Shelly and David sped past the barb-wires, their fists pumping by their sides. Behind them, the first outpost sounded the alarm. Soon, another answered the call, and another, then all of them.
“You know,” David said, “if we survive this, I’m going to kill you.”
“Good luck with that, frog face,” Shelly said. “I’m not alive anyway. And you are not really here.”
“No, I told you. You only pay once,” the dark-skinned, white-haired, pointy-eared creature said. “You pay once upfront, and you get access to magic. Simple as that.” She snapped his fingers to drive the point.
George scratched his chin. “Yeah, but two litres of blood? That’s like all of it.”
The pointy-eared creature sighed. “You have more than that in you and you’ll replenish it in a couple of hours or so.” The creature flashed a row of white teeth and put a slender arm around George’s shoulders. “Besides, it’s not like it’s going to kill you or anything. I wouldn’t allow that, would I? We’re partners.”
“I don’t know…”
“OK, listen. Do you want to learn to use magic yes or no?”
“You know I’ll tear you to pieces when I find you, right?” Her voice echoed in the vast chamber. “Don’t make me chase you, boy.”
“You can’t hurt me any more,” Tristan said a moment later.
She chuckled. “Big words from someone small like -”
“Look at you.” His voice came from straight ahead.
“I got you now,” she whispered and narrowed her eyes.
Tristan’s head appeared from inside the darkness, then the rest of his body followed.
She gave him a hyena’s grin.
“Look at you,” he repeated. “You’ve spent yourself completely. You’re just a wisp of smoke and a set of eyes. Look where we stand.” He breathed a faint laugh. “You are no more.”
The day draws near when At Horizon’s End will be available, and that day is none other than July 30. The story is about The Man Behind The Bar (a fancy name for Death personified) and the idea of altering the nature of something eternal and inevitable, like the passing of a mortal life, a phenomenon that in a way obeys a force that seems (to us) to making arbitrary decisions on who goes and who stays. A force that, to an outside observer (perhaps another eternal being), never makes a mistake. Which birthed a question: what if?
What if? I’m a firm believer that this question has driven mankind to great lengths. I wouldn’t be surprised if scientists in future years conclude that everything humanity has achieved through its multitude of cultures and civilisations, relies on that simple, two-word question. What if?
So, in lieu of that, what if Death actually made a mistake? What would Death do to set things right? How far would he go to rectify that mistake? How much would Death’s nature change through his constant dealings with mortals? Would it? Would concepts like love and family seep into him? Could Death, if he were a person, gain a human element? If so, what would that be?
These question were the driving force behind what inspired me to write At Horizon’s End.
As it is, the story breaks some rules. In particular, the story uses two point of view characters: The Man Who Fed on Tears and Stella, a four-year-old girl. Technically speaking, when it comes to creative endeavours, there are no rules. More like guidelines, but it’s not very often one gets to have two point of view characters for this length of a short story. However, every once in a while, it’s okay for a writer (or any creative person for that matter) to break the rules.
What if it leads us to something new and great?
At Horizon’s End
Available: July 30
Story blurb:
The Man Who Fed On Tears always knows whose time it is to remove from our world. His existence is one of a symbiosis between his need for the tears and woe he causes to those closest to the deceased, and the natural order of life and death to which he is bound to obey. He never questions himself or his actions and has never made a mistake. Until now.
Stella is a four-year-old girl who misses her mommy and wants to see her again. She doesn’t yet understand the concept of loss, so when she sees close family members crying, she tries to stay cheerful and optimistic. After all, Mommy said they’d see each other again when the time comes At Horizon’s End. So if they’ll meet again, why is everyone crying?
Mike kicked a pebble on the pier and watched it plop down into the sea. “Okay, we’re here. Now what?”
Alex rolled his eyes and sighed as if he had other, better things to do than explain trivial things to the village fool for the tenth time. “Now we wait.” He spoke slowly and intoned each word to make sure the message got through. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet.
Mike fought the urge to introduce his fist to Alex’s face. Instead, he nodded and chewed on his lower lip. Moments later, when the silence became unbearable, he spoke again. “For how long?” Pompous, know-it-all little prick was going to get the beating of a lifetime, if he gave him another stupid or arrogant answer.
“Until something big happens. Now. Shut. Up.”
Mike flexed his fist and tried to picture his friend’s nose as a swollen, three-feet-wide monstrosity across his face. He caught sight of something strange from the corner of his eye. He turned his head to it, and something cold sped from the base of his skull, down his spine, all the way to his limbs. “Big as in… like that perhaps?” He pointed at the shore.
Alex turned and looked. His face turned ashen, and the bulge on his throat went down once and rose slowly. His mouth hung.
“Sea going away big enough for you? Where’s the sea going, Alex? Huh? You messed up. Again.”
