Merripen

“Death is never a good thing.”

“I take offense to that.” Merripen sat upon a star, their feet dangling off the pointed side. The night was particularly black that evening. The deep robes adorning their body blended in with the pitch sky, creating small fissures of midnight clouds. If one was to look closely enough, a sea of other universes, other worlds and reality, could be seen within the folds of those robes. 

“You don’t have the job yet.” Night sat next to them. An outline that floated around the cosmos, created from specks of stardust and discarded bits of moon.  Merripen liked to change their friend's form based on a whim. It irritated Night to no end. Though, they were the one who refused a form. Pen suspected their friend would be an ever changing being prone to flights of whim.

“Ah, but you see? It is not a job. It is a way of life.” Merripen couldn’t help but roll their eyes at the mission statement. It had been the same sentiment that had been written upon their crib upon birth. When Father Time decided that he needed to create a being to usher through the vast amounts of departed souls. An oversight, in Pen’s opinion. Why on earth would anyone create life without first thinking of death?

Kicking at a bit of rubble floating past, Pen sighed the deep and put out sigh that only a young soul could create.  Night brushed against their cheek, a constant reminder of a comforting presence.

“Do you think I will be loved, old friend?” Pen asked.  Night was their only companion. For years, Pen had roamed the vast emptiness alone. The only purpose bestowed upon them a fate that had yet to be written. 

“What do you mean?”

“If death is never a good thing, it goes to reason that I will be feared. That the very sound of my name will shake foundations to their core. And I have to wonder if there is ever room for love in such a title.”

Night swept down, beginning to braid stars into Merripen’s hair. Such pretty fingers, Pen thought. They were lucky to have such a friend to care.

“I think,” Night continued. “That life is messy. That there is no clear answer to it all. And that while death can be feared, while it can cause pain, I think it can also cause relief.” A chilled hand swept across Pen’s face. “Death is not to be feared for creatures like you and I,” they reminded Pen. “And in the end, shouldn’t that matter more.”

“People matter, dear Night.”

“Do they?”

“I think so. I hope so.” 

Night looked downwards, as if to search out these people that they should care more for. Curiosity was all that was bestowed upon them, however. A kind of nagging little thought that Pen couldn’t have known would birth into something far grander than either of them could comprehend.

“Mercy,” Night finally whispered. “Maybe that’s what you offer instead. A mercy, my dear friend. You do not offer an end. You offer kindness.”

Pen tipped their head into Night’s hold.  “Will,” they said. “I will offer kindness.”

“You offer kindness to me already.”

“That’s because you are my only friend.”

A sigh sounded against their ear. “Oh, Pen.”

Sitting up straight, Pen bristled a little, displacing the stars around them. “Now, now. None of that. It wasn’t meant to be a melancholy statement. Just a simple one of fact. And maybe one to bring out when I need you to feel sorry for me,” they tried to joke. It fell flat. Somewhere, Pen was almost certain a world exploded due to their embarrassment.

Night fluttered around them before settling down behind Pen on the curve of the star.  A moonbeam formed their outline, solidifying them against Pen’s back.  “I love you,” they whispered against Pen’s ear.

Pen felt a shiver and the deep need to turn and never let Night go.

“Promise to love me forever,” they told Night. “Promise because I’m a selfish being and I could not bear for you to turn away from me.”

“I would never turn away from you.”

Pen looked down at the world forming. Father Time and his daughters. The swirling mass that would become the center of everything. Pen feared that the promise was nothing more than an empty note that would be forgotten. Night never had been one to understand the weight of their statements.

Reaching up, Pen grasped Night’s hand, stars intermingling with the necrotic tissue of their hand. “Run away with me,” they said. “Let us no longer be Night and Death. Let us choose names that we adore. Let us play together forever. Let us not be confined to the trappings of our destiny. Please, Night.”

Night laughed in their ear. “And where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Nowhere. Wouldn’t that be an adventure?”

“Oh, I love adventures! Shall we go now? Run away forever?”

Oh, the naivety. It was with a sinking sensation that Pen knew Night didn’t understand. How could they? They didn’t see the people that struggled within the worlds created. They were not there for final moments of pain. They played among the stars and looked at the rest of the worlds like beautiful little baubles stuck behind sea colored glass. Night didn’t know what Pen was asking. And it made Pen feel all the more lonely.

“Pen?” Night called to them, already dancing around the universe. “Pen, come play.”

Pen looked out for a moment, watching as the stars skipped and Night used them to skate across a sea of obsidian glass. For one awful moment, Pen chocked on the crushing reality of their situation.  The job that waited for them to reap the mourning souls. The consciousness far more advanced than the spirit that beckoned them forth now. It felt insurmountable.

But Pen did what they always did. They stood up tall and straight, an invisible line lifting them like a puppet on a string. Then, they took Night’s hand. Because they would always take Night’s hand. And they played among the stars.