33 Minutes
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An ordinary day. Wearing his usual black robe, his pale hands holding a note with a list of names, a few crossed out, and on his other hand, he carries a little watch. “His time is almost up” he said, walking his way in a hospital. No one can run away from Death. No one can escape death, nor stop it; not even Death himself is not allowed to alter this. He stopped in front of a door leading to the Intensive Care unit. To Death, this is a common trip. “You are free now.” with a sigh, Death touched a man’s heart, his soul reached out to his hand, and lead it towards eternity. A name has been crossed out again, followed by another, and another, until he finally had only one name left on his list. “At last, after this I can rest.”
With this in mind, he quickly reached the room of his last target; something he was not expecting. He stood in front of the delivery room. Upon entering, he looked around the room. A woman, about to give birth, his husband, standing beside him, holding his hand, and a couple of doctors doing background checks.
The woman looks like she is in pain. She is young. She has never experienced childbirth before. Seeing this, Death felt a beat from his heart; if he still has one. But what can he do anyway? This is his job. He quickly shrugged this feeling off, and looked at his round watch. “30 minutes”, the time read. He got there way too early. The doctors are preparing; at last they are ready.
The delivery took longer than expected. The doctors are trying the best they can. The woman is in pain, a lot of pain, but she is fighting. She wants the baby to be alive, she wants their miracle to experience life. Death is witnessing the miracle of life unfolding in front of his eyes. He views it as magnificent, a beautiful sight; how ironic.
Death checked his round watch, its hands signalling the end. “3 minutes.” He then looked at the couple. The husband, with all hopes held high, is at his tears. The woman still enduring all the pain thrown at her. She is a real martyr. Death felt his heart beat again. At this rate, she won’t make it. They won’t make it.