When Death Was Done Waiting

Author’s Note: I revised this story for Halloween. Though it’s told in the first person, it is fiction.

Darkness swallowed the bedroom. The red digits on the clock glowed in the night. 2:17 a.m.

Another burst of painful coughs racked my body. The head-splitting congestion made sleep impossible, and the medicine had done a lousy job. I rubbed my temple, sank back onto the pillow, and closed my eyes. For a while, there was only silence. But then, I heard a click. I opened my eyes and saw two figures standing by the door, both in capes; one black, the other a murky gray. The hoods draped over their faces.

The chill crawled down my spine. I propped myself up, squinting in the dark. A blurred glow emanated from the edge of their garments, or perhaps it was my fever-induced hallucination?

They exchanged a few whispers, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Who are they? I wondered. They weren’t robbers. Women? Yet, something about them felt decidedly non-human.

Still, the concept of unearthly didn’t frighten me as it should have. Medication must have impaired my senses, and a basic instinct warned me that running wasn’t an option.

I waited in silence.

“I will take her,” the black finally spoke. Her crisp voice resembled the crackle of burning wood.
“No. This one is definitely mine,” countered the other with an almost identical tone.
“She’s been under stress. A sudden heart attack will do,” the darker figure insisted.
“But she has pneumonia. That makes her mine,” the gray argued.

They’re debating how I should die. They are Deaths.
But I wasn’t afraid. Why?

Because I had wished for death. Parts of me had already died over the years, little by little, with my body still trapped in this world.

Long ago, I believed motherhood was a dream and a purpose. The children would bring me love and joy. But somewhere along the way, I became only a laboring device. Now my lungs are infected, and my body carries the same heaviness as the rest of my life.

My days condensed to a looping cycle: children, cleaning, cooking. I didn’t have much left to live for. And my husband? More married to his phone than to me. Except for one thing… That thing men always want.

I guess I was still fuckable.

Loneliness and unfulfilled dreams burned inside me like a wildfire. I was already one foot in the world of the dead, so why fear death?

“Am I dying?” I interrupted their debate.
Both figures turned towards me. I strained to see beneath their hoods, which swayed like funeral drapes.
“You will tonight,” they said in unison.

That finally hit me. I thought about death many times. But now it wasn’t just a distant possibility—it was here.
I swallowed through a painful throat.
“Suicide?” I couldn’t help asking.
“No. You are not suicidal.” Both shook their hoods.
“You want to live,” the gray assured, “but not like this.” The sleeve gestured toward the piles of toys, the scattered books, and the clothes tossed in corners.

Shame spilled over me. Yes, this place was a mess. Five people made it, but only two hands cleaned it. And yet, who is judged? Not the men or kids, but—the mothers. Always the mothers. Even when we are drowning in exhaustion.

Tears welled up. I had never imagined living like this; so burnt out. Defeated.

“I don’t want to die embarrassed,” I said quietly, thinking of the police and paramedics stepping into this disaster of a home, picking up my body, and making a judgment about the mess I left behind.

A brittle rustle filled the space: their laughter.

“You think this is messy?” the black asked, pointing to the pileups.
The sleeve stretched, revealing a skeletal hand that glowed in blue and green.
“You are managing just fine,” assured the other.
A small cough broke through. My sick daughter was sleeping beside me.
“Does she go with her?” inquired the one in black.
“We could take her too, so neither of us returns empty-handed,” suggested the gray.
“No! She’s only four!” I screamed in panic, but my voice broke into a cascade of coughs.
“Pneumonia for the mom, accidental suffocation for the little one. It will look as if the mother collapsed on her,” the black one proposed coldly.

They turned. I saw their hands approaching like luminescent icicles reaching towards us.

“She has never been part of this,” I gasped between hacks, pulling my daughter close. The coughs tore at my lungs.

“Mommy?” her sleepy voice in my ear. I wrapped my arms around her tighter, still fighting for a breath.

God, I prayed. Where are you? This child is the most beautiful human. Let her live!

Before I could finish, a pain impelled my wrist. A glacial wave rippled through me, paralyzing my body. The coughing stopped. I watched in horror as my daughter vanished into a blur of cold fluorescent light.

The room faded out.

*

Golden sunlight spilled through the half-open blinds. My cough was gone. I jolted upright, recognizing the now-empty bedroom. My daughter lay beside me, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Frantically, I drew her close, holding her as tightly as I could. Her warm breath brushed my neck. She is alive! I buried my face in her hair, kissing it and inhaling her innocent scent. She made a discomforting sound in her sleep.

The Deaths were right: I didn’t want to die!

I looked at the clutter on the floor, and finally saw it as a sign of life and laughter—the life I wanted.

I caught my reflection in a wall mirror, noticing an unusual glow about myself. No dark circles under my eyes, and my hair was smoother. That terrifying dream had somehow given me a beauty of rest. I smiled.

But then my eyes landed on the other side of the bed. I turned my head and froze. It was my lifeless body. Lying still—dead.

Of course I was dead. No pain, no cough. Everything felt weightless.

The door creaked open, and there it was—the edge of a cape and a fluorescent hand reaching out.

Death was done waiting.

It was time.

I kissed my daughter, feeling her warmth on my lips.
I rose, like an obedient child, and followed the cape.

© 2026 WolverineLily 🌺