Let me Tell You a Story about a Psychopomp
- Shannon Smith
- Apr 15
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 23
Edna laid there, unaware of the world around her. Mostly due to a combination of morphine and her failing faculties. Perhaps for the best as she half-slept on the bed of beige sheets due for a washing in a puke-green room that smelt of bleach and urine. She lacked the strength to wriggle about as pain points became bed sores.
The ninety-year-old can’t remember the last time she saw either her family or a nurse in the room. Then again, she was too tired to focus on the passage of time. A day could have been a year for all she well knew. The only real marker of time was the lights of the long-term care home her busy family had warehoused her in. Had she been a bad mother for her children to not visit? Can she even remember them visiting if they, in fact, where? Perhaps the administration of the care home were keeping them away so they wouldn’t see the state of her failing body and ill-kept room.
As she laid there on her back, hands at her side, heavy footfalls echoed in the dark. Even in the morphine fog her eyes danced around in fear, trying to figure out who it was? A nurse? Her daughter? Another resident on a wonder? A thief? Even as the feet thumped on the floor near her she saw no one.
Then, she heard in the darkness a “trup!” followed by a faint thud on the bed next to her feet. Her breathing crackled as she forced her failing lungs to suck in more air. Her eyes looking towards a small figure as little feet pushed on the mattress. She blinked, and felt the creature walk up her torso, one little paw at a time.
Her heart slowed to slower, less laboured, state once she saw the glowing yellow eyes stare at her from her chest. In the faint lighting she could make out a little, black, creature loafing ontop of her. The animal’s sleek snout housed neatly placed whiskers, and a head of forward facing, triangular, ears. Paws and tail tucked in. Other than a small tuff of white on their chest the creature was all black.
“Meow!” spoke the cat.
“Hell... hello...” Edna forced her lungs to push the air out and made the needed sounds. She struggled to raise her hands up, reaching for the animal. The muscles were in atrophy, and it took every ounce of energy to place her boney, veining, fingers within the cat’s fur.
As she glided her hands along the sides of the cat, they started purring. The sound vibrated out of the little animal and through Edna. As she petted them, the cat readjusted themselves, nuzzling their snout against her neck. Edna felt a tear escape her eyes as she felt the cold, wet, nose of the animal, purring like a motorboat in her ear.
“How... is...” Edna struggled to say, only for the cat to trill, a sound she knew meant “You will be alright. I am here to get you.”
Her breathing became harder and harder with every passing moment. It was when she closed her eyes, smiling, that she realised who this was: The Grim Reaper.
Written as part of the Let Me Tell You a Story series curated by Lillian Wong. More flash can be found here: https://letmetellthisstory.substack.com/
That was lovely.What a treat on my first day back to work this week. That made my day.