Erdie's Bakery

The titanic black mass of Death was paused beside a large pane of glass, staring in at the treats arranged on the other side.

The glass read "Erdie's Bakery", a place that Death himself had not heard of until recently. He clicked his teeth together, considering.

People passed by him while he waited, not one of them noticing but each of them deftly avoiding him somehow.

The sun passed slowly over the sky, and Death continued to hum and haw.

A few minutes before the clerk came to change the sign from open to closed, Death slid in to the shop.

The person behind the counter took immediate notice of Death, but somehow failed to see the skull-faced, enormous, becloacked figure for what it was. Cheerily, they asked "What can I get for you? We're just about to close up, I'm afraid."

"Two loaves, please. One cinnamon-raisin, if you've got a fresh one. And one loaf of whatever you have that's stale. I'll pay full price." Death responded, his icy voice covering the glass with a thin layer of frost that evaporated as quickly as it appeared.

"For the birds?" The clerk asked.

"Mm." Death nodded.

"On the house then." The clerk winked. He scurried into the back of the shop, and produced a loaf from the previous day. It still, to Death at least, looked quite delicious. He placed it in a paper bag, along with a sealed loaf of the fresh Cinnamon Raisin bread. "That'll be two-fifty, please. Cash or card?" The clerk beamed.

Death rummaged about in his cloaks, and produced some ancient-looking gold coins. He selected two of them that he was fairly certain at this stage in history were worth a few thousand dollars each, and placed them on the counter. "Cash." He stated, his ancient voice rumbling the walls gently. He picked up his bread, and was about to leave when the clerk asked him an unusual question.

"So, how did you hear about us?" He asked in his chipper tone. "We have a Facebook page, twitter account, Google maps pin..." The clerk had a clipboard and a pen out, eager to take down Death's response.

He paused by the door, holding it open and letting the last few beams of the setting sun slide into the shop before he answered.

"A friend of mine told me about you. Mr. Edgwin."

"Oh Mr. Edgwin! Wonderful guy. I do deliveries to his place." The clerk ticked some box on his chart. "I always look forward to chatting with him."

Death looked deep into the clerk's eyes, and found only earnestness. The cold, ancient holes that Death uses for eyes softened slightly, and he replied sadly.

"As did I."

And he left for the park with his bread.

A Rare Breed

Death rang the doorbell, and waited patiently on the step. It was a lovely autumn night, and the stars were bright and numerous. Death liked stars.

The door opened wide, and an old man in a green cable-knit sweater was standing inside. He smiled widely at Death.

"Fancy seeing you here!" He pronounced cheerily.

Death smiled back, although since death is a skeleton in a hooded robe he didn't actually move at all. But the man knew that Death was smiling.

"You're awfully chipper for a dead man." Death rumbled sarcastically as he made his way inside. His voice carried through the house, vibrating every pane of glass coldly. The man took Death's scythe and hung it up on the wall by the coats before directing Death to the kitchen.

"Oh you know, it's just nice to be up and about again." He followed the black bulk of the Reaper into the kitchen. A small table was the centrepiece, with a bottle of wine, two glasses and a loaf of bread on it. "Been in bed too long. Everything hurt. Not the best. But now... I feel so much better!" He beamed, and indicated for Death to take a seat.

The Grim Reaper settled comfortably into the wooden chair. His titanic size somehow managing to nimbly fit in the human-sized furniture with ease.

"You do realize you are dead, yes?" Death raised what would have once been an eyebrow at his host.

"Oh yes. I hope you like Jackson Triggs, it was all I had in the cupboards apparently." The man began pouring out two glasses. He slid one over to the spectre at his table.

"Not going to try and weasel out of it with a game or some such silly thing?" Death took the glass, and swirled it to check the wine's legs. Not bad. He sniffed at it. He had had worse.

"Oh heavens no. I've seen plenty of this life, thank you. I know there's always more to see, always more to do... so much I've missed, so much I will miss..." He drifted off, his eyes hanging on a picture of his grandchildren, "But, there's so much more beyond. I hope." And he winked at Death, who smiled back, revealing nothing. "It's an adventure, isn't it? A risk. Who knows what I'll find when you take me... wherever you take me! Very exciting." He took a sip of his wine.

Death took a sip of his own, and put the glass on the table.

"You're a rare breed, Mister Edgwin." Death pronounced. "I do wish there were more of you." And there was a warmth in his words that clashed very harshly with the cold, deep, mystical nature of his speech.

"Squash players?" Edgwin joked.

"Explorers." Death intoned, sighing. He reached for the bread, and paused. "May I?"

"Please! And some for me, thanks."

And the two broke bread, and talked until it was time for Mr. Edgwin to leave. Or a little after time, if Death was honest with himself.