Death came quickly to Hans, and in the blink of an eye he found himself on a bridge. In one direction he could see the blurred image of his body away in the distance, lying sprawled on the floor at broken angles. In the other the bridge stretched away and disappeared, shrouded in black fog.
A man, with greasy lank hair and a scruffy beard dressed in a dirty duffel coat leant against the fence on the bridge, looking down into the water that reflected a sky littered with stars that were not really there. He held a scythe loosely in one hand, stroking his ragged beard with the other. He turned to look at Hans. "Hello," he said.
Hans looked into the water, and then back down the bridge at his body, a tiny dot of an ambulance had pulled up beside it and a crowd had gathered.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" he said rhetorically.
"I'm sorry," said the dirty man.
Reflected in the water Hans thought he could see fragments of memories, faces and places gathered in the cloudy water. There had been no singular moment of recollection, as he passed away, no life flashing before his eyes. He was there, and now he was here. He felt dislocated, and even though it was all so clear to him, slightly confused.
"I wasn't supposed to die," he said.
"Everyone is supposed to die," the man replied.
"Yes, but I wasn't supposed to die then."
"There's no time set to these things, it happens at some point. When is down to you, and everyone else in the world."
"I could see my future so clearly," Hans said.
"Hopes and fears, ambitions and anxieties. Your future could have been anything."
"And instead it was this." Hans saw the faces of a lifetime of lovers melt and blur together as the water flowed below him.
"Don't I get to gamble for my life, like in the movies?"
The old man sighed a weary sigh and scratched at his bushy eyebrows. "You can try if you want, won't work though. And no chess, I'm bloody sick of chess."
Hans stood silent for a moment, trying to think through his life for which game he was best at. He considered briefly suggesting eye-spy, but felt it would be too limiting, only having a bridge, some water and a void of space to choose from. Rock-Paper-Scissors was discounted quickly, as was Twenty Questions. He leant again on the fence and looked down into the water, which rushed below the bridge while swirls of murky water twisted and turned into snapshots of his youth. And that's when it hit him.
"Pooh-Sticks," Hans said.
The man tipped his head to one side, spilling his thin greasy hair over one shoulder and smiled. "Excellent choice." He said. He reached inside his duffel coat and pulled out two twigs, holding them both out to Hans. "You choose." He said.
Hans inspected them both closely, though far from identical they were similar length, similar width, similar colour, similar enough to make no difference Hans decided and took the one in the mans left hand. They both stepped to the edge of the bridge.
"Arms length and drop on three," Hans said. "One, two, three." And they both dropped their twigs into the water, which sucked them under the bridge. Hans and the man both dashed to the other side and leaned over the side again eagerly. A moment passed, then another, and then the dirty, duffel-coated man's twig came rushing out and floated away into the distance, being swallowed by the darkness as it went. Hans sighed audibly and waited for his twig. Another moment passed, then another. The dirty man waited patiently, scratching at his beard. And when after five minutes had passed and Hans twig still had not floated out from under the bridge he said gently, "Come on, it's time to go."
Copyright © 2003 by Toby Wallis