Death and the Creator
Death looked at the hourglass in his bony hand. “ALREADY? ” He stepped
through the door of the large house and glided up the stairs. At the end of the hall, the bedroom door was
open and a group of people were standing and sitting around a bed where an
older man was sleeping. A cat was curled
up next to him, purring. In the corner
sat Granny Weatherwax, un-noticed by the family. Usually her task was to sit with the dying on
the Discworld who didn’t have friends or family, and see them into the next
world. This fellow had both in full
attendance, but Granny’s presence indicated that the man in the bed deserved
special treatment.
Granny looked up when Death entered. “Right on time—any trouble crossin’ over to
the Roundworld?” “GREETINGS, MISTRESS WEATHERWAX. NO PROBLEMS.
THE CONNECTION BETWEEN THE DISCWORLD AND THIS PLACE IS STRONG.”
“Now’t wonder. He’s
the Creator…he’s wrote our story and made us who and what we are. It jest seems right fer me t’ be here.” “MOST APPROPRIATE, INDEED.”
The cat on the bed looked up at Death and blinked. It then stretched, settled back down, and
continued purring. The man’s chest was
rising and falling, but more slowly now…the circle of people were whispering
their farewells and messages for him to deliver, and weeping quietly, holding
on to one another.
Granny looked at Death, and asked the question that had been
twittering in her head all day: “So does
our story end, now’t he’s gone?” Death
considered this. “NO, I BELIEVE THAT OUR STORY HAS BECOME A
LIVING THING. IT WILL NOT DIE WITH HIM. WE WILL GO ON.
WE WILL WRITE OUR OWN STORY FROM HERE.”
Granny smiled. “Jest when
you think you’ve come to the end of a story, there’s another ‘un waitin’ to be
told.” Death nodded. “AS I KNOW, THERE IS ALWAYS A DOOR TO THE NEXT
WORLD, AND ANOTHER STORY. I BELIEVE IT
IS TIME TO WELCOME OUR CREATOR.” The man
on the bed had stopped breathing, and the grief among the circle was
palpable. Death leaned over the bed and
touched the man’s shoulder. “SIR TERRENCE PRATCHETT? “ The man’s transparent self sat up and
looked around him, and his face broke into a smile. “You DID come! You’re real!
And Granny, too—well met, Mistress Weatherwax.” Granny chuckled, and said “Think I’d miss
this? Hah!”
Death grinned. “OF COURSE I’M REAL. YOU MADE ME.
YOU ARE THE CREATOR. AND IT IS
YOUR TIME. WE MUST BE GOING. YOU HAVE A LONG JOURNEY AHEAD OF YOU. AT THE END, THERE WILL BE A STORY TO TELL.” The man looked around the room at his
friends and family, and reached out to pet the cat. When his hand went through the cat, it
opened its eyes and stared at the man and Death standing next to the bed. Death reached over and scratched behind the
cat’s ears and it began purring again.
No one noticed. Death took the
man’s hand and motioned towards the door, and the two of them stepped
outside. Granny followed them out, and
the three figures slowly walked out of the house, into the daylight, and
vanished.
And the story continues.
Rest in Peace, Sir Terry—thank you for all the joy and
laughter you have brought to my life though your books. I came a bit late to the Discworld, but I
loved every book and every character.
Your creations will live on and become legend, as it should be.