The Retirement

He finally got off of his horse, without thundering fall or impulsive blast to send him home. As the Sun was setting under a grey backdrop of nuclear fallout, he knew that like all the others before him, this was his last shift. However, time itself was nearing its own end anyways, so he couldn’t really complain. He remembered the good times, dealing with both kings and peasants alike. Those were the simpler times, when all it took was a pinch of tabun gas to render someone brain-dead.  Even now, he could still see his colleague Shiva laughing at the bet he had won, patting himself on the back with both hands while taunting him with multiple others. All the while, his passenger stared at him with the same puppy dog look she had since his first day on the job.

He continued what was to be the final day of his trek, and his accompanying traveler clutched his gaunt chest, cooing and slobbering over his spiny ribs as her fiery locks swirled in his field of view. Like a lone firefly, her presence was barely a flicker against the bleak surroundings, yet hers was nonetheless the only flicker left. However, unlike him, she was new, an adjective rarely usable in describing the sterile world. She was really the only one around that could bring him any real entertainment, dancing her juvenile fingers across dilapidated pianos as he struggled to find her in the houses that still remained. He certainly had hoped that this time, humanity would work out okay. Sadly, a nuclear Armageddon can take its toll on someone’s hopes and dreams.

Stopping to rest, he felt found moth-eaten holes where there used to be a pallid sheen in his flowing robe. He remembered when he could find dozens of passengers just like the one with him now in rooms of gleaming white, in the center of sprawling cities bustling with brouhaha and buzz. Cracked glass crunched underneath his ashen boot, and he remembered when adolescents snuck out to consume the asinine quantities of alcohol inside. Letting out a sigh, he also remembered those damn teenagers thoughtlessly gripping the wheels of their cars paid for with their parents’ money, speeding away into the distance. But hey, at least he was kept busy in the good old days. After all, he doubted there were any more of those days to follow, considering the sharp drop in teenage drinking that resulted from the general lack of alcohol, and life. If only someone remembered Putin’s birthday, he thought to himself. However, moping about the past wouldn’t bring him any closer to his golden years. The Louvre was on the way, glass panels cracked and bullets lodged within revealing the chipped, off-green paint inside. He decided to take the Mona Lisa along as a nice memento, to replace the spot of his daughter’s macaroni artwork on his fridge. “Overtime pay” in tow, he was running late. Wanting to get home before his wife’s homemade spaghetti and eyeballs got cold, he decided against any more pit stops, and continued forward towards his office.

The standing stones that marked the office still held resolute in the lush plain, with his three brothers were waiting for him as he knew they would, restless to start up their Mustangs and leave their shifts. Impatient as always, one coughed and wheezed as he reminded him that he was late. Another griped about how he hadn’t eaten for ages, drowned out by the death metal blaring from a candy red Mustang doing donuts on the grass, circling through the vertical stones. However, he was a man of tradition, and chose to ride the kind of colored horses mandated by his job without plush, leather interiors. Despite being little more than leather and bones himself, none of his brothers had more strength than he did, as the task of closing up shop fell on him. Slowly ambling to the center of the stones, he reached towards the trapdoor leading to his cubicle, feet lightly brushing against the placid sea of grass stretching for miles beyond the horizon. As he led his final passenger to her destination, he knew that he would miss this job dearly. His contract with Charon was over, as the ever-watchful ferryman prepared to chauffeur the final passenger, Life. He began to tidy up his office, packing up the cardboard box filled with fond mementoes of his time with humanity, full of poems, his vintage Mona Lisa, and a faded name placard which read “Mr. Gary Death”. He turned off the light switch, and there was darkness. Wiping the Earth off his shoes, Death left, making sure to shut the door behind him with a barely audible click. As much as he loved his job, he was ready to leave all the fuss of babysitting behind, especially considering his nice timeshare in Alpha Centauri. And so, as the sun set for the last time, Death turned in his retirement forms, strapping on his gold watch on the way out.