Purple buttercream is smeared around his face. His big, amber eyes are filled with tears not yet fallen, and are very expressive for a child his age. I can see his thoughts in them: I don't want to go, Please, I want to go back, I want my mum, Am I dead?
"Am I dead?" He asks. Most children don't even know the word, but he seems quite familiar. "Am I dead, like my daddy? Am I dead, like my sister?" Each word is weighted with enough innocent sadness to break down anyone with a heart into tears.
"Yes, child," I respond, not a tear in sight, nor on my mind. "You are dead."
It's good that he wandered from his corpse, he won't see what I know will happen soon, for I have seen it before: His mother will walk in, stare in shock for less than a moment, sob while trying in vain to save him for a minute, then fall into pieces over his corpse for as long as it takes for her to be dragged away.
"I don't want to leave my mummy alone." He blinks up at me.
I make a choice, I kneel down in front of him. "I'm sorry, little one. Let me take you now."
"I don't want to go." His voice is the voice of a young child on the verge of tears, it's high and it wobbles, yet he speaks with the tone of a wise old man, who understands more than he is credited for. Perhaps he could've become someone great, someone to be remembered.
"How did you die, little one? What made you die?" If I get answers quickly, we can leave before his mother finds out that he is dead, because no child should have hear their parent's agonising pain over losing the one they love the most.
He looks at me, not the way that most spirits do, but he seems to see straight through my dark robe to my soul beneath.
He remains silent.
"It was the cake." A whispers behind me chimes in. I turn to an emotional houseplant, slightly wilted yet still able to tell it's story. "He ate the..." The plant weeps. "He ate the purple cupcake... he felt... he was sick. It was over not soon after. His mother, Lydia, she's- she'll be back soon, she went into the bathroom, she didn't see, oh no!"
"Where did the cake come from?" I ask, and this time the boy responds.
"Jack's birthday party. Everybody got one. Will everybody die?"
Upon hearing this, I rise from my knees and stride across the room. I can see his tiny corpse in the other room now, he clutches a half eaten purple cupcake in his hand. He looks almost asleep.
"Will everybody die?" I turn to find the insistent boy behind me. He does not meet my eyes, he stares instead directly at his own corpse, no trace of fear about him, only sadness and understanding.
"Perhaps." I respond. I don't want to trouble him. I take his hand, and he does not protest, nor fight to be free.
We leave, and as we do, I glance over my shoulder. His mother is walking down the hall, less than a second from seeing the body, less than second from having her world brought down around her.
In the business, we call this 'The Before'. Well, I do, I'm alone in this job.
I take the first boy into the light as another death washes over me, another little boy. Then another, a girl this time. Looks like I'll have my work cut out for me today. I don't mind, though, it's all I've ever known. 250Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnVAZP1cjmd
Death by purple cupcake... That's an odd one, I'll admit.
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