Final Moments
Greg Burdon
Copyright Greg Burdon 2011
Published at Smashwords
I sometimes grow tired of taking lives. To wait in the shadows, unknown to those whom I watch, until that final breath leaves their bodies in the same instant their soul flies from this mortal coil. I did not choose to be what I am. I do not even know what to refer to myself as. I have been called many things in the past. But one thing remains a fact: when the time comes, I will have no choice but to take your life. 
On this night, I felt that same tiresome self-reflection that I had felt many times before, questioning my influence on the lives around me. So deep was my pensive state that I dropped all pretence and allowed myself to be known to those around me as I sit quietly in my suit and tie, though of course they could not know my intentions. They could not know what I was waiting for. Particularly the young boy seated beside me, no older than 19 years, waiting for his train in the dead of night. He and I were the only souls on the platform. I sat, still, waiting, while he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a box of those vile cigarettes that I see so many young people inserting into their mouths. If I had not taken the lives of countless men, women and children I would quite possibly have lectured him on the dangers of smoking such poisons. But as I was beside him, the cigarette was the least of his concerns. 
He noticed me watching him. After placing one of the white paper sticks onto his lips, he holds out the box in my direction, a gesture of offering. “Wanna bump one, buddy?” he asks me. 
I smile, not sinisterly, but in a politely amused fashion. “No thank you, I do not smoke.”
He nods, then takes out his lighter. “You mind if I do?” he says. 
I shake my head slightly. “Not at all.”
He lights his poison-stick and breathes in the acrid smoke. He stares at me, a look of curiosity on his face. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth to speak, using it to point at me, the smoke from the burning end curling into the air and fading into nothing as it rises. 
“You have a strange accent. Mind if I ask where you’re from?”
I ponder his question. “I was not aware that my accent was strange,” I reply, speaking, as always, in barely more than a whisper. “Perhaps you mean that you cannot place it? If this is your question, I am afraid I cannot help, as I have no recollection as to where I hail from.”
The boy looks confused. He breathes in more burning fumes before he speaks again. “You don’t know where you’re from? No idea at all?” He sounds as though he does not believe me. 
“None what-so-ever,” I answer. 
“Damn, that’s crazy,” he informs me. Perhaps he is right. “You have amnesia or something? Get hit in the head?”
I shake my head slightly again. “Not to my knowledge have I ever sustained such an injury. Perhaps I have simply forgotten as the years have passed. After all, I am rather old.”
The boy snorted in a derisive manner, smoke springing forth from his nostrils like the mythical dragons of old fairytales. “You don’t look that old, man, like, maybe 60? About the same age as my grandad.” 
“I am older than I look, but thank you for saying I look younger,” I said. “I do not often receive compliments. But tell me, for what reason do you find yourself here at this time of night? Surely a young boy such as yourself has a home to get back to? Parents who must worry as to your whereabouts?” I do not know why I was asking him about his life when I already knew everything. Perhaps I felt some sort of regret? Even sympathy? It did not matter. He was going to die very soon. 
He waved his hand as though shooing away a pesky flying insect. “Nah, my folks don’t really care when I come and go. Only real decent thing about ‘em. I’m heading home now, though, I’ve been at my girlfriend’s place. I’d go into more detail, but, you know, a gentleman never tells, eh?”  He winks at me in a way that suggests he is anything but a gentleman. 
I smile at him. He seems to be quite amused with his correct use of idiom, leaning back on the bench and raising the cigarette once more to his lips to slowly take in the smoke. I lean closer and speak quietly.
“I believe your train is coming.”
He looks around. There is no sign of the train. He looks at me as though I am mad, and a second later, the tell-tale rushing wind signalled the approach of a train into the station. He smiles and shakes his head at me.
“You can’t complain about your age too much, man, your hearing is pretty damn good.”  He stands to approach the edge of the platform to wait for the approaching train to stop. He pauses when he realises I have remained seated. Looking at me, he gestures towards the direction we can now hear the train approaching from. “Aren’t you catching this?” he asks. 
I shake my head once more. “I shall catch the next.” While remaining seated, I extend my hand towards the boy. “It was a pleasure speaking with you.” 
He glances at my offered hand, hesitating for a moment. Then he reached out and shook my hand. I could feel the warmth of the life in him. I could feel his heartbeat through his fingers, the strength of his youthful grip. The moment was nearly upon me. The boy was seconds away from death. 
I let go of his hand. He smiles at me and nods, then turns and walks towards the platform edge. I remain seated. I see the train getting closer. The rush of wind and loud clatter of the train echoes around myself and the boy, making it impossible to hear anything else. The boy is still walking towards the platform edge. I remain seated. I do not move. I stare at the boy as he walks. My eyes bore into his back. I see the life in him. It was time to tear it from him. 
I whisper. The boy, who never told me his name, heard me. Despite the chaotic din of the train, my preternatural voice carried directly to his ears. He heard me whisper his name, despite him never telling me. “Daniel...”
Daniel turned as he walked. I saw the wonder and confusion on his face. I saw him continue to walk towards the platform edge. He was so close now. I looked directly into his eyes and he into mine. What he saw, I cannot say. It is different for everyone. But he could not or would not look away. He stepped backwards, his foot finally finding the edge of the platform. He slipped. His arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance. But it was too late. He sank below the platform and onto the tracks. Then the train reached the platform.
I sighed. I stared down at my feet for a moment, wondering about why I must do these things. As the train came to a halt, I finally rose from my seat and turned to face Daniel, who now stood beside me, staring in horror at the platform edge where he had just fallen from, only to be crushed under the wheels of the train. I place a hand on his shoulder. He looks at me, eyes full of sorrow and fear.  He asks me the silent question they all ask. Am I dead?
I nod slightly. “It is time you come with me, Daniel.”
And as the wind came to a rest and the station platform was silent once more, we were gone.