I really should have looked both ways before crossing the road.

With the number of times that semis, Cadillacs, and even a freaking horse and buggy had almost run me over, you think I would be smarter about crossing the road. But no, once again, as I apparently had some sort of death wish, I stepped out blindly into the middle of the road and heard the metallic scream of a city bus's breaks just as my life flashed before my eyes.

The amount of times that this had happened to me, I had the entire reel that was my life memorized. You really get in touch with your memories when you keep almost dying as much as I do. I still remember the moment I first got an owie and began to cry, and I think I was about two weeks old when it happened. I remembered my fifth birthday party where I had a pony theme (and also, almost got killed by the pony my parents had rented from the zoo when it kicked me in the face). I remembered when I was twelve, I went hiking in Yosemite and got separated from my parents, watching as a pack of wolves began to slowly circle me, yellow eyes flashing in the darkness as their growls rumbled low through the dark forest. When I was thirteen, I fell into the tiger pit at the zoo and felt the claws of the great cat prick my back. When I finally turned sixteen, I almost fell off a cliff, and then moments afterward, my water bottle had been contaminated by some sort of parasite that wriggled around in my stomach before an emergency team rushed in and gave me the most eighteenth-century style of surgery to get the tape worms out of my stomach.

Every single time I thought 'Well, this is the end, you sure had a good run in your short life', something pulled me back. When the darkness was starting to close in, I could feel a hand grasp mine, shockingly cold, and caress my fingers before it yanked me into the blazing, harsh light of the sun. Or the hospital bed. Or wherever I managed to end up (notably, one time, I woke up to the face of my Furbie staring back at me. I'm still not convinced that I actually recovered from that incident). On the day of my eighteenth birthday, where I took my brand new car for a joy ride and wrapped it around a pole, something... happened. That cold hand still grasped mine and pulled me out of the narrowing tunnel, but there was a coldness on my cheek, and I could have sworn to this very day that I heard words. Or maybe I heard words, I have no idea.

It continued like that for every other near death experience I had. A cold hand, a quick, swift cold peck at my cheek, and the last time, as I got to the very end of my highlight reel, a word that felt like the wind of the Arctic brushing past my ear that simply said "Hello."

Maybe I was going nuts. Maybe all these experiences were causing me to seek death out-- even if I had no real intention of dying. And now, I was staring down a city bus and realizing that I was the stupidest son of a bitch alive (Very soon deceased) and I finally ran out of luck.

I closed my eyes, or they had been closed the entire time. The breaks echoed and I waited to hear the snap of my own bones, the wet crunch of the bus against my fragile body. It had probably only been seconds-- but there was no one around to pull me back at this late afternoon hour. This bus was going to turn me into a human hot cake and this was going to me how my short adventure ended in this world.

Coldness wrapped around my arm. My eyes jolted open, but I was still surrounded by darkness-- a darkness that felt... comforting, while cool against my fevered skin. I tried to search for something in that darkness, glanced down at my arm to see a strange, black cloth wrapped around it. It moved, quick as a viper the moment my eyes locked on it, and without thinking, I ran toward it.

I mean, I wasn't really running. I was dead, after all. Or I thought I was dead. I wasn't sure where I was, because this hadn't really happened to me in one of my many, many experiences with death. I had never been trapped in a strange blackness, perfectly aware of it while running after something without even a horizon to guide me.

Something moved next to me. A chill swept across me, locking my joints and making my jaws clattered. I tried to turn my head but I was frozen, my body trembling too much for me to put it to any use.

But there was a figure next to me. An indescribable figure. A dark, hooded robe that fluttered and twisted, delicate as a moth's wings. A curving blade of metal that shone from light I could not see, set on a twisting black handle. All of this I saw in an instant, and then... I felt the cold peck on my check, the hood bending closer to the side of my face. And that whisper. "Hello", it chimed like a forgotten song, barely remembered but all the more bittersweet for it.

I tried to blink, feeling tears that were frozen to my face. "H-hello?" My voice was scratchy, fear strangling my vocal cords.

The figure shifted, moved slightly further away. The hood turned downward-- in a relative sense, staring at the wisps of the bottom hem of its cloak. "I am... sorry," the chimed voice said again, and my heart ached with the sound.

"Am I going to die?" It was the most logical question that came to my mind. This was Death that I was looking at-- shimmering, moving, cold Death who could not bare to turn the hood of their robe toward me. At least Death had some shame in its job, I supposed.

Death seem startled, the robe twisting and writhing, the scythe turning sharply as if it was being wrung out. "No!" Death said, almost too quickly, and the voice had gained a strange, new pitch. "No, no, it's not your time."

"Oh." Relief coursed through me. "So.... the past three car accidents, and... now the city bus... I'm okay?"

"Yes."

"Huh." I couldn't help but smile and lick my lips, dampening my bone dry mouth. "Well, gee. That's awesome, Death. But I gotta ask..." I tried to take a step closer, and this time the figure did not back away. The cloaked figure turned toward me, and I almost caught a glimpse of them underneath that hood. "Why not?"

Death-- I don't even know how to describe this-- but Death seemed to panic. Words in several different languages were all babbled out at the same time in that strange, chime-like voice, and the robe crumbled on the figure just before my fingertips brushed the fabric.

And then... I woke up to the faces of concerned citizens, to a rather portly man pressing down on my chest and screaming "Oh, thank god! You're alive!"

I sat up, far quicker than my body wanted. The tang of blood stained my mouth, the sunlight was too bright for me to look up, and the voices of all the people around me faded into nothing but white noise. I ignored the aches of pains, placing a hand on my cheek that still felt cool.

I think, maybe, I don't have a death wish. I think Death wishes to see me.

But that's a little crazy, isn't it?

(First time! Has to give it a shot!)