41: Clive

Ever floated behind the speeding ambulance, holding the scythe parallel against his body. The paramedic slowed as it approached a busy intersection and carried by Death’s momentum, he went straight through the vehicle. He slowed down himself and waited for it to catch up to him.

“Come on Clive, don’t give up now!” The medic in the back had one hand over the other, pressing desperately on Clive’s chest every half a second. Clive’s white dress shirt was pulled open. One of his legs was twitching.

“It’s already been too long,” the second, female medic rubbed the defibrillators together and approached. “Clear!” Clive’s body leaped into the air, as if magnetized to the defibrillators themselves before thumping back down. The two medics checked for a pulse - nothing. “Clear!”

Ever watched as they repeated this several times. After four minutes of doing this, he noticed that after every jolt, Clive’s soul would start rising. He moved slowly, as if every inch of him was being held down by quicksand. A new jolt would send him straight back into his body, only for the soul to start pulling itself out of the mire again with renewed resolve.

*Why are we waiting for this soul to come out, Mentor? Surely there are others who have been wandering for a lot longer?*

It seemed like a good opportunity, with the ambulance passing you by and all. Ever was sure he could hear his mentor’s shoulder bones shuffle in a shrug.

“It’s been too long,” the first medic said. “We have to call it.”

The one holding the defibrillator stared at Clive then wordlessly turned the machine off. “Time of death, 9:42 pm.”

As the ambulance slowed, Clive’s ghost sat up. “Ugh.” He grabbed the top and bottom of his head, turning it sharply as if to crack it. Of course, nothing happened.

“You’re dead, Clive,” Ever said.

Clive looked at him, confused. “What?” He looked at himself, then he looked at himself. “Aww shit.”

“What happened?” Ever asked.

Clive had a decently muscular build and long, blonde hair with some dark streaks in it. In his white, button up shirt, black, ironed slacks and polished boots, he would have turned heads, especially those belonging to females.

He stared at Ever with a furrowed brow. “I was at work, pulling another late shift. That’s all that I remember.”

“Were you unwell?” Ever asked.

“I don’t think so? I hadn’t slept much for weeks, but this project was keeping me up. Man, am I really dead?” Clive looked at his corpse again.

Ever floated quietly, glancing at the scythe. It wasn’t responding to anything Clive said, yet. Then again, he’d only been dead for a few minutes.

“Wait, who are you?”

“I’m Ever, Death’s apprentice, nice to meet you.” He saw people shaking hands here and there in the city. He extended his hand to Clive, who had no hesitation in shaking it, a big grin on his face. It was the first soul-to-soul contact Ever had on Earth. Clive’s hand felt distantly warm, his humanity was still fresh.

“Yeah true, you’ve got the scythe and everything. So what now?”