They always know that they are dying.

Sometimes it is obvious to them: the old woman in hospice care, the stabbing victim left bleeding in an alley, the speeding driver ejected through the windshield after hitting a tree. Other times it is not. The young, the strong, and the healthy are never looking for me, but at the last moment before I take them, they always see me before whatever accident, sudden violence, or undiagnosed medical condition that causes their death occurs.

No sooner than I have guided a soul to the gate and seen them on their way to whatever afterlife they deserve then I will hear a name spoken in my head. Just the name won’t do, of course. But with the name comes a distinct pull in a certain direction. The pull, along with the name, leads me to my next assignment. From then, until the moment of death, I must follow them. It could be minutes, or decades.

I arrived at the side of my latest assignment only to witness a great fanfare over the newborn infant that was being celebrated as the ‘first immortal human’, a child gifted through genetic engineering unlimited cell regeneration.

I don’t know which of us needs to die to end this curse, but I do know one thing. I am certain that I will not hear another name echo in my head.