A Portrait of Death: Gabriel

Gabriel picked up his coffee mug, frowning as a bit of the tan liquid poured over the rim. As he brought the cup to his lips, he scalded himself on the burning hot drink. He wrinkled his nose and took a quick sip. He looked up and saw a man standing in front of his office door. “Hello, Gabriel. I’ve been waiting for you.” The man appeared young, his handsome face smooth and ageless. His silver eyes looked ancient, if that was possible. He was holding a katana in his left hand, a tall staff in his right. “Who are you?” he asked the stranger. “I am your destiny, Gabriel. I’m here to offer you a choice. Eternal Peace or Eternal Life?” Gabriel carefully placed his mug back on his desk. The two stared hard at each other for a while, Gabriel frowning and the stranger smiling with sincere joy. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As you can see, I’m really quite busy and don’t have time for this.” The stranger remained motionless, but his face hardened. “You know, Gabriel, you’re right. You, nor I, have time for this. Let me introduce myself. I am Grim the Almighty and Thanatos the Terrible. I am Azrael and Izanami, Lord of the Black and Father of Night. All men come to me, Gabriel, and now you are here. Now take your pick.” The stranger thrust out his hands, offering the sword and staff to Gabriel. The room grew suddenly cold, and Gabriel could feel his skin chill and harden. It seems, he thought, that in death we truly understand what cold is. “I will not choose,” he heard himself say defiantly. No! That’s not what I wanted to say. “Very well. I will choose for you.” Everything happened in a supernatural quickness. The man stepped forward. The katana was unsheathed. The cold, hard steel pierced through Gabriel’s chest, biting deep into his soul, spreading its destructive cold through his body. The blade was withdrawn, wiped clean, and sheathed in a matter of seconds. Gabriel stared in shock, unable to move, unable to speak, eyes wide and mouth open. As he felt the cold take him over, his dying thoughts were of the steaming cup of hot coffee sitting on his desk and the silver eyes of his killer.