By Luke Campen

     I’ve seen her sitting there on the old park bench the past six days now as I jog by.  Each time I stop and stare for a minute, my black hood blown to the side by the calm, cool summer breeze.  She is a gorgeous, glowing vision in light, like a reflecting pool shinning back the sun and sky blue of the heavens above.

     She looks up at me and catches my sunken glance, eyes dull against my gaunt features, and each time I can feel the haze of her sadness between the two of us.  Then, I continue on.

     But today will be different.  Because today is the last day of the week: the last day in the park for the both of us.  Today, I will stop for the last time.  And when she sees me I will approach her.  I will reach out to her with pale fingers, and together we will walk into the land of the beyond... the land of the dead.

     I come to the bench and stop.  As always, she looks up to me with those soft eyes.

It has been too long, I tell myself.  It must happen now.  I reach out to her and, standing, she takes my hand.  And together, we begin to walk slowly.

     There is silence all around.  Only we two can be heard.  I am the first to speak.

     “A person can’t run forever,” I say.

     “You’re right,” she replies.  “I’ve been waiting.”

     “Then, you knew?” I ask her.

     “Of course I knew,” she sighs.  “The sickness, the weakness.  It was too much.”

     I nod my head somberly, her gentle grip growing ever tighter.

      “What I’d like to know is how you knew.”  She turns to me as we push the doors to the other side open, together.  “How did you know,” she asks, “that I was death?”