Blithe Bereavement -PG-13

[cheshire]

Blithe Bereavement

Rated PG-13 for occasional language.

Prologue

In which we meet a man named Death,
who is really not much of a man at all.

I can not tell you how boring it gets being Death.
No one EVER just calls you to say "Hi". Not even those annoying salesmen. Just once, I’d like to answer the phone and be able to yell “I DON’T WANNA BUY ANYTHING!!!“ You humans seem to take such joy in that. When I was alive, phones were not invented yet, and it would be rather difficult to yell into a phone in my current condition. A human might see me and start screaming their lil‘ head off, and then the Clean Up Crew would have to be called in, and the Boss would be alerted…no, no phone calls for me.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t really have anything against you humans, but honestly! You really just can't stay alive! Every time I turn around another one kicks the bucket! I don't get one minute of sleep. That’s why I look so cranky all the time. You would be too if it had been a century since your last nap. But I digress.
I did not come here to talk about me. I came here to talk about a Miss Ebony Blithe. I knew she was different. The moment she died I felt it. A tingle, running up my spine, a temporary loss of breath. I knew then, that she was the Imprinted. The heir to the High Death throne. At first, I could not believe it. She was really nothing special. Simple black hair. Green eyes. She looked of normal height, though it was hard to tell with her laying down. Her skin was pale with agony, and when I arrived her breath was at its last struggle for life. I was anxious for her to die and get it over with. The explaining of death is so tedious.
Ah. That reminds me of the whole reason I agreed to do this prologue fiasco. If you'll all excuse me for one moment, let me just say one thing. When you die, your spirit will rise up out of your body. At first you will look around, see your body, and then see me. After you complete this simple motion, please, please, PLEASE make your first question an intelligent one. I am very, very sick of all the morons. About 30% percent of you scream, 20% percent refuse to believe your dead, 40% babble or say nothing at all and 10% percent ask stupid questions.
"Whoa, who are you?" No freakin’ duh.
"OMGEE am I dead?" No freakin’ duh.
"DUUUUDE are you GOD?" .........I had nothing to say to that one. I mean, really! Only three people in my 1340 years of work have ever said anything interesting to me after finding out that they were dead. The first was a man named Albert. Albert Einstein. He looked at me and said, "WELL! It's about time. Come on then, lets get on with the show!". That amused me. The second was a man who lived in the 90's. He asked me for a cigarette. I tried not too, but I ended up laughing in his face. I tried to explain that he was DEAD. He asked again. And of course, the third was Ebony.
She just stood there for a moment. Glanced down at her still body, up at me, and then down to her glowing hands. I was sure for a moment that she was going to be one of those who says nothing. But then she looked up at me, and asked me a question I will never forget.
"Um, what’s with the pink robe?" she asked, not a flicker of fear reflected in her eyes.
" I like pink." I replied, simply, after a stunned second. She merely nodded, excepting the fact that all your stereotypes about Death are wrong.
After a moment of merely staring at each other, I realized that this silence was an awkward one. I cleared my throat.
“Ebony Renowna Blithe, I am Death, and I am here to escort you to - What?” I asked, offended when she started laughing. No one has EVER laughed at me. I stared at this girl, for the first time in my career speechless. Ebony showed no sign of fear as she laughed in the face of Death.




[Author's Comments: This first bit is my least favorite in everything that I have written. I keep it because I think it gives the readers a good taste of what is to come in the story, but still...I just find it weak. What do you all think?]

Chapter One

In which we meet Ebony Blithe,
Town Freak and awkwardly normal girl,
and learn of her life before she died.

Ebony Blithe was a girl who could one day confidently say that her Death was a hell of a lot more interesting than her Life. She was not the most popular girl, nor even the least popular (that would be Bernie Nose-Picker and Designated-Pervert). Some of her hobby’s included reading and graveyard touring. She had no special talents, unless you counted invisibility a talent. Ebony was very good at appearing invisible. In retrospect, this could probably be considered her undoing.
Ebony died on a Tuesday. This suited our heroine quite well, as Tuesday was her least favorite day of the week. Nothing ever happened on Tuesdays. Mondays could be spent cursing Mondays, Wednesdays were the days she worked at the local book store; Thursday was a day away from Friday, and Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays could all be spent doing whatever she liked. Yes, Tuesdays were certainly the unsightly blemish on an otherwise unflawed week.
This particular Tuesday, Ebony had off school due to some teacher’s confrence. She woke earlier than usual, jolted awake from a dream she couldn’t remember. The slender girl was shaking like a leaf, sweat trickling down the small of her back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Slipping her legs out from under the heavy comforter, she drifted down the creaking stairs into her small bathroom, where she prompty threw up.
“Ugh,” Ebony grunted, using a wad of toilet paper to dab at her mouth. Stomach acid stung the back of her throat, and her eyes watered. Her small bathroom swam in front of her face, the sickly green color that it was painted not doing much to help her condition. Using a shaking hand to steady herself on the sink, she rose to her feet.
“Where did that come from?” she thought to herself, still unable to recall the dream, and not completely sure she wanted too.
Confident that sleep was now a distant desire, Ebony began brushing her teeth, the putrid taste in her mouth being replaced by a hearty mint. Leaning over and spitting, Ebony raised her eyes to look at herself carefully in her mirror. A pair of large green eyes stared back at her, confusion reflected in their vivid depths. Her inky black hair was matted and damp with sweat, though it still lay flat on her head, a fact that never changed no matter how much mousse or hairspray she subjected it to. A color that may be compared to the tusks of a preastoric creature, her skin was even more pale then usual, though not by much. Ebony sighed and rubbed her eyes, before turning to wrestle with the shower.
“Are you going to be warm today?” she asked aloud, questioning the falty water heater that made the pipes shake like they were doing the mambo. She stuck her fingers under the rush of water, a murmur of pleasure escaping her lips as she felt the water heat up. Today was going to be a good day.

§ § § § §

Mrs. and Mr. Blithe were both gone by the time Ebony entered the kitchen. A note was left on the kitchen table, scribbled out on a paper plate. It reminded Ebony that Finch would need to be picked up from piano class at noon-thirty, and to pick up some cereal on the way home from school.
Most folks in town could agree, Ebony’s parents were not the most intelligent people. Her father works at a nearby factory, putting the stickers on gallons of milk. Her mother is a clerk at a local knickknack shop, which only really flourished during tourist season. Neither of them had gone to collage and they both were convinced that pickles grew on trees. Not to say Ebony didn’t love them. No, Ebony cared for her parents very much. However, she could get a little exasperated with their antics at times.
“Mother and Father have left, it would appear.” Ebony turned to see her little brother, Finch, standing in the kitchen door way. The eight year old resembled Ebony very much, from his midnight locks to his milky complexion and glistening catlike eyes. A pair of wire rimmed glasses lay perched on his petite nose however, and his mouth was turned into a stiff frown.
“Yeah,” Ebony said simply, a little uncomfortable with her younger brother.
“ ‘Yeah’ is improper grammer and degrading slang. The proper conjunction would be -” Finch drifted to a halt when he caught Ebony’s glare. She did not appreiciate having a child progedy for a younger brother. Ebony raised her eyes to the heavens, pondering, not for the first time, how two people as dull as Mr. and Mrs. Blithe produced a boy like Finch. Again, she did not have anything personal against her younger brother. More the fact that he was special and she was not. A sliver of guilt wormed it’s way inside her, and she resigned to making Finch his favorite breakfast as an apology.
Once the Egg and Tomato sandwhiches were toasted and served, the atmosphear became uncomfortable. Besides their looks, Ebony and Finch had little in common. When Finch was born, He was deemed “the best thing that ever happened to the Blithe family”. He was “special”, an “oracle”, a “child prodigy”. It was pretty simple what happened. Super baby moved in. Normal girl moved out. More accurately, up to the attic, which was fine by Ebony. Finch was special, so he got the biggest room. The best toys. The largest birthday parties. Eventually, Ebony’s birthday stopped being celebrated. Slowly but surely, she was became “The Girl In The Attic” and Finch was became “Son Who Can Do No Wrong”. Ebony swallowed down any feelings of bitter annoyance, realizing that it wasn’t Finch’s fault he was ‘the favorite’. She stood, slipping her plate into the washing machine.
“Don’t forget you have Piano in an hour,” Ebony said. Finch nodded, taking his time with his sandwich. Ebony ruffled his hair slightly as she passed him to exit out the front door. This was a feeble attempt to be sisterly by Ebony’s part, one that invoked the rare instance in which the young boy might roll his eyes. Finch promptly smoothed his locks back into place, and returned to his breakfast, which he ate with ritual-like thoroughness.
It was a nice day out. Huge, puffy clouds resided in the sky, drifting over the sun and keeping the tempurature at a balmy but cool degree. Ebony biked steadily, greatfull that there were no large hills in between her and her desitnation. She biked one handed, the other hand scrolling through her Epod. Glancing up at the road periodically, she scrolled through the songs, singing softly under her voice. Slipping the electronic into her pocket, she continued to bike through her small town until, at last, the graveyard came into view.
Ebony drifted into the dismal place. Inside the dark iron gates, which always seemed to be moist with condensation, rolling hills lay. They stretched as far as the eye could see, thrown lazily about, as if placed in a hurry. The hills appeared to be covered in gray grass, peppered as it was with gravestones and crosses. The whole graveyard seemed to hold it’s breath. Nothing moved over this dispiriting land. No birds sung a song, nor flitted between the few giant oak trees that were smattered across the hills. Despite the size of the town, the graveyard was quite large. In fact, the population of the dead outnumbered the living. It stretched on for acres, going back to the very first settlers of Eronwood. Ebony continued, hiking until she reached a grouping of headstones that looked unfamiliar. She sat, smiling softly as the grass tickled her ankles, using her toes to pick off her shoes. A gentle wind blew through the graveyard, whispering through as if greeting the girl. She could feel a change in atmosphere, the air seeming to vibrate with energy. Ebony leaned back lazily, turning her head to view the grave next to her.
Reaching out a finger, Ebony traced the letters on the nearest headstone. It seemed new- no moss obscured the writing and it was not yet adorned with graffiti.

Here lays Mr. Ernie Mayne
Some could swear he was quite insane
Us, well we’re just glad he’s dead
After he “borrowed” his sister’s head.

Ebony jerked her fingers back, then laughed at her uneasyness. Surely it was just a joke. Shifting to the side, she allowed her eyes to drift shut, leaning back to let the grass kiss her neck. She opened up her mind, welcoming the laughter of the wind, the sighs of the mighty oaks, and the whispers of the clover. Behind her eyelids, a symphony played. Her entire body opened up, its senses becoming keener and beginning to elucidate. Ebony’s mind took off, taking the place of the missing birds. In her imagination she rose, high above life. Higher and higher, escape so near…
Sitting up, Ebony froze. From her left, she could hear voices rising. She shuddered as Karen and Tabby’s shrill giggles stood out among the others. Ebony rose, fumbling to pull on her shoes. She was sure that she had hidden her bike. How had they found her here? Maybe if she was quiet…
“Well, Well, Well,” drawled a voice, sharp as a knife and much closer than the others, “Look who it is.” A sharp pain sprung in the back of Ebony’s head as someone yanked her to her feet by her hair. She bit back a yell, stumbling and slipping. Inverted fury rose in the pit of her stomach - how had she not heard this person coming? Craning her neck back, she aimed a glare at the male swine who clenched her locks in his hand. He was new to Karen’s posse, but Ebony had seen him at school. Kevin Baccon was his name. His hair was greasy, his eyes beady and pig like. The boy sneered as he spoke, making it look like he had consumed something sour.
“Well if it isn’t the little Witch,” Karen smirked as she came into view, her flaming red hair pulled into a high pony, gum snapping in her mouth. “We found your bike.” The smirk widened and Ebony resisted the earge to roll her eyes. Ebony could think of about a dozen insults that were not half as cliché as ‘witch’. If she was going to be bullyed, the least the bully’s could do was be more creative with their verbal barbs. Blocking out Karen’s continuing monoloque, she snuck a peak at the boy who still held her tight. His nose was misshapen, she noted casually.
Ebony could fix that.
She struck quickly, driving her elbow into the boy’s face. She felt a satisfying crunch as blood spurted from the wound. An animal-like howl erupted from the boy, it’s oddness increased by the plugged up interference the cascading blood caused. Ebony jerked from his hand and dashed through the gang, leaping over Ernie Mayne’s headstone.
As Ebony continued to run, she remembered some advice she had once heard on a animal documentery. The man who was speaking was a kind faced, grandfatherly type, and his words were spoken warmly and slowly. Dr. Quicke, Ebony recalled randomly. He had reminded the audience, that if you were ever face to face with a wild animal, not to turn and run, for that awoke a predatory instinct in the animal and they would give chase.
Ebony wondered in a passing thought if Teenagers might be considered wild animals, for they were certaintly giving chase.
Showing little care for their injured member, the five others took pursuit, shouting obscenities and threats in Ebony’s direction. Wishing that she had not wandered so far into the graveyard, Ebony surged forward, determined to not be caught. Ciggerette burns, Snake Bites, and Bloody Knuckles could be the least of her problems. Running lightly, her feet skimmed over the grass, until it felt as though she were truly flying. Blood pounded in her ears and her heart roared a steady beat, earging her on. Ebony heaved forward, feirce stubborness reflected in her eyes. A swell of triumph lit up inside her as she spotted her bike. As she ran a breathless laugh broke forth, sounding more like a sickly weeze. Stumbling to a halt, Ebony fumbled to pull her bike up. Allowing herself a quick glance behind her, Ebony was relieved to find her persuers a few rows back. Her bully’s were the kind who were more used to having things brought to them, then running for those things themselves. However, if Ebony wanted to get away unscathed, she would have no time to stop and catch her breath.
Using her shoulder to shove open the gate, Ebony hopped on one foot, the other being swung over her bike. The relief from her lead disappeared when she saw six other bikes placed neatly into the offered bike rack. Ebony groaned, turning and putting her weight into the bikes pedals.
“Hold it, Slime!” a shrill voice snarled, slicing through the air. Ebony did not hold it. Ebony biked for her life.
Racking her mind for a place to go and hide, our herione did not slow her course. A place with lots of people would be good. Perhaps then the beating she would receive would be kinder. Ebony gave a snort of contempt at that thought. Maybe a place with someone who knew her? Her fathers factory? Her mother’s shop? No, she would never make it in time. Behind her she could already hear nearing shouts along with the whir of bike wheels.
“Aha!” Ebony gasped out, having thought of a safe place. She was sure that Finch wouldn’t mind if she picked him up early, and the piano teacher was also wife to the sherriff. Her bullies, dumb as they were, would not dare to attack her in front of the only slice of authority they would listen too.
Ebony’s bike shrieked in resistance as she made a sharp turn to the left. Now she was back into town, weaving past mailboxes and walking residents. A few shouted angrily at her, but she did not slow to apologize as she normally would. Ebony was close, so close to safty. Karen shout behind her, alarmingly close, but Ebony couldn’t make out what she was saying. Bititng her lip, she surged forward, sweat trickling down her forehead. The temperature did not seem so cool anymore. Ebony could have cried in happiness when the piano teacher’s street came into view. She squeezed the hand breaks to slow down.
Huh.
No breaks.
Ebony pumped the handle furiously, fear bubbling inside her. She recalled what Karen had said.
“Well if it isn’t the little Witch,” Karen smirked as she came into view, “We found your bike.”
Mentally, Ebony swore enough to make a sailor blanch. She snarled in fury and turned her head to gauge how close her horrid predators were.
Never saw the truck coming.