Friends dying is expensive, I think, looking down our bar tab.

“You going to take care of this?”

DEATH raises an eyebrow at me. “Seriously?”

“You’re the one who recommended I go to a bar,” I accuse her.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I’m just a widdle girl,” she says, rolling a few hairs around her index finger.

I sigh and place down some cash.

“Let’s go.”

DEATH gets up and follows. She is barely up to my waist. The bartenders watch us go, relieved. Outside DEATH holds out her hand. I pass her a cigarette. An old woman walking by glares at me. DEATH gives her the finger, “I’ll see you on the fifteenth,” she says, darkly. The old woman scampers off, wrinkled and pale.



“Why’d you tell her that?”

DEATH looks up, innocent. “Tell her what?”

“When she was going to die. That’s–I don’t know, cruel.”

“Oh give me the lighter.” I pass it over. “How am I supposed to know when that old bitch is going to die.”

“But you just told her the fifteenth?”


“Why’d you do that.”


I frown. “So, you don’t know when people die?”

DEATH shakes her head.

“How, how are you there then?”

“I’m everywhere, always,” DEATH says, matter of fact.

I look out on the street. “Huh–” I decide. “Were you there when Rick died?”

“Whose Rick?”

“Are you serious? It’s the reason we’re here. My friend, you know?”

DEATH gives me a blank stare.

“Hung himself? No, nothing?”

DEATH shrugs.

“You’re the worst,” I remind her.

She smiles.

I kill a few more drags, “So?”

“So, what?” DEATH asks.

“Were you there or not?”


“With Rick, to–I don’t know, show him the way?”

DEATH looks up without humor. “People like him already know where to go.”

I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t know why. I throw my cigarette down. DEATH watches it burn down and the tosses hers just a bit further.

“You’re boring when you’re sad,” DEATH grumbles.

I don’t respond. She shrugs, “I’m going to go scare the crap out of that old woman some more.”

She starts to walk off, stops, turns.

“Hey?” she calls. I ignore her.

She waves both dainty little hands. “Hey…Hey!”

I turn. “What?”

“Did I say the fourteenth or the fifteenth?”


**If you’d like to support our project further and get access to some extra content, please check out our page on PATREON


A Writer and an artist living in Russia

31 Comment on “Friends Dying is Expensive

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