The Machine of Death

“I AM DEATH. IT IS YOUR TIME. YOU MUST COME WITH ME.”

“But it’s not my time for another ten years. I know, I’ve had the test. The Machine of Death forecast the very day I’d die. It’s 23rd April 2023. You’ll have to come back then.”

“I CARE NOT FOR THE PREDICTION OF A MERE MACHINE. FOR I AM DEATH AND I AM BOUND BY NONE OF YOUR MORTAL RULES AND CALCULATIONS. I SCORN YOUR VERY ATTEMPT TO DEFINE WHEN I SHALL COME, FOR THIS IS SOMETHING ONLY I CAN KNOW.”

“But it’s here in the paperwork. ‘The Machine of Death is never wrong, DEATH himself is bound by our prediction‘.” She held up an official looking piece of paper, with the Machine of Death logo in the letterhead.

She bent down and handed the piece of paper to Death.

“You don’t mind my asking,” she said, either being incredibly presumptuous or accidentally omitting the opening words of her sentence, “but I wasn’t expecting Death to be a little girl.”

For Death was indeed presenting herself in the form of a little girl, a rosy-faced girl of about six or seven, with long brown hair tied in pigtails, a dark flowered dress that looked much worn and boots which had trampled the Earth a million times over.

“I AM AS YOU SEE ME.”

“But people always describe you as bony-faced, tall as the sky, long black cloak, scythe. Not a little girl with a dolly.”

“THESE PEOPLE LIE. THEY HAVE NEVER SEEN ME. NONE THAT HAS SEE ME HAS LIVED TO TELL.”

“But it seems strange that a little girl should represent the figure of Death. It seems inappropriate.”

“SOME SAY MY GUISE IS A METAPHOR FOR THE FICKLE, ILL-JUDGED, IMPATIENT AND SELFISH NATURE OF DEATH. SOME SAY THAT IT IS MERELY A REMINDER THAT DEATH IS NECESSARY FOR THE NEXT GENERATION TO LIVE FULL LIVES. THE TRUTH IS, I ACTUALLY ENJOY THIS IMAGE. IT GENERATES AN ENJOYABLE REACTION. YOURS IS THE LEAST INTERESTING RESPONSE I HAVE HAD IN THE LAST FIFTEEN THOUSAND YEARS. SOME HAVE BEEN VERY FUNNY INDEED.”

“Well, little girl or deathly skeletal spectre, I won’t come with you. I have a letter in writing from the Machine of Death and the Machine itself guarantees that I shall live for another ten years. You will have to return to you deathly shadow-world alone.”

“THIS CERTIFICATE IS MEANINGLESS. JUST PAPER, IT HAD MORE RELEVANCE WHEN IT WAS A TREE. IT HAD MORE IMPORTANCE WHEN IT WAS PULP. A PAPER GUARANTEE DOESN’T PROTECT YOU FROM DEATH.”
Death demonstrated her contempt by miming the execution of the dolly she was holding, using the twisted up certificate as a makeshift rope by which to hang the ragged doll.

“It’s not mere paper, it’s been signed by the Authority of the Machine of Death itself.”

“VERY WELL. COME WITH ME AND WE WILL RESOLVE THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL.”

So saying Death placed her hand on the arm of the disputed diseased. Before she could properly protest the woman had dematerialised. She opened her eyes in a strange environment. A cold, empty room, designed like a giant office, but without carpets, windows, furniture or doors. All there was to relieve the eye was Death, holding her dolly, a little boy, and a giant machine in the corner of the room.

“Where are we?”

“don’t you recognise me?” asked the little boy, “you’ve been here before. you are inside the machine of death. i am the machine of death.”

“How can you be the Machine of Death if we’re inside the Machine of Death?”

“a good question” said the little boy, “one which i can never answer, but a good question.”

“But why are you a little boy? Last time I saw you you were a machine?”

“i take this form for death’s benefit, it makes her more comfortable.”

“So you see Death too? Does this mean I'm dead? Only you said I wouldn’t die for another decade?”

Instead of answering the little boy turned to the little girl. “is this a dispute?”, he asked.

“I DISPUTE NOTHING,” said the little girl, “I AM HERE MERELY TO POINT OUT THE MISTAKE SO THAT I CAN TAKE THIS USED-UP SOUL TO THE PLACE OF NO RETURN.”

The little boy took the official certificate, untwisted it and read the whole document twice over, taking great care, as if they were really important, like a letter from Santa.

“this is not a mistake, death, the machine of death is never wrong. this woman is to live until the stated date, you may not take her until then. a full ten years or more from now.”

“THIS IS YOUR FINAL WORD?” asked Death.

“it is my final word.”

“IN WHICH CASE WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY WITH MY DOLLY? I HAVE A SPARE FOR YOU.”

Reaching inside her dress, Death fetched out a badly battered rag doll, with its head almost hanging off, which she passed to the boy. They sat down together and started to play a game which only they seemed to understand.

“Excuse me,” said the woman, “but I’m waiting to find out whether I’m dead. Do you mind not playing with your dollies until this is sorted out.”

“IT IS ALL SETTLED.” said Death.

“there is no dispute,” agreed the little boy.

“Then am I alive or am I dead? Which of you is right?”

“I AM NEVER WRONG. I AM DEATH. YOUR LIFE IS OVER.”

“the machine of death is never wrong. you do not die until 23rd april 2023.”

“But you can’t both be right,” said the woman, exasperated.

“HAVE YOU NOT WONDERED WHERE WE ARE?” asked Death.

“we are in a time-envelope,” said the little boy.

“THE ENVELOPE IS SEALED OFF FROM THE WORLD. FROM THIS DAY UNTIL 23RD APRIL 2023.”

“this means that our prediction is correct.”

“IT MEANS ALSO THAT I AM RIGHT. YOUR LIFE IS OVER. WE MUST MERELY WAIT UNTIL TIME IN THIS ENVELOPE CATCHES UP WITH THE WORLD OUTSIDE.”

“So I will live for another decade, but only in this room.” The woman understood her predicament. Her doom.

“THAT IS CORRECT.”

“it is the way of things.”

“Surely there must be something you can do. I can’t spend ten years in this hellish limbo with nothing to do, just watching the two of you play.”

The boy and girl looked at each other thoughtfully.

“THERE IS ONE THING WE COULD DO.”

“it is a very rare exception. you must not tell of this.”

“HERE, COME AND JOIN US.”

So saying Death presented the woman with a third doll. Reluctantly she knelt down to join their game.