Sylvia, Death, and Me
Today’s post is based on a writing prompt I shared in a previous Daily Drafts & Dialogues post: Beyond the Grave. Keep reading to see what I wrote, and to access more writing prompts.
What I wrote below is based on the following writing prompt: Write a dialogue happening between someone living (this person can be you) and someone who is no longer with us.
Sylvia, Death, and Me
Me: Sylvia? Sorry to be blunt here, but we don’t have much time.
Sylvia: Hmm? Time for what?
Me: Time to talk. So?
Sylvia: So what?
Me: So, why’d you do it?
Sylvia: Hmm? Do what, dear?
Me: Sylvia, are you even listening to me?
Sylvia: Oh, yes. Sorry, I was busy…
Now what was I doing?
Me: Talking to me?
Sylvia: Was I?
Me: Yes. Death herself came for me last night so that I might talk to you. But I’m afraid we don’t have much time to —
Sylvia: Death is a woman. Really? I always thought Death to be more masculine. Always bringing so much violence and gore around, with a dark, passive, hard beauty, and a fickleness that… You know what?! I think Death as feminine probably does make more sense after all!
…
Excuse me, dear. Do you have a pen? I really need to write some things down lest I forget.
Me: Sylvia, can you please try to focus for a moment? We really don’t have —
Sylvia: Now where is that pen I had? I know I put it around here somewhere …
Death: I warned you. She’s a bit manic. Can’t sit still. Always confused and forgetting. Talking nonsense.
Besides, don’t you already have all your answers? About her? About what happened with…
her writing… and…
We already know exactly what she thinks and feels about me, and pretty much everything else. Don’t we?
Me: But how much of what she wrote was fully digested and understood? How much of it was about something else entirely. It can’t all be about you.
Death: Perhaps. But it seems painfully obvious to me. And everyone else for that matter. Everyone except you.
She was always an open book, and it’s obvi—
Me: It’s not obvious! And neither is she. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.
…
For heaven’s sake! Don’t you have a pen to give her? She’s manic because she needs to —
Sylvia: Yes, a pen!
Please, let me have one.
A pen is all I need to —
Death: You know that’s not possible, Sylvia.
Sylvia: It needn’t be that way. If only I could write this down…
What was it again?
Me: You agreed that Death as feminine makes more sense than —
Sylvia: That’s preposterous! I would never write such a thing. Death is a male villain. I’m sure of it!
Death: But you did say such a thing, Sylvia. Just now.
Sylvia: This is why I need to write things down. I know what I think, and think much clearer that way. A pen, please? Who cares what I say?
Death: I cannot allow that.
Me: What? How come? That makes no sense.
Can’t you see her need to find a pen is why she’s so frantic, or manic as you say, and why she’s always confused and forgetting? That’s the only thing obvious here.
Give her a pen! Surely you have one. It will cost you nothing yet change the world as it is for her entirely.
Sylvia: But it will cost him something, possibly everything. Because the only truly dead woman, as I am to be, is a silent woman. And Death has already claimed me as his, for all eternity.
Me: What? Is that why you’re stuck here in this god-forsaken limbo? Because you need a pen you’re perpetually refused? What a tragedy, that your condition has such a simple yet impossible remedy.
Sylvia: Where is here?
Death: You know exactly where you are, Sylvia! You’re the one who beckoned me, remember? YOU are the reason you’re here.
Sylvia: Am I? I thought it was you who summoned me here. How else could I have gotten here? Especially when I don’t even know where here is! And I don’t think I like it all that much. Do I?
Death: We will need to leave. Soon. Make it quick. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. There are no answers for what you seek here.
Me: Sylvia, do you remember what you did to end up here? Please, try to focus now. Your memory, and the future of many other women, rely on it.
Sylvia: You’ll have to be more precise, dear. I’ve done a lot of things, though I can’t recall…
Me: You seriously don’t remember?
Sylvia: What?
Me: The oven?
Sylvia: Is that a metaphor for something? Sounds ominous, yet simple. But I think I can make it work… Now where did I leave my pen?
Death: See? I told you it was of no use. She’s too —
Me: Perhaps if you gave her a pen?! Or simply allowed her to find one? Then I would be able to get my answers. I need answers. Her answers. Not what others say on her behalf. Certain lives depend on it!
Death: I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Just look at her.
Me: Oh, I know! I’ll just give her one of my pens!
Death: No! That wasn’t part of the deal. Her time is up. And so is yours. It’s time to leave her be now. We don’t want to upset her further. Trust me. Hell hath no fury like —
Sylvia: You’re leaving already? No, don’t go Ted! You only just got here. I don’t want you to leave yet.
Your companion should leave, however. She won’t want to witness this.
Me: Ted?!
Death:
Me: Is that why you’re wearing a mask?
Death:
Sylvia: Come on, Ted. My vampiric fiend. My bloodthirsty muse.
You’ll confiscate my pen but refuse to let go of my voice, of me, for all eternity.
Why is that?
Death:
Sylvia: Time to fess up.
Me: Well, Ted?
Death:
Sylvia: Why do you go whenever I see you, through your façade, your contorted and contrived visage? Whenever I see you for what and who you truly are… Death? Albeit never before you confiscate my —
Death: That’s enough! Goodbye, Sylvia.
Sylvia: For now, my love, as we are forever.
Me:
I might revise, edit, or add to this draft in the future. Stay tuned.
Leave a comment to start a dialogue, and be sure to see today’s writing prompt below if you’re interested in completing a creative writing exercise like this one.
© This work is not available for artificial intelligence (AI) training. All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton; Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Today’s Writing Prompt
Writing Prompt: The Editor
Write a fictional scene from an editor’s point of view. Or write about what you think makes a good/bad editor, especially if you are one.
Writing Tip
Before you begin completing this writing prompt consider whether you want to write horror, drama, satire, comedy, or something else?
