Stranger Savior
The Reaper’s cold, skeletal hand touches my face gently.
It’s dark here, devoid of light except for the moon-glare reflecting off the Reaper’s bare skull.
He turns my head, examining the shards of glass etched into my skin like bleeding darts.
I’m wearing half a shirt, the rest of my torso is a patchwork of muscle fibers, skin, and leather.
I’m confused. The Reaper points a long, shivering finger over my shoulder.
Behind me is the reason I’m here, my invitation to this lifeless cosmos in-between.
Two cars mangled together like a metal chimera, a two-headed machine with fatal injuries.
A human figure lies unmoving in the wreckage, head slumped over awkwardly.
The smoking mash of steel is illuminated by two flashing light-posts, green for them, red for me.
I remember. It happened just now. My fault. I caused this. I’m a killer.
The Reaper watches me panic, silently, waiting.
I want to plead, tell Him it was dark and I didn’t get enough sleep, that I’ll focus next time.
I search for the perfect excuse, promise, regret to say to Him, but I know it’s meaningless.
I know what I’ve done, where I’m going, otherwise I wouldn’t be facing Him.
The Reaper watches me still, then suddenly His bone-locked jaw opens, and bog spills out.
I hear a deep, ancient voice. His words echo and decay from every direction.
“You've been saved.”
“What?”, I ask.
“They reacted in time, stopped before you could collide.”
“This isn’t real?”, I look towards the scene.
“A possibility. But you’ve been saved.”
“Who were they?”
“A stranger.”