on meeting Death, and then running away

from The Color Of Magic, by Terry Pratchett

It has been remarked before that those who are sensitive to radiations in the far octarine-the eighth color, the pigment of the Imagination-can see things that others cannot.

Thus it was that Rincewind, hurrying through the crowded, flare-lit evening bazaars of Morpork with the Luggage trundling behind him, jostled a tall dark figure, turned to deliver a few suitable curses, and beheld Death.

It had to be Death. No one else went around with empty eye sockets and, of course, the scythe over one shoulder was another clue. As Rincewind stared in horror a courting couple, laughing at some private joke,  walked straight through the apparition without appearing to notice it.

Death, insofar as it was possible in a face with no movable features, looked surprised.

RINCEWIND? Death said, in tones as deep and heavy as the slamming of leaden doors, far underground.

“Um,” said Rincewind, trying to back away from that eye-less stare.

BUT WHY ARE YOU HERE? (Boom, boom went crypt lids, in the worm haunted fastnesses under old mountains…)

“Um, why not?” said Rincewind. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got lots to do, so if you’ll just – “

I WAS SURPRISED THAT YOU JOSTLED ME, RINCEWIND, FOR I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH THEE THIS VERY NIGHT.

“Oh no, not – “

OF COURSE, WHAT’S SO BLOODY VEXING ABOUT THE WHOLE BUSINESS IS THAT I WAS EXPECTING TO MEET THEE IN PSEPHOPOLOLIS.

“But that’s five hundred miles away!”

YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME. THE WHOLE SYSTEM’S GOT SCREWED UP AGAIN, I CAN SEE THAT. LOOK, THERE’S NO CHANCE OF YOU - ?

Rincewind backed away, hands spread protectively in front of him. The dried fish salesman on a nearby stall watched this madman with interest.

“Not a chance!”

I COULD LEND YOU A VERY FAST HORSE.

“No!”

IT WON’T HURT A BIT.

“No!” Rincewing turned and ran. Death watched him go, and shrugged bitterly.

SOD YOU, THEN, Death said. He turned, and noticed the fish salesman. With a snarl Death reached out a bony finger and stopped the man’s heart, but He didn’t take much pride in it.

Then Death remembered what was due to happen later that night. It would not be true to say that Death smiled, because in any case His features were perforce frozen in a calcareous grin. But He hummed a little tune, cheery as a plague pit, and-pausing only to extract life from a passing mayfly, and one ninth of the lives from a cat cowering under the fish stall (all cats can see into the octarine)- Death turned on His heel and set off toward the Broken Drum.

Hmmm, the Color of Magic, i found it even more interesting than the Hitchiker’s Guide! and that’s a big deal. U might find a review on amazon or something like that, or wait for my attempt at reviewing this one. Which is as distinct a possibility as Death being cheerful.

By the way, i strongly recommend this book. If not for Rincewind the utmost failed wizard, or Twoflower the idiot tourist who happens to appoint Rincewind as his doomed guide or the hundred legged luggage that follows the tourist everywhere or the Discworld, a magical world riding back on the back of four giant elephants, riding on, well, the back of a giant turtle through the vast expanse of universe or the Color of Magic – Octarine itself, you should read this for Death Himself. My favourite character so far in the series.

Hope you meet Him soon. And then get to run away from…