A Deal with Death
Can eternity ever silence life’s melody?
The world stirs as dawn’s light gently kisses its face. This morning, long, delicate shadows stretch out while a reddish glow bathes everything, turning it pink and gold. I mumble into my pillow, pulling the covers tighter, wishing for just a few more moments of sleep. The idea of being an early riser never appealed to me. My curtains, though tightly drawn, fail to keep out the persistent morning light. On my cluttered bedside table, an alarm clock sits defiantly, its numbers bright even in the dimness, forever showing noon.
The scent of fresh air mingles with a familiar, mouthwatering aroma. My mother must be cooking. Memories flood back of neighbours and relatives lining up at our door, eager for a taste of her renowned afia efere soup.
Thoughts of the day’s plans elude me. Maybe a trip to Calabar’s bustling market? I could lose myself among the riot of colours and cacophony and perhaps pick up fresh ingredients for dinner. Nigeria’s blend of tribes and traditions often offers a brief escape from my timeless existence. Centuries have shown me kingdoms’ ebb and flow, battles fought, and truces made. But the sting of seeing loved ones wither and fade? That never dulls.
One issue with my existence? Endless time. My gifts of immortality and telekinesis, blessings or curses from an ancient pact, let me vanish and reappear anywhere. Yet, I often stay put, savouring life’s fleeting moments. While the world shifts and people grow old, I stand still, an unchanging anchor. Drawn to the kitchen by the irresistible smell of chicken sauce, I inhale deeply, my mouth watering in anticipation. Sundays have a special place in my heart. My mom, despite her years, never misses a chance to pamper us. Wrinkles may line her face, but her spirit dances youthfully, her cooking unparalleled.
Dipping a finger into the sauce, distant shouts from the street catch my ear. An unsettling feeling grips me. I need to see what’s happening. Quickly, I pull on a shirt, slide into worn jeans, and bound down the stairs, three at a time. A cold shiver races up my back as I near the unfolding scene.
Each step closer, and the world’s noise fades. The neighbourhood’s usual buzz is eerily missing, replaced by a suffocating silence. Stepping out, the sight before me steals my breath — an accident. Memories of countless past tragedies surge back. I let out a deep, tired sigh, feeling the vastness of eternity ahead. A weight presses on my heart, the burden of my endless life. Every life lost is a stark reminder of my gift’s cost.
Centuries ago, a plague swept through a village I cherished. Decades later, I watched, powerless, as war took the lives of valiant friends. Every passing soul reminded me of the eternal life I’d chosen — a life that now weighs heavily upon me. I approach a nearby woman, seeking answers about the recent event.
With a shaky hand, she brushes away a tear, her eyes brimming with grief. “An accident,” her voice cracks, another tear escaping. “A whole family gone. Such a tragedy.” As her voice trails off, a shadowy figure catches my eye near the roadside — a presence I know all too well.
“It’s been some time, Death,” I murmur, memories of our initial meeting rushing back. Once, in my youthful audacity, I believed I could cheat death itself. How mistaken I was. “Does this game ever weary you? Making me witness life’s fleeting nature?” Our age-old pact, born from my brashness, granted me endless life, but at a cruel price. He ensured I’d constantly see life’s delicate balance, a stark reminder of the order I’d challenged.
“Indeed, immortal one. Ages have passed,” Death responds. “You chose to challenge nature’s way, and now you bear its repercussions.” Our agreement was clear: I yearned for eternity, and Death sought amusement. He relished the idea of an immortal constantly confronted by life’s ephemerality.
Though he lacks a face, I sense his smirk. He can’t claim me, but he’s vowed to parade his deeds before me for eternity. Drifting closer, he aims to sear the horror of this moment into my soul. As he nears, the deafening cries of countless souls he’s ushering to the afterlife pierce my ears.
Yet, he never lingers. Moving to his next unseen task, a foul odour trails him, suffocating me. Dizziness overwhelms me, and the contents of my recent meal spill forth. As I continue to retch, a concerned face hovers above. “Hey, are you okay? Need medical help?” It’s the woman I’d questioned earlier.
Regaining my composure, I assure her, “I’m okay now. Thank you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, skepticism evident. “You’re clearly not. You were just sick.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I truly am okay,” I insist, eager to escape the scene. Enough is enough. The once lively streets of Calabar, usually resonating with Ekpe melodies, now feel hauntingly quiet. Though the city buzzes during the Calabar Carnival, today, it’s different. The streets grieve alongside me, their usual vibrancy overshadowed by a heaviness reflecting my inner turmoil.
Trudging upstairs, I plan to confess to my folks how weary I’ve become of immortality. In the dining room, they sit, not touching their food, their faces clouded with worry. A heavy tension fills the air.
“What’s happened, Dad?” My voice trembles, thoughts racing to my wife and daughter vacationing near the Agbokim Waterfalls. That country house, our sanctuary from the world, stands tall with two stories, overlooking the cascading waters. Memories flood in: Janet and I, lost in our honeymoon bliss and little Judy’s wobbly first steps.
“It’s about Janet. She called — Judy had an accident at the waterfall. She’s now in the ICU.” My mother’s voice breaks, echoing with pain. Mother, with her deep bond to the Earth, once summoned rain during a dire drought in Zamfara. Plants flourish under her touch, and the skies mirror her emotions. Yet, our extraordinary abilities don’t shield us from life’s heartbreaks. Grief and death, they haunt us as they do any mortal.
My little girl, in danger? Without hesitation, I harness my telekinetic powers, whisking us to the country house. Bursting inside, I find Janet hastily packing. Our eyes meet, and she rushes into my embrace.
“Josh!” Janet’s voice cracks. “I looked away for just a heartbeat, and then … she was in the water, swept away by the rush of the waterfall.”
I cradle her, murmuring comforts and brushing my lips against her raven-black hair. Through decades, Janet has been my rock, grasping the weight of my eternal life. Judy, our precious blend of mortal and immortal. My parents guide us to Janet’s Ford Explorer, its engine humming. Though I could’ve whisked us to the hospital, the drive offers a brief touch of humanity and a chance to calm my frayed nerves.
I push the accelerator, the hospital our only focus. Yet, Calabar’s essence seeps in — suya grilling by the roadside, children’s laughter from a football game, distant church bells chiming. This city, steeped in Efik culture and Christian faith, offers a sliver of hope when I need it most.
Upon arrival, I leap out, seizing my wife’s hand, and we rush into the hospital. Harsh fluorescent lights illuminate the lobby. My wife gestures toward an elevator. As my parents enter, I impatiently jab the button, urging it to move faster. Entering my daughter’s room, there he is again. Death, hovering close. Anger bubbles inside me, the desire to face him burning, but how does one defy Death?
In the room, my daughter lies unrecognisable, tubes invading her, dials relaying her fragile state. A deep gash marks her shoulder, evidence of her fall onto jagged terrain. The scene tears at my heart. My daughter, a blend of my eternal life and her mother’s fleeting existence, battles for every breath. The gravity of my choice to live forever, witnessing my family’s pain, overwhelms me.
Every embrace with Judy revealed eternity in her gaze, mirroring both my endless existence and her mother’s human touch. Confronted with her fragile life, the burden of my decisions weighs heavily. My unique daughter, a fusion of immortal and mortal worlds. She carries traces of my abilities yet the vulnerability of mortality. Tears blur my vision. How can I protect my cherished child?
“Daddy, why are you crying?” Her voice trembles yet carries a spark of vitality. Pain shadows her features.
“Hey, princess. Daddy’s got a bug in his eye. How’re you feeling?” I say as my wife comes closer, caressing her forehead. My parents maintain a distance, wanting to give us a moment of privacy.
Janet asks, “Judy, how’s your headache?”
Before she can answer, a harsh cough racks her body. She gasps, eyes filled with torment. Darkness descends upon the room. He drifts in, scythe in hand, positioning himself by my daughter. A mocking smile plays on his lips, directed at me.
“It is time, immortal one. Her moment has come,” Death declares, resting a hand on Judy’s head. I watch her essence slip away, her form stiffening, growing cold. The monitors emit a final, piercing beep, and silence engulfs the room, reminiscent of a tomb.
My wife’s anguished scream pierces the air; a crushing sorrow engulfs me, yet death eludes me, bound by this curse.
Immortality feels like a curse, watching loved ones fade while you remain. Burying your children, shedding endless tears. Memories of Judy, from her first steps to her infectious laughter, flood my mind. The consequences of my choices, the pact I forged, weigh heavily upon me.
If only I could exchange my eternal life to embrace her again. I’ve come to understand that life’s beauty is in its transience, in those brief shared moments. Once, I believed immortality to be a gift. Now, I see its true nature.
Every farewell cuts deep, underscoring time’s relentless march, while I stand still, a mere spectator to life’s ephemeral dance. It’s the shadow of death that paints life with beauty, the fragility of existence that gives it value. In life’s transient moments, seek joy, treasure love, and celebrate the allure of mortality.
