She said she was Death herself.

Her calm confidence didn’t waver for even a second as she said it, nor in the awkward silence that followed. Normally I would call bullshit – easily – but something about her made me doubt my own mind. Then again, maybe I was just a sucker for her striking beauty and did I not have anything to lose either way. (Yay for depression.)

I had felt emotionless for weeks now.

Still, to claim yourself a mythical presence is quite a ballsy move.

I stared at her quietly, already regretting allowing her to join my table, as she let out a chuckle. ‘You’re free to walk away now, love, if that’s what you’d like. You’re not going to die today either way,’ she spoke lightly. ‘But if you do decide to stay, know that most always regret it. I do enjoy the company though.’

For a second I had considered doing so. I mean, she must’ve been batshit crazy, right?

But I stayed put, god knows why. In a way she reminded me of a story I read on a forum once, about someone who decided to die, as Death – a beautiful young woman – was waiting for him.

‘Idiot,’ she laughed, ‘But thank you for staying.’

She took a sip of her coffee and we chatted for a while, though she remained just a mysterious & charming as when she sat down. The socially awkward fool that I am, I just tried to make it through the conversation, at the same time trying to figure out if she truly was who she said she was.

Until she glanced at her watch for the fourth time since we met. ‘Let’s go then. But please just quietly observe.’ With a certain elegance she stood up, only taking her jacket. I still was none the wiser about her.

‘Where are we goi-‘

‘Quiet, I said,’ she replied again, both firm and with a smile. So I did just that, too intrigued not to.

We had been walking for a few minutes – in complete silence – until she stopped at one of the higher buildings in the city. ‘Wh-‘ I stopped myself, remembering her words, and simply followed her with my eyes as she looked up. I did the same, but saw nothing but the building disappearing into the fog at some point.

‘Luckily they have an elevator,’ she muttered absent-mindedly and walked inside, with me still following her like a lost puppy, probably having too much faith in her telling me I’m not dying today.

As we made it to the roof, I immediately realised why we were here, seeing the man sitting on the edge. How could she possibly have known if she wasn’t – in fact – Death herself? It was impossible to see him from down below.

Not going to lie, I panicked completely – though I understood his sentiment all too well – and froze.

‘Shoul- Should I call-‘ I barely could squeeze out the words.

She shook her head, composed as ever. ‘Don’t, please. This is difficult enough as it is,’ she pleaded calmly and took hold of my hand, taking me to the side – further away from him. ‘Look away if you need to. But don’t interfere.’

I swallowed away the sour taste in my mouth and nodded, as I saw a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. It didn’t seem wise to go against her either way.

‘I’ll be right back, I just need to go have a chat with Paul over there.’

Then she walked towards him. I wish I could hear them speak.

I could swear he recognised her, in between the emotions of defeat and fear. He seemed panicked and I thought perhaps… it was a good sign. Perhaps it meant he didn’t want to die. From what I had read, the ones who are sure, have no more fight left in them. It even seemed like he was about to come down, the safe way.

But then, in the blink of an eye, she pushed him. ————————————————————————-

I had been in the police station for hours before they finally spoke to me. Apparently an older woman living in the apartment block across from ours had seen the man being pushed, though not by whom.

Since I was the only one left on the roof, after she simply walked away, they were quick to assume I was involved.

When they asked what happened, I told them the truth – every little detail part from one. I assumed they might think I’m mental myself, talking about the Grimm Reaper being a 20-something woman and all. I never was a good liar though, so I wasn’t even going to try.

Maybe them believing I’m an insane person was better than being a murderer, but I still hoped for the best.

I was ready for them to get pissed. They didn’t. They just looked each other in the eye, before once again turning to me. The older ones eyes full of pity. The younger one… frustrated?

They waited for me to finish, to then slide a sketch in front of me – of her.

‘Is this the woman you described?’

My heart skipped a beat. The sketch was of bad quality and not entirely accurate, but it was obvious. ‘Yes, yes. That’s her. I don’t understand-‘

The older one of the two men in front of me sighed. ‘What I’m going to tell you, may be upsetting, miss Dabria,’ he started, ‘This isn’t the first time this has happened.’

Anything they said after that is more like a vague memory.

I threw up the first time when they told me she scoured a depression support forum looking for people on the edge of succumbing to mental illness, starting a conversation with them where she convinced them to choose for the end – even when and where. When they refused, she’d resort to other ways – blackmail, manipulation, and so on. And lastly, simple murder.

I threw up the second time when I realised I watched a man get killed, and I did nothing to stop it.

I almost did a third time – after which they let me leave - when they kept asking me the same questions, knowing I couldn’t give them any more information simply because… I didn’t know anything.

Except for one little detail, that I had kept just for me, the last words she spoke to me before she left the scene.

‘See you tomorrow, love.'