A deep grey haze hung in the room. Particles in the air floated quietly like glitter suspended in oil. Particles of ash, soft and light. All around the room, a blanket of this same soft ash lay several inches thick up everything, floor and furniture, even on the Christmas tree. Time seemed suspended, like it had powered out for a long time into this room and run itself dry. I sat on the floor, covered in the same exact ash. Unsure of the hour. Uncaring. And blanketed in emptiness.

Drained like time around me, I felt no emotion as warm tears rolled down my cheek, they simply came of their own accord and hanging my head, I watched them fall each drop disappearing into the ash that had settled between my crossed legs as I sat. Motionless.

When my neck finally told me that time was indeed passing and that it was weary of reckoning it in this position, I tilted my head back. The tears changed course taking a new pathway towards the corners of my mouth. My eyes found a photo framed on the wall. Draped in ash like snow on a branch, it was surprisingly attractive. And even though it was a color photo, it too seemed grey. Save for your eyes smiling out at me. But this too was a dimmed imaginary likeness. I let my own eyes close. And realized then, that I was not alone.

I hadn’t heard him enter, or maybe I had but didn’t care, being too focused in my own thoughts. I hung my head again and turned slightly to one side, half heartedly wondering who was there. I didn’t need to see his face to know that it was the Angel of Death, in his sometimes role of Ghost of Christmas Past. The rustle of his robed and the swirl of the ash told me his intentions in a moment. I closed my eyes and waited for the sickle to swoosh. And waited, and waited.

I opened my eyes just as he leaned his instrument against the wall. Sadness set in quickly and brought a new wave of tears. Death stepped lightly in front of me, crouching down to my level and resting one arm on his knee. I kept my head bowed, not out of respect or even fear, but swallowed in sorrow.

“But why?” I sobbed.

“I’m sorry” Death answered in a gentle voice. I felt one boney finger under my chin lifting my eyes to where his would have been. And looking into the black sockets I saw the emptiness that I felt reflected back at me, until he titled his head slightly to one side. It was a slight, un-Death-like motion. And then I saw a great sadness there as he wiped a tear away. I could imagine the corners of his mouth in flesh instead of bone and would later remember that he had sadly smiled at me.

“Sweet child” he whispered softly, stroking my hair softly.

“ I know your pain, it drew me here, for I feel it deeply. I know what you wish. But I can not take you with me.” The words seemed to hurt him and I wondered if Death could cry.

He pressed his fingers against my cheek and his touch seemed strangely warm, strangely alive, strangely loving. I leaned into that touch, needing it desperately.

“ For you see my sweet child, you have no love. Without love you have no hope. And without hope, you have no soul for me to take.”

With that he began to take back his hand. I wanted so badly to reach out… to grab that hand… to keep him from leaving me..alone. But by the time I realized the desperation, it was too late. He had already picked up his sickle and began to walk towards the corner of the room, where in a single line of bright light cut across the corner.

“ I’m sorry” he whispered again and without turning back he stepped into that band of light. I flung myself after him, reaching to touch just the edge of his cloak but I was too late. He has already vanished, so all I could so was lay my body with no soul down, curled up on the floor under the dim, Christmas tree. I closed my eyes there and let the pain wash cleanly through me again, becoming still and silent. And the ash began to reclaim me once again. Alone. In pain. And not even worthy of Death.