Death Wears a Wu-Tang Hoodie

One day, I imagined I was a little salmon, swimming upstream and leaping about, dodging the skillful paws of hungry bears freshly awakened from their winter nap. Thinking coldly about it—who wouldn’t want a nap like that? The natural world offers luxuries that us civilized workers could never afford during our springtime. Reflecting on it, maybe we aren’t so different—though our winter comes at the end of the trip.

As that fish, I felt the current and fought against it, dreaming of reaching the top, laying my eggs, and dying at peace.

A knock on the car window snapped me back to reality—Eminem-style. It was a Romani man asking to clean my windshield—a pretty useless task, since it was self-cleaning. Another job taken by machines, I thought. But I gave the guy a few coins for cocaine or a sandwich, his call—and drove off when the light blinked green.

Work was the usual obstacle course. Home was the usual war: my wife’s screeching about some sweaty socks I’d left on the floor (“Like a goddamn animal!”), though I swore I’d heard her say “Leave them, I love you for leaving your fetid clothes all over the place” in last night’s dream. Or was it a dream? Lately, sleep blurred into wakefulness, my skull buzzing with half-remembered images: blood in the bathroom sink, walls breathing…

Habits outlive the soul’s will. Mine was barely flickering, but I kept swimming upstream—no goal, just momentum. Downstream, upstream—what’s the difference with this many rocks? Maybe I’d been still for years.

If you don’t know where you’re headed, every path feels like a treadmill. And life’s not measured in kilometres anyway.

With that thought in mind, trying to justify my unfortunate existence, I collapsed into Morpheus’ arms…

I woke up to a home that wasn’t mine, or so I thought…

The curtains were rust-stained, the walls gouged as if clawed by something impatient. My wife—gone. No note, no noise. Just a silence so thick I could chew it.

How long had I slept?

I shuffled to the fridge, cracked a cold one open, and scratched my ass with nails still dirty from last night’s sock retrieval. Half the house had vanished—only the kitchen, a chunk of bedroom, and the dining room clung to existence. Yet for the first time in years, I felt at peace.

Like summer vacation as a kid: no responsibilities, no voice hissing pick up, clean, obey.

Fray Luis de León got it right—this is the good life. But we’re too busy pretending to live to notice.

We think we know better what’s good for us—yet we know nothing and still refuse to read and learn.

Happy is the man who reads and learns from others’ mistakes.

How much tragedy could be avoided just by knowing?

Lost in these musings, I barely noticed the doorbell ringing. I went to see who it was—a peculiarly odd figure stood there wearing a hip-hop hoodie which read: Wu-Tang, carrying a scythe in hand, his face barely visible. I’d swear he was scrawny, little muscle—probably didn’t hit the gym much.

“Hi. I’m Death. You’re due.”

"What? My time’s up? I’ve barely lived… Let me finish this.” I raised my beer.

"You’ve had time to live and wasted it… Go on, finish the beer—but leave me a sip. This job ain´t easy you get me?"

"I get it, don’t sweat it… Just yesterday, I imagined I was a salmon… at least they die useful. I’ve been here almost 54 years, and it all felt like one very long same day. Few moments would I take with me as memories"

"That’s how it usually goes. Can I take you now? I’m in a bit of a hurry—my boss will chew me out if I don’t hit my KPIs… You know, corporate stuff and shit."

"Yeah, I get it. Well then… here’s your sip."

"Any regrets?" – the beer seeped through his skeleton.

"I’d say not living enough, or being miserable… but honestly, it was fine like that. I wasn’t cut out for anything else."

"Strange. Most of you lament not living longer."

"I only regret having been alive. Because I never knew what it meant to live. I regret not knowing what ‘living’ was supposed to feel like.”"

Death burped–rotten raccoon aroma. “Classic. But hey, maybe you’ll be better at being dead.” He held out a hand. “Shake it to close the deal.”

I shook it.

It felt cold but real, so I let the current take me.

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