|Dark Planet by W B Sloan|
Whirlpool of the World
“Shut the door!”
“... Damn, how predictable. At a way station, a nodal point on the journey between the ending of your earthly life and final eradication. You have a decision to make.”
“In a moment. Look outside.”
An idyllic rural landscape; painted perfection. No, not perfect. It moved; writhed sinuously, beginning to shift, twist and distort. It swirled, faster, vertiginous, a nightmare undreamed by Dali; the world dropped in a blender. My white knuckles clamped the rail. Fields flew away, swallowed by surrounding darkness. I began to slip.
The voice snapped me back.
“... visual representation...” I reeled from the window, gasping. “... in turmoil; out of balance. I intend to restore that balance. You’ll help me do that.”
“I finish my job.”
“Job? Who are you?”
“Pass you into eternal oblivion. I’m Death, Mr Grey.” She smiled. “And I have a proposition for you.”