A Short Story from the Airport

Today I felt Death. I felt Him brush past me, a chill and a darkness in the corner of my eye. He didn’t stop to whisper in my ear, just ran a finger over my shoulder as He went by.

I knew that today I was going to die.

I felt a tingling in my arms and legs, a lightness in the pit of my stomach. The rushing sound of nothing pressed against my ears.

I waited. I waited for Death to return, to take my hand in His, to grip me in cold and darkness.

I felt Him step closer as the day went on – as I slipped on the stairs, and swerved to avoid a pheasant on the road. He watched as I swung from lane to lane in panicked realisation, and as I stepped into the path of an oncoming bus.

But I didn’t die. What grace touched me? What took me from Him? There was no miracle, there was nothing remarkable in the day.

The day I was meant to die, I simply… Lived.


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