The Immortal Canyon; it was the perfect name for the place. Not because it would last any longer than any other canyon. Not because it was more impressive than others. Not because it would leave any visitors to it with any sense of miraculous wonder. No, The Immortal Canyon was perfectly named because none who were mortal had any business ever going there. No sign of life crawled, or flew, or grew in it. Not a single cactus, not one scorpion. No lichens spotted the stone, and truth be told, even on the microscopic level you would be hard pressed to find much bacteria.
The silent stone walls stood as tall and majestic as those of a basilica. They rose in glorious stretches of grey, and tan, and even pink in some places. Not one square inch was smooth. In some places the uneven edges extended only slightly and in others huge buttresses jutted into the canyon.
Each edge, small or large, was wickedly sharp.
Along the floor of the canyon foul scented, hot vapor seeped through the rough gravel strewn there. This created fissures in the loose gravel making it very uneven and treacherous. The vapor itself, which carried the very smell of death, gathered in brooding clouds just over the canyon. In this way the gloom never left the deserted place.
None would choose to venture into The Immortal Canyon. Not the bravest, not the craziest, not the most fool hearty. None. None. Not anyone, except the stooped old man. This poor soul was slowly trudging, step by painful step, into that hell. Beneath his feet the loose gravel shifted and the foul vapor sprayed in his face. Many times he reached his hand to the canyon wall to steady himself only to draw a bloodied appendage, shredded on the sharp edged stone, back into the pocket of his leather overcoat.
The coat he wore was the latest Lance Jenson design. Deep brown ox hide had been expertly treated and precisely stitched into the very finest garment. It had taken the old man seven years to save enough money to purchase it. The purchase had been well worth the money. The fine coat gave him a regal appearance. It accented his broad shoulders, now turned downward with age, but they had obviously been impressive and strong when he had been in his prime. The upturned collar hid the few wisps of white hair left on the back of his head and also shielded his face from the full heat of the rising vapor.
Such a cruel fate, a cruel end to a cruel life. This was to be the place. The place he would never leave. The one place he could leave his bones wrapped in that fine leather overcoat. It had not been his first choice, nor his second, nor third, nor hundredth. Yet it was to be the place. He had tried everywhere else.
The old man recalled the first funeral home he had entered. His head humbly bowed and his savings of seven years visible in his hand. The proprietor had taken one glance at him and howled,
“What are you doing? Get out of here!”
“Sir, I am dying,” the old man had pleaded. “I have money. All I want is a grave in the cemetery.”
“I said get out!” the stout proprietor yelled as he had kicked the old man. “You are not wanted!”
The next funeral home the old man tried he had made sure to wear his best clothes and hold the fistful of cash well ahead of himself.
“How dare you show your face here?” the proprietor of that funeral home had shouted. His face had turned a bright red.

“Good sir-“ the old man tried to speak.
“You are not wanted!” the red faced man shrieked. “I will never put you in a grave, but if you show your face here again I will dump your dead carcass in the street to rot there!”
Disheartened the old man had left and miserably plodded down the street. After a few blocks a black and white squad car pulled over in front of him and a tall muscled officer stepped out.
“You have your papers, unwanted?” the officer asked as he fingered the club hanging from his belt.
“Yes, sir,” the old man had answered and produced his identification from his back pocket. “Sir, I am dying.”
“Good,” the officer said flatly as he scrutinized the old man’s papers. “No one wants you here.”
“But sir,” the old man had been near tears. “I cannot find a grave to be laid in.”
“Of course not,” the officer said and handed the papers back to the old man. “No one wants you near them even if you’re dead and six feet down.”
The officer had been right. In desperation the old man had offered his money to several land owners and farmers, asking for just the smallest corner of earth and no headstone. He had been refused every time, often with a beating to send him packing. There was nowhere else. His bones had to lie somewhere. They would lie in The Immortal Canyon.
So instead of a coffin he had bought his fine overcoat. Actually none of the stores would sell to him either. He had asked many people to make the purchase for him. One young man he had offered to buy lunch for if he would just go into the store and buy the overcoat.
“You sick bastard,” the young man had spat in his face. “Get away from me!”
When he knew his end was just days away and he could wait no longer, he had propped the backdoor of a store open during the day, and then returned that night to take his overcoat. He felt ashamed for doing such a thing, but he had left all of the money on the counter and made sure the door had locked behind him when he left. He did not wait until the next sunrise. He had set out for The
Immortal Canyon immediately after buttoning the overcoat around himself.
With his next step the gravel again shifted beneath his weight. He again painfully clutched the canyon wall but his knee had twisted. For several years that right knee had given him problems. Now it brought his journey to its end.
He let his tired legs give out from under him, falling hard on his rear. Gravel shifted around him.
To his left a gush of vapor rose with a soft hiss. The scent was not as terrible as people claimed. Slowly he lowered his back, resting those once broad shoulders on the gravel floor. It was over.
He was alone, completely alone. That was nothing new. He had been alone since his poor parents had abandoned him in shame. They had not wanted him. The state had been required to care for him, though of course they had not wanted him either. When he grew into a man he had worked as hard as he could, trying desperately to win one smile from his supervisors, but they did not want him either. The same state which had never wanted him had given the company a cut in their taxes so that they would give him employment. It meant that he could earn enough to live alone, away from the state aid facilities that had no desire to aid him.
Now here in The Immortal Canyon away from all the scowling faces, for the first time there was an entity that wanted him with a passion that no creature had ever exhibited towards him before.
Death. Death wanted him. He could feel it in the bones that would rest in this spot for eternity. Death

was there in the canyon. It stood in the vapor. It floated just over the gravel. It moved against the sharp edges, but it wasn’t cut. Death was as immortal as the canyon itself.
“It is time,” the old man stated. “You are here to take me.”
“Yesssssss,” came the answer whispered through the foul vapor.
“I am not afraid, I am ready.”
“Yesssssss.”
“It is for the best. Everyone wants me gone.”
“Yesssssss.”
“I have been nothing but a burden, haven’t I?”
“Yesssssss.”
“I thought as much. In all my years not one soul has ever cared for me, right?”
“Yesssssss.”
“I am unwanted?”
“Yesssssss.”
The old man could feel the chill exuding from the dark figure as Death drew closer. It was almost over. These were his last moments. He had to know.
“I was born cursed wasn’t I?”
“Yesssssss.”
“And I could never overcome it? Even with all the effort and all the hard work, the curse would always be there?”
“Yesssssss.”
“That was God’s plan for my life?”
“Yesssssss.”
A tear rolled down the old man’s wrinkled cheek. It was as he had always feared. He swallowed hard. His heart skipped a beat, just barely starting its rhythm again. Very soon it would stop completely.
He had of course always known that he was cursed. He had been painfully reminded of it each and every moment of his long years. Hope. How foolish he had been to ever hope to find relief. Perhaps he should have had the courage to meet this dark figure oh so many years earlier. It would have saved so many people from the pain of having an unwanted man in their company.
“Alright, let us get on with it,” the old man sighed as he closed his eyes. The chill grew. Icy breath licked his tear streaked face. With his last breath he asked, “You want me, don’t you? You are taking me to a place where I am wanted?”
“No.”
The answer was crystal clear, not whispered as the others had been. The old man asked nothing more. He was dead the instant after the word was spoken.
“The Immortal Canyon,” Jen said. She flipped her blond ponytail over her shoulder and took a deep breath of the fresh air. “What a perfect name for such a wonderful place. It seems absolutely miraculous.”
“I’m glad you came with me, kiddo,” Jen’s dad smiled at her. “It’s been awhile since we were hiking together.”

“And you always find the best spots,” Jen smiled back at her dad.
The clear stream flowing through the canyon gurgled at their feet. She could spot a few little fish and several crayfish. Singing finches darted through the blossoming fruit trees and the warm sun shone through the wispy clouds. It was a perfect day.
Stepping around a bright green bush some loose gravel shifted under Jen’s foot. She took a couple quick steps to regain her balance and turned around to glance at the spot. She almost turned back without a second thought, but the sunlight reflected off something in her foot print.
“Hey dad, just a sec,” Jen said and bent down to investigate. She gingerly used a finger to brush gravel away from a bit of metal.
“Whatcha got there?” her dad asked as he knelt next to her.
“Looks like a button,” Jen answered. She brushed more gravel and dirt aside. The button was attached to a coat. A very old leather men’s overcoat buried just below the surface. Jen found five buttons still holding the coat closed. She grasped the leather and gave it a yank, but the coat did not come free from the earth. Thinking she could get a better grip with the coat open she unbuttoned each of the buttons.
“Dad,” Jen said when she pulled the coat open. “I think this might be a grave.”
“I think you’re right,” her dad brushed more dirt away. “There isn’t much left.”
He was right. The coat was filled with a bit of dust. By the collar were about a dozen teeth, but otherwise there were only a few small fragments of bone.
“He has been here a very long time,” her dad said as he stood again. “I suppose we should tell somebody.”
Jen pulled her pack off her back and started rummaging through it.
“That is one incredible coat to have held up so well when the body is in this condition,” her dad commented. “What are you doing, kiddo?”
Jen had pulled her extra water bottle out of her pack. She opened the cover and took a handful of the dust.
“For some reason, I just think he doesn’t need some sheriff’s deputy taking a bunch of pictures and then dumping him in a cardboard box,” Jen said as she reverently picked up more of the dust and bone fragments and poured them into her water bottle. “I think he needs someone who wants to take care of him.”
Jen’s dad just smiled and let her finish the task in silence.