian claims to be someone called a "Death deity." They aren't actually deities, and they can't do anything special or supernatural, so I think the name is a bit misleading. Essentially, Cian clarifies, they're just normal people that Death has chosen to help him carry out his duties.

Most Death deities are young because most of the people Death deals with are teenagers—I don't know why—and no teenager would ever trust a random thirty-year-old stranger they just met. Most are orphans or runaways, people who can go gallivanting about doing Death's dirty work without having to worry about anyone missing them. But really, Death deities can be anyone. There's no way to tell without them revealing themselves. They live their lives just as regular people would. Although, Cian says, Death deities tend to blend in. They're the average people who don't do anything to stand out, either good or bad.

There's no particular job description either, but Cian's job is apparently to offer me that absurd choice he blurted out earlier. How he's in contact with Death, I don't know. Nor do I care.

Death, the Grim Reaper, Thanatos, Yama—whatever people want to call him in whatever culture—cannot, contrary to popular belief, claim lives simply because he wants to. Instead, he's merely the pathway from life onwards. When someone is on the brink of life and death, he'll be there. He'll give a choice: hold on and keep fighting, or let go.

I ask Cian how this all applies to me, and he stills. His gaze is off somewhere to my right, but he's not really looking at anything.

My life, for Jeremy's, he had said. I don't know why I'm still here, listening to delusional rambles about Death incarnate. My mind scrambles to figure out some other explanation, some rational explanation, for how Cian could know so much about me and Jeremy. But I can't find anything, so I decide to humor him. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation—or the desperation.

"Your father said it should have been you who died, not your brother." I press my lips together so I don't say anything. "Well, Death is offering you a choice. He's willing to grant that wish for your brother."

I narrow my eyes. "And why come to me?" I ask icily. "Why not ask my father? He would say yes in a heartbeat."

"Because it's not his choice," Cian replies patiently. "An eye for an eye, Ally. If Death is going to bring Jeremy back, it has to be with your consent. You must be willing to trade your life to bring him back."

A laugh bubbles up. "Okay, you're certifiably insane."

"I'm not."

"You're talking as if Death is a real person!" I only just remember that we're still in public and that I should lower my voice. "It's not. It's tragedy. It's pain, and loss. It fucking hurts. Death isn't great. And there are no second chances."

I can tell Cian has another speech prepared. And I'm not in the mood for it.

"You know what?" I cut in before he can say anything. "You can believe what you want. But I'm not going to play a part in this delusion of yours."

"How did I know about your dad and Jeremy then?"

"I don't know. And I don't care." I finger the strap of my bag and move to stand up.