We Can Talk

• Hannah Perry, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2018

I had turned the corner into my driveway after fetching some desperate groceries. Seeing him made my breathe hitch. A dark stranger loomed over my ginger cat, there was a pistol in his hands. He aimed the gun down at the poor creature. The uneasiness in the stranger’s shaky hands was evident. I couldn’t breathe. Anticipation boiled within both of us.
“Excuse me,” were the only words I could muster. The stranger sighed shakily as his eyes finally reached mine.
“What are you doing?” I questioned, my eyes scanned the cat worryingly, before they turned toward the threatening gun and the odd owner of the weapon.
“My job?” the stranger replied, in what sounded like a question. His brow was furrowed in frustration.
His answer confused me, a job? What kind of job involved shooting my cat? Maybe he was meant to shoot me. The stranger must have known I was frightened, I was practically shaking, but I was determined to be brave.
“Listen, put the gun down. You don’t have to do this” I said, fearfully watching each of the stranger’s movements.
“I don’t?” questioned the stranger in disbelief. His responses confused me, as did this whole situation.
“Yeah, just put the gun down. We can talk, okay?” I sounded surprisingly calm, maybe I was accepting my fate.
The stranger stared at me, now he looked confused. He looked down at the gun, to my cat and back to me. His expression softened. In an instant he flung the gun over the fence. I stood there in shock as the stranger slowly sat down on the lawn.
“I didn’t even need to kill him,” the stranger sighed, gulping in air, “I was just being stupid.” I knelt next to him and began to rub his back in a comforting manner. He could have killed me, or worse, my cat.
“No, no, no it’s fine, you don’t need to worry,” I said as I pushed up my glasses. I didn’t really understand how I felt at that moment, I just knew he needed help and someone who would be kind to him.
“Is there anything you need? Anything you want?” I asked feeling useless.
“I want to live,” answered the stranger quietly. I didn’t understand, why would he be concerned about living? His answer once again equally surprised me and confused me.
“I’d like to live. I’ve heard good things about it, and I’d like to try it,” he said slowly. He looked certain for the first time, determined even.
“Okay,” I said hesitantly, “Okay, we can do that.” I stood up pulling him up with me.
It was only then that I realized how tall he was. His pitch black outfit contrasted with his pale white skin. His eyes were old, so old, yet his face was youthful with full lips and freckles. I guess he could be considered handsome.
“What’s your name?” I asked the stranger.
“Death” he answered.
“Alright well my names Victor,” I paused. “Wait what did you say your name was again?”