Mr. Silva and Death

Mr. Silva had just closed from his job about forty-five minutes ago. He worked as a quality assurance office at POVIS, a company that produced cosmetics and perfumes. He had had a long day at work- with the unexpected visit the Pharmaceuticals Control Authority officials had paid them earlier that day- and was already stressed out, but it seemed his fellow motorists wanted to stress him out further. He honked angrily at a car whose driver had apparently stopped to exchange pleasantries with a friend. After a few more blares of his car horn, the driver started his engine and zoomed off. As Mr. Silva was about to start his own engine, a black Mercedes cut in before his Sienna could move, overtaking him and scratching the bumper of his car. Mr. Silva yelled, throwing insults at the Mercedes' driver. With a frustrated sigh, he zoomed off.
As he drove, his mind trailed away slowly. Tomorrow, he would be taking his wife and children to Lake Helos to enjoy the day. They would have a picnic, and watch birds, and fish for Cloudbrown trout. But primarily, he was enthusiastic because it would be an opportunity for him to spend time with his family, especially his wife. Michelle was a beautiful woman in her forties, with close-cropped black hair which she dyed every few months to hide the grey hairs popping up here and there on her scalp. He had been attracted by her charisma and gracefulness, but fell in love with her tender smile and kind, thoughtful eyes. He loved her jokes, andhow she always made him feel better. Or at least, he used to. He couldn't figure out exactly how and when, but their once-enviable relationship had become sour. He had become wary of conversations with his own wife because it seemed they always ended in arguments. His marital duties were now something he looked at as a chore; rehearsed, something he couldn't wait to get over with. How did things get this bad, he thought to himself.
Was it her career? Michelle was a lawyer, and a brilliant one at that. She had graduated top of her class, and was quickly rising through the ranks in her firm. She wanted to be the best, and he did want the best for her, but at what cost? Or -he hated the thought- was it the children? He loved Abigail and James more than anything, but he couldn't deny the fact that when they came around, things changed. He sighed, this time a sigh of sadness. Tomorrow, he would try to reconnect with Michelle, to see if what they had could be saved. As his mind drifted farther back to happier times, he became so engrossed in his reminiscing that he didn't hear the honking of the speeding truck. When he eventually did, it was too late.

https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-broken-windshield-of-a-car-2265634/

Mr. Silva woke up in a large, spotless hospital ward. The room was empty, except for him.......... And a tall figure in a suit. Maybe the doctor. The figure turned to face him, and for some reason, Mr. Silva's confusion turned into a sense of apprehension. The man stood above him, a towering, authoritative-looking figure. He had dark hair, and features that were sharp and cold. But his eyes were strange. Deep, yet lacking emotion. There was nothing so familiar about this person, so why was Mr. Silva so nervous?
“Come", the man said, then turned and walked down. Mr. Silva felt compelled to obey, but something just wasn't right. He stayed put. The man walked a few steps, then turned back. He walked back, his footsteps rhyming completely with Mr. Silva's heartbeat.
“That's not your heartbeat. It's just my footsteps ". The man had stopped. Mr. Silva listened. He placed his hand on his chest. Nothing. His apprehension had turned to fear.
“Wh-what's going on?"
“You were hit by a fourteen-wheeler Ashok Leyland on the Kamar-Nikoto expressway at exactly 5:56:34 pm. You sustained severe head injuries, fractured ribs, a punctured lung, and severe hemorrhage. You were rushed to Kamar General Hospital, and the doctors did everything they could, but it wasn't enough. The fact that you had bled so much didn't help. You're dead, Mr. Silva."

https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-lying-on-bed-in-the-hospital-14553829/

Everything started coming back all of a sudden. Hearing all that felt like he had been shit in the head. It couldn't be.
“No....... No, no, no, I can't be dead. I'm taking my family to the lake tomorrow. My wife, Michelle, sh-she -I mean- we're gonna-"
“You're dead, Mr. Silva". He said it as if that ended the matter. “Now, come."
As the man turned to move, Mr. Silva grabbed his hand, then let go immediately. The man's skin was cold as ice. The man turned to him.
“Please, I-I have a family. Two kids, a boy and a girl. They're so young. I can't be dead, please!"
The man rolled his eyes, as if saying ‘not this again'.
“You're dead, Mr. Silva."
“This isn't fair", Mr. Silva muttered. Then he shouted, “It's not fair!"
“Life isn't fair", the man replied. “And neither am I "
Mr. Silva sighed, desperate. “Let me at least see Michelle, please."
The man gave him a look, then snapped his fingers. Suddenly, they were in a ward exactly like the previous one, but filled with patients and health practitioners. The man pointed, and Mr. Silva's eyes followed his finger. At a distance, Mr. Silva's body lay motionless on a hospital bed. His wife was holding his hand, sobbing. He began to dart forward, but the man held him, sending a shiver throughout his body. He stood, rooted to the spot. A moment later, he turned to face the man, his voice shaking.
“I don't want to be dead. Please, let me go back."
“See that kid over there?" Now they were in a different ward. Mr. Silva looked in the direction the man was pointing at. Lying on the bed was a thin, pallid boy, who looked about the same age as Abigail, his daughter.
“That boy has high-grade osteosarcoma. His parents have spent all the have on his treatments, in the hope that he will get better. Tomorrow, that boy will die."
In the blink of an eye, they were in another ward. The man was pointing at a woman in labor. She was gasping, and clearly in pain.

https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-lying-inside-delivery-room-3259625/

“That woman is going to give birth to a baby girl, who will have died by this time tomorrow. You lived forty-five years, had an education, found love, married and started a family, and attained reasonable success in your career. You had far more than those two souls, and thousands of thousands of others ever had, and will ever have, and still you try to hag on desperately to your fickle, frustrated life. Do you want to know what happens if you live past today?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued.
“On your way to the lake with your family tomorrow, your car is hit by another truck in the same expressway, only this time, you survive, but your wife and two children end up dying. Is that what you want?"
No response. Mr Silva hung his head in overwhelming sadness.
“Now, come with me." The man turned and walked away. This time, there was the slightest hint of sympathy in his voice. Dejected, Mr. Silva followed, wondering what waited for him on the other side.

https://www.pexels.com/photo/silhouette-photo-of-person-holding-door-knob-792032/

I hope you all enjoyed reading it, and I would love to hear your thoughts about the piece 😉 😊
I decided to write this short story after numerous ponderings on the fickleness of life and the finality of death. It's really amazing, and definitely a bit unsettling, how people can just -poof!- be gone from the physical plane in an instant.
But what, actually, lies on the other side? 🤔
Well, I guess we'll never know 🤷‍♂️😅