Author's Note
When I wrote this story, I had originally planned to do a sequel, in which Death meets more Avengers, like Natasha, Tony and Vision, and we would further explore the idea that Darcy and Death were more connected than she thought. This I can no longer do. Now, this story seems so... so naive I can barely stomach the fact that I wrote it.
I watched my father die on February 17.
He'd been in the hospital pretty much since the first of the year, but we thought he was on the mend. He was even discharged to a skilled care facility for rehab. Which is where he went into septic shock, and he couldn't recover from that.
I know a lot of science, especially biology. I know death is not only a biological inevitability but a biological necessity. However, that doesn't make it easier. Especially when it happens to someone you love. It turns out science isn't at all comforting.
Death is never beautiful. A transformation it may be, but beautiful it is not. Neither is it hopeful. My last memory of my father is of his lifeless body in a hospital bed, eyes and mouth hanging open, jaundiced from the liver failure, and swollen from the kidney failure. His last words were "It hurts. Oh, God."
Grief is physically painful. It hurts in your throat, your stomach, your shoulders and even your feet. It can make you tired and sick. It makes you nauseous. It makes you cold. You not only cry, you cough and wheeze and limp. You shiver under three pre-warmed blankets.
(They have pre-warmed blankets at hospitals, and the nurses are more than happy to get you some if you need. Nurses, as it turns out, are angels. Every single one. If you are a nurse, I just want to say thank you and that I love you very much for doing what you do. At the same time, doctors are mostly jerks.)
I haven't really written anything in a long time. I just started drawing again yesterday. Creative endeavors feel really stupid. Like, self-indulgent to the point of being actually harmful to society. I haven't read anything in a long time either.
I just want to sleep for a month. Or more.
Oh, and death isn't colorful either. It's just yellow and grey.