The little girl was the spitting image of her Mother, yet when she got angry she seemed to have the temperament of her Father. Most people would think this was great because children are supposed to have similar traits as their parents. But from the time she was aware of her surroundings, the little girl had always wanted to stand out. She wanted to be her own person and that was one the most challenging things to be.
She had first child syndrome. The need to impress people, to show that she was special. It didn’t really help that she had a considerable amount of shyness. Yes, unfortunately, she was incredibly shy, too shy to do anything and yet she appeared the exact opposite. She would sing, dance, yell and laugh. She was trying, maybe, to overcome it in her own way. But as far and she was aware of it, she was shy. The truth was, was that she wanted to be noticed; she wanted people to respond to her. She enjoyed the attention and it made her want to do better. And pay attention they did. People found her incredibly adorable (not exactly what she was expecting). She had so much life, so much so, that she caught the attention of an unlikely character. Death.
Death was a wanderer. That was all. That was all he did, just wander around and wait for a soul to collect. This ancient being took an interest in an ordinary and painfully shy human being. He came across her at the hospital she was born in. He had been watching. He had been drifting through the corridors of the labor wards and caught the site of an unusual labor. The Mother was breathing from an oxygen mask and trying to push her baby out. It was an amusing situation. He paused at the doorway and waited to see the child take its first breath. Life must be somewhere around here, she was always difficult to catch. They had had coffee a couple of times but that was it. She didn’t really take much of an interest in him. Nobody did.
When the moment came for the child to be born, he watched as the doctors scrambled to get into position. He watched as the Mother’s face crumpled in agony, as the child moved through her womb slowly. Droplets of sweat trickled down her lovely pale cheeks and neck. He thought of all the statues he had come across in Paris once, as he continued to stare at her. He felt the tearing of the vagina and the intense pain and discomfort it brought the woman in labor. In that moment, he thought about all the tireless acts of sacrifice women went through, thoughts were random and they often came to him one after another whenever he watched humans carry out their lives. Death was a deep thinker. He finally saw the tiny, hairy head of the baby as it was pushed out of her opening. He held his breath in anticipation as he waited for it to cry out. Signaling its arrival into the world. Once the doctors cut its umbilical cord and wiped it clean, both parents looked anxiously at the sound, the cry. But, nothing could be heard. The Mother looked at the doctor nervously but he just smiled at her amused and slapped its bottom, to which the infant let out a slight whimper before going back to sleep.
Death stood there watching everything. Confused. It was sleeping? Strange child. It wasn’t very often he came across infants who didn’t cry when they were born.
From that moment on, Death the wanderer whom nobody was particularly interested in, took an interest in a living breathing human being.