Amber Sparks - May We Shed These Human Bodies

When Death came and started it all, the people on Earth had already drawn close together to wait for spring. The trees were bare, but expectant, and the pale yellow light was starting to filter though the shades slantwise, a little later every day. The people were feeling luxurious. They were knees between elbows, chins tilted upward like cats in the sun. The new warmth danced on their spines and fingers and made them feel all tingly, and they were almost silent with the happiness of it all.

Everything was perfect, thought the people. Everything was good.

Then Death walked in and totally ruined the mood. He stood tall and elegant and kind of preppy in a crisp white button-down and chinos. He cleared his throat, and the people waited. Finally, he pointed at one of the people and said, Come with me.

There was an awkward silence. The people sat still, unmoving. No, really, said Death, after a minute or so. I haven’t got all day. Let's go.

The people made a sudden and impulsive decision. No, they said, holding tighter to one another’s knees and elbows. We belong together. You can’t take one of us.

Death was annoyed. This had never happened before. He looked pointedly at his watch, hoping to telegraph his annoyance. He was, frankly, freezing cold. It was spring in the Afterwards already, and Death was wearing loafers without socks.

The people just sat there and stared at him. There sure were a lot of them today. If he goes, they said, then we all go. We’re totally serious about this.

I can’t take you all, said Death. Maybe a few dozen of you. But hurry up and decide on who. We've got to get going.

No, said the people. None of us want to be left here alone.

The people were really starting to piss Death off. He looked at his watch again and wondered what would happen if he brought them all back. Was there enough room in the Afterwards? Would he get in trouble with the Ones in Charge? The door was still open, and he wondered if he should just walk out, pretend this never happened, and come back later when the people were in a better mood. The people could be such children sometimes.

This is the way things are, said Death. You can't change the way things are. But the people were defiant and stared back stone-eyed, and he knew it would be useless to keep arguing with them. The people always wanted to change the way things were.

So Death gave in. Fine, he said. Fine. You can all come with me, then. But you can’t come back, understand? You can’t ever come back. Remember I told you that.

Sure, said the people, not really listening. They smiled and followed Death out the door, miles and miles of them flying behind in a trailing clump like migratory birds. If there had been any people left on Earth, they would have marveled at the vast human inkblot spreading across the sky.

Free of people, the Earth shook itself off like a wet dog. The people had been a heavy weight. It got to work quickly, destroying all the people’s stuff; drowning it, painting it with mold, cracking it in half and blowing it up. The people watched from their crowded dwellings in the Afterwards, suddenly sorry about their chairs and cars and books. We were one, said the people, and none of us would leave without the other — but I mean, come on! That was an autographed, first-edition copy of The Grapes of Wrath! There were no books in the Afterwards, which the people thought was some serious bullshit.

In fact, there wasn't much of anything in the Afterwards. The people were supposed to try to ease out of being human now, but that seemed like kind of a drag. The people had liked being human. They took to watching the Earth from the basement window of the Afterwards, the progress playing out like a faraway filmstrip. It was a long, bitter movie without them, but they couldn't stop watching. They wanted to see how it would end.

The people could see that Earth wasn’t able get rid of everything at first. Some of the weapons the people left behind were dangerous, and Earth couldn’t figure out what to do with them. It tried to bury them, but they leaked and leaked, contaminating the water and the soil. Animals ate the bad fruits that grew in the soil and got all messed up; lots of them died, intestines turned inside out and soaked in battery acid and radium.

After a while, though, it seemed like everything started to grow and adapt, including the animals and plants. Highways cracked, naked without their blanket of traffic, but soon they were modestly draped in green as moss and weeds, and flowers pushed up through the gaps in the concrete. The skyscrapers buckled and bent, while the trees shoved their branches through the glass panes. After a few centuries, everything the people had made was buried or gone. Everything except the structures of stone that were put up long before the memories of the people had even begun.

The people were not happy about all of this. They went to Death and demanded to know why Earth had destroyed all of the awesome stuff they made while they were there. That stuff took a long time to build, said the people. We worked really hard on it, you know?

Death said, why would the Earth need people-things without people around? You should quit bothering me, anyway — I have a date tonight and I have to get ready.

The people got all pouty and refused to go. They stood in Death’s doorway and watched him roll up his shirtsleeves just so, and create a sharp part in his hair with his tortoiseshell comb. Even though they were mad at Death, the people had to admit he was awfully stylish. Death looked kind of like a J. Crew model.

Well, said Death, are you going to get out of my way?

No, said the people. We’re bored. There’s nothing to do here. We miss Earth.

And whose fault is that, said Death. You were the ones who insisted on coming. You were the ones who said you couldn’t be left there. Death put his loafers on and tried to push past the people, but they blocked his path, their elbows locked together. They were crying a little.

We didn't know, they said. You never told us what it was like to be dead. We didn't know how lame it would be.

Keep each other company, said Death, slipping out the back door.

The people walked sadly, dejected, down the streets of the Afterwards. They tired of each other's company and tried to find quiet places to be alone, but it was too crowded. When the people came all at once, they'd filled up all of the nooks and crannies of the whole Afterwards. If the people wanted privacy they had to close their eyes and pretend.

They started to resent Death a whole lot. He just kept coming around and ruining stuff, breaking up couples and shutting the basement window so they couldn't see the Earth anymore. Come on, guys, said Death. Forget about being alive.

So the people started calling Death ‘The Hall Monitor'. Behind his back, of course. And they only became more stubborn, more determined to remember. They thought about winter, and sports, and their cats and dogs, their guinea pigs. They dreamed of central heating, and flat-screen TVs, and jump ropes and credit cards and studying. They remembered being drunk, and swimming in chlorinated pools, and falling asleep to music at night, and having babies, and being in love, and picking up pennies on the sidewalk, and sometimes believing in anything and sometimes in nothing at all. They missed the long drum roll of history, and were sorry to have cut it off so abruptly. The people became more and more restless.