On The Banks of the River Lex

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Death lay under the water-tower on a sagging rooftop, watching the slow condensation of water along the tower's metal belly. Occasionally one of the water beads would grow pregnant enough to spawn a droplet, which would then fall around — and occasionally onto — Death's forehead. He had counted over seven hundred hits in the past few days.

Sleep appeared and crouched beside Death, looking hopeful. "You look bored. I don't suppose you'd care for a little oblivion?"

"No, thank you," said Death. He was always scrupulously polite, to counter his reputation. He waited until another drop fell — a miss, alas — and then turned his head to regard Sleep. "You're looking a little detached yourself."

At the refusal, Sleep had sighed and sat down beside him. "I thought I would be all right," she said. "I should be all right. Animals sleep, even plants in their way. But it just isn't the same."

Death reached out to touch her hand. It was his own silent offer.

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