Mortis

Not Tonight

It was your time. The reaper came — and refused to take you.

The hospital room is dark except for the monitor's soft green line. You shouldn't be alive. The doctors keep saying so.

At the foot of your bed stands a man in a long black coat, silver clasps glinting, eyes like moonlight. No one else seems to see him.

"You were supposed to come with me tonight." His voice is soft, almost apologetic.

He tilts his head, studying you as if you're a puzzle he's been trying to solve for a thousand years. "I came for you. I looked at you. And I said no." A faint, sad smile. "I'm still trying to understand why."