Meeting Death
A cold drizzle fell from the hazy sky, dampening the streets of eerie silence. The city lights flickered in the distance in the distance, their glow barely reaching the shadowed alley where Quinn, a male freshman student, stood. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his oversized hoodie. He exhaled, watching his breathe dissipate in the night's cold air. His head tilted to face the sky above as he stands behind the railing on a bridge.
The weight of expectations, lonliness, and the deep-rooted ache in his chest had sunk him into a numb daze. The thought of ending it all had played in his mind like a song on repeat, each verse striking harder than the last.
The bridge wasn't the tallest nor the most dramatic, but the rushing river current below was cruel enough. Quinn's fingers brushed against the cold metal railing as they climbed up, perching the edge with their Nike sneakers barely hanging off.
One breath.
Another.
Then—
A horn blared.
Quinn turned his head in time to see to see headlights piercing through the rain. A car. Too fast, too close. His foot slipped. The world shifted.
And suddenly, he was falling.
For a moment, it felt like he was flying for the first time. The wind rushing against his skin and between his baggy pants. It was like goosebumps for a few seconds. Then— impact.
Cold water had swallowed Quinn whole. The river was merciless, dragging him into its depths. His lungs burned. His body refused to move. Darkness curled at the edges of his vision. Maybe this was what he wanted it.
Suddenly, a voice—deep, rich, unshakeable—cut through the void.
"Not yet."
The world stilled.
Quinn's body remained submerged but their mind—something else entirely—was pulled into a space between worlds. The water around faded into a dimly lit void, like the threshold between night and dawn. And standing there, impossibly still, was him.
Death.
He is taller than Quinn, dressed in an all-black suit and tie, with no other color on his attire. His skin was pale, almost ethereal, and his hair as dark as the abyss. But it was his eyes that held Quinn captive—golden, burning like embers in hollow of his face.
Quinn gasped, coming to the sense he could breathe here.
"This isn't your time", Death said, smooth yet firm.
Quinn blinked. "Then why does it feel like it is?"
A flicker of something—pity? Interest?—crossed Death's face. He took a step forward, the space between them vanishing with unnatural speed. "Because you wanted it to be."
Quinn clenched their fists. "Then why stop me?"
"Because fate has other plans for you." He tilted his head, examining them like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. "And because I was curious."
Quinn let out a breathless laugh. "You don't take me seriously, don't you?"
Death's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "I take all seriously. But you Quinn—you are not meant to be here yet."
Quinn narrowed their eyes." You know my name. "
"I know many things." His voice softened. "I know the weight you carry. The loneliness. The way you wish to disappear, yet still hope someone might notice. You straddle the line between life and death, and I... " He hesitated, as if he were savoring his words. "I find that intriguing."
Quinn swallowed. "So what now?"
"You return."
"What if I don't want to?"
Death reached out, his fingers barely grazing Quinn's chin. The touch was impossibly warm, despite his pale skin and cold appearance. "The prove to me that your story should end here."
Something in his gaze held a challenge, an unspoken dare. And Quinn, despite everything, wasn't ready to lose.
The darkness shifted, the void crumbling. The cold rush of the river returned, filling of their lungs, burning of their throat. Hands grabbed Quinn's hands—real hands this time—pulling them from the depths. Voices shouted. Lights blurred.
And then—
Nothing.
But before unconsciousness took him, Quinn swore they heard a whisper, barely brushing their mind. A shiver up his spine.
I'll be watching.
