Something Original

This is a short story written for the first assessment in year two of my MA. Would love to hear people’s thoughts; the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m keen to grow and improve my writing so all views welcome. 😁

‘Wake up, you’re dead.’

A heavy hand gripped his shoulder and shook him roughly. The fog of sleep clung to him as he tried to work out where he was and what was happening. And who this sausage fingered shit was who continued shaking him.

He blinked a few times and the face of the shaker morphed from blurry lump to patchy colours to finally resembling a human. The face was that of an overweight, old woman, wrinkled and weathered. He could see the odd thick hair sprouting from her chin and her bushy eyebrows were brown with threads of grey and ginger over deeply sunken, dark brown eyes. He assumed she had hair to match but her head was covered in a dark blue hood.

‘That’s it, wakey wakey,’ the woman said in a gruff voice laced with condescension. At least she finally stopped shaking his shoulder though she didn’t let go. He blinked a few more times and started to look around, trying to remember where he was.

‘Are you Thomas Hutchinson?’ the grumpy woman said, still looming over him.

‘What? Who are you?’

‘Answer the question boy, are you Thomas Hutchinson? From Sycamore Way, Oxford?’

‘Yes. Why? Who are you?’            

‘Gotta make sure I get the right one. Got that wrong once before. That was unpleasant.’

Thomas just gaped at her. What was this daft old bird waffling about? She looked like a tramp and his initial reaction was to dismiss her completely but the fact she knew his name confused him. He’d only arrived in Bristol a few hours earlier and no one knew him here!

The rush of memories of arriving at the station just before dusk crashed into him which just made his lack of awareness of where he was now all the more apparent. He pulled his gaze from the strange woman who was still looming over him and glanced around. He lay propped against a wall in an alley. Cold cobbles were beneath him, damp from an earlier downpour the chilly weather hadn’t allowed to dry out yet. A broken beer bottle lay beside him and the opposite wall had some boxes stacked up and a couple of large, green, commercial bins.

The sounds of loud voices, laughter and music crept into Thomas’s awareness. He could smell that vague alcoholic aroma large amounts of lager and wine caused, topped with the greasy scent of fried food.

He remembered leaving the station and wandering towards the centre of Bristol until he’d found an appealing pub. This alley must be behind that pub. He’d eaten something, hadn’t he? Everything was a little hazy from entering the pub until the stranger shook him awake.

‘Wait, did you say I’m dead?’

‘Ah you’re finally catching up,’ the woman said eventually letting go of Thomas’s shoulder and standing up straight. ‘Yup, now you’re getting it. Come on, we best be off.’ She turned and started to waddle slowly down the alley.

Thomas just lay there watching her, his mouth parted with half formed sentences as deep creases lined his brow. The stranger got 10 to 15 feet away then turned back to look at him with a scowl. ‘Well, are ya coming?’

‘Coming where? Who ARE you?’ Thomas exclaimed in deep confusion.

‘I’m your reaper, innit. Taking you to the next place. If you get a move on.’ She paused watching Thomas intently with a stare stern enough to remind him of disobeying his father as a child. After a moment she sighed and her face softened slightly.

‘Look, you’re dead kid. I’m sorry but that’s the truth of it. Might as well accept it as you can’t change it now. I’m here as a… guide I guess you’d say. But I have a long list of pickups tonight, so I really don’t have time for this. Can ya get up and we’ll be on our way?’

Thomas just lay there blinking at her, aware the look of puzzlement on his face hadn’t changed at all. The woman must be insane. That was it. A drunk from the pub. But she’d known Thomas’s name.

Thomas took stock of himself. He was cold and damp from lying on the ground but he wasn’t hurt at least. He stood up slowly and stretched his back out easing the aches from where he’d been hunched up against the wall. Looking at the woman again he slapped his midriff a couple of times and said ‘Seem pretty alive to me. Think I’ll just go back in the pub, thanks though.’

‘You sure about that?’ the woman said nodding towards the floor where Thomas had been laying.

He turned and looked down and there was a grey blur where he’d been. Body shaped, about his size. It was like it was shrouded in mist though. Greys and some browns swirled around the shape of the sleeping body making it impossible to pick out details. It almost seemed 2D with no way of seeing depth. ‘What is that?’ Thomas asked crouching closer and extending a hand to poke at it. His fingers went through without any sensation.

‘That’s you, that is. Or rather, it was. Your body.’

‘Piss off! Why can’t I see it?’

‘Well, you’re dead. Remember? Come on, I thought you were with me on that.’

‘I am NOT dead!’ Thomas said loudly standing up again and turning to face the woman with anger starting to show. He briefly thought about hitting her but hesitated. She might be crazy but she was just an old lady. This hesitation allowed Thomas to study her though. The hood he’d spotted earlier that he’d assumed was connected to a coat was actually part of a woollen cloak. An actual cloak. Why was this woman roaming Bristol city centre in a cloak? Underneath, it looked like she was fully kitted out in thick linen clothing with sturdy, leather boots. She was stocky and hunched over and looked like she’d walked straight off a movie set.

Shaking his head, Thomas muttered ‘enough of this shit,’ and turned away from the strange woman, heading towards the opening of the alley. He could hear traffic and voices of people from the street. At least he could find someone else to prove he wasn’t dead, he thought to himself with a smirk.

The end of the alley opened onto a deserted side street and from there Thomas could look down onto the main road where people and cars were passing. He stopped in his tracks staring. Flat, grey blobs that were roughly people shaped moved past the end of the side street. Featureless and depthless just like the shape he’d seen where he’d been lying. The cars looked normal but inside were the same grey blurs like they were being driven by carboard cutouts made of mist.

The sound of indistinct voices persisted as Thomas started walking slowly towards the main road. He should be able to make out what people were saying by now. The volume increased but the clarity didn’t. It wasn’t like he was hearing another language he didn’t understand. More like the sound was distorted and filled with static.

Entering the main road he gaped at the number of these blobs moving about. He stopped in the middle of the pavement and two continued to move straight towards him causing him to leap to the side at the last second. The shapes carried on without any pause. He reached out an arm and the closest went straight through it. And he felt nothing.

He was stood watching them go with his arm still outstretched when he heard the gruff voice say ‘ya done?’. Thomas looked back to the woman who had a hint of sympathy in those deep set eyes.

‘What’s happening?’ Thomas asked and was embarrassed by the shake in his voice.

The woman sighed. ‘Come on, I’ll explain as we walk,’ she said, resignedly. She half turned, gesturing back towards the alley. She fell into step beside Thomas as he slowly walked away from the main road with constant glances back behind him.

They walked in silence until they’d passed the place they’d started when the woman said ‘I’m Agnes. Been a reaper for about 150 years, give or take. My job is to collect lost souls when they die and escort them to the next place.’

‘I’m really dead?’ Even having seen what he had, Thomas was having a hard time accepting that fact. The look Agnes gave was dripping with disdain.

‘How else do you explain what you just saw?’

‘How did I die? Was I mugged? That must be why I was in that alley! Why don’t I remember?’

Agnes looked away and continued walking without responding. After a few moments Thomas prompted her. ‘Agnes, answer me. Was it a mugging?’

After a few more steps in silence, Agnes sighed again. This one seemed beyond weary and had a sadness to it that Thomas didn’t understand. ‘I wouldn’t be the reaper that collected you if that was what happened.’

They continued walking while Thomas waited impatiently for Agnes to continue. He looked about him and realised they’d left the alley behind and were walking down the centre of an open road. Either side of them stretched fields as far as he could see. Close by, the fields were a rich green and filled with pink and yellow wild flowers but further away, the details blurred and became grey and dim.

Looking behind him he realised the fields spread in that direction too. The city was gone. They’d only been walking for a few minutes, hadn’t they? Though now he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how long it had been.

‘Why wouldn’t you be my reaper if I was killed in a mugging?’ Thomas pushed.

‘There’s different teams. One that deals with murders, another for accidental deaths or illness. And then mine.’

‘What does your team cover? What other types of death are there?’

Agnes didn’t respond so Thomas tried to go back over what he could remember from before she’d woken him. He’d left Oxford after yet another fight with his Dad. Even now he was in his 30’s, his father still had the ability to make him feel like a failure. He’d gone home to tell him about his promotion. He’d been so excited, convinced he’d finally be good enough. But no. His father had just sneered at him telling him a teenager could get a promotion to a store manager. No skill or intelligence needed. Not like his sister who was a nurse. That was a proper job and he was nothing compared to her.

The searing anger and hurt coursed through him all over again. He remembered storming out of his father’s house and heading straight for the station. He’d had no plans except to get as far away as he could. He jumped on the first train that was leaving Oxford getting off at Didcot Parkway, then picked a town from the departure board that he’d never been to before and wound up in Bristol.

Thomas could remember the anger hanging over him as he’d left the train station and found his way to the nearby pub, ordering drink after drink. That’s where everything got vague. He couldn’t remember the details after that. He remembered how he’d felt though. Alone. Useless. Unwanted. No one would miss him. No one would mourn him. Why put up with this misery any longer?

With a shock like being dunked in cold water he realised the final type of death Agnes hadn’t mentioned. He gasped and stopped walking, staring at the back of Agnes’s head as she continued. Blurry memories started to surface, of being in the alley with an empty glass bottle, of smashing the bottle, of taking a sharp edge of glass and…

Agnes paused and turned to glance at him with obvious pity on her large, round face. ‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’

‘Where?’

‘The end.’