I meet many people every day. Usually, I encounter everyone twice. First as a Watcher and then as a Taken.

The Taken are hit by cars, other automobiles, and trains. They crash in planes of humanity’s own design, gone haywire due to some random and horrific event outside anyone’s control. They drown in water with salt, water with chlorine, and water mixed with nothing but itself. They burn in fires, suffer in extreme temperatures. Sometimes, a random genetic mutation is their undoing, whether their body attacks itself or it was never equipped to survive the world to begin with. The might of a microbe can easily disrupt homeostasis. On some occasions, there is not enough air to breathe, food to eat, or water to drink.

Sometimes they are killed.

Sometimes they kill themselves.

I end their pain. To do so, I take them where they want to go. I never keep them to myself. I am merely a bridge between life and what lies after. I cannot venture into either worlds, but I am kept company by the vast amount of souls that come flooding into my in-between realm, day after day, night after night. But where there are Taken, there are always Watchers.

The Watchers do what they do best. They watch, grief manifesting in tears and heavy-hearted anger.

It should not be this way. I wish the universe was kind enough to take her starry-nighted hands and cover their eyes.

Despite what many believe, it is much more painful to be a Watcher then a Taken.

They are left behind.

***

Today I rescue a mother of two. When she sees me, a smile paints her face, and she joins me. I take her where she needs to go and I end her pain.

“Where are you taking me?” She asks.

“Wherever you want to go!” I say. I always try to be friendly, since all of The Taken are usually polite to me.

The Taken are never scared to meet me, when the time comes.

She’s sad that she has to leave her family behind.

***

Today, a father of two is left behind. When he sees me, a sob rips through his whole body. He averts his eyes as I take her where she needs to go and I end her pain.

“Where are you taking her?” He is seething with anger.

I am solemn. I did not give her the cancer. I ended her pain.

“Wherever she wants to go,” I say. I always try to be respectful, since all of The Watchers are usually angry at me.

The Watchers are so scared to meet me, when the time comes.

He is left behind.

***

I have heard stories from some of The Taken. First, I noticed that I was meeting less and less of them, as time wore on. The few that remained had tales to tell about a particular Watcher who hated me, and very publicly so.

The Watcher is the father with the broken eyes, is a hero in every Watcher’s eyes. He condemns me and my actions. He says that he has a cure to the sickness and tragedy that I have wrought upon humanity. Soon, his cure will be available to all.

There is charity in his smile but revenge in his eyes.

The Watchers are enamored with him and his radical ideas. They paint posters with his words and use them to illustrate the injustice that they have endured.

They unite under an idea that is a rallying cry to action: No one will ever have to be left behind again.

***

He is the last of The Taken. He never took his magic pill.

He wanted to see her again.

He meets me, for the second time, with his chin held high and a smug smile. He thinks he has won some competition that I never agreed to play. It is clear that he considers me his archrival, but I have never thought of anyone as an enemy. In the end, he is just another victim of being left behind.

***

I am a figure out of a myth.

Mommy? Is it true that people would just, cease to exist? In the old days, I mean?

That’s so creepy. I can’t imagine not being alive.

I am the last Watcher.

I am left behind.