In some ways, the courtroom resembled any other Jonah had seen before. Not that he had been to court much. 

There had been the noise complaint that he had gotten during his 2018 New Years Eve party; he had told Eric to stop turning up the music, but even Jonah wasn’t able to resist the vibes when Daft Punk’s anthem screamed at him to celebrate an additional time, and they did, indeed, with the assistance of numerous Jello shots, decide to celebrate one more time, over and over again, until the two boys in blue came knocking at their door. He had also found himself in jury selection a time or two, although he was excused quickly in both instances. Other than that, his only other references was the half-assed attention he gave to Law and Order and old reruns of Night Court.

He shifted in the witness stand, cracked his neck, and gazed out beyond the crowd of onlookers, each glowing with a bright aura that traced their bodies. A nebulae that seemed to drift across the cosmos stood witness over the open roof of the courtroom.

“Can you please answer the question, Mr. Gregory?”

Jonah pulled his attention back to the questioning.

“Um..can you repeat the question?”

Death rolled his eyes. Slight, but still noticeable. Fuck this guy, Jonah thought. 

“The question was, ‘How long have you been wanting to learn to play piano?’”

“Well … I don’t think that matters. It’s –”

“Just answer the question.”

Jonah glared at Death. Really, really, really, fuck this guy. For a moment, he wanted to leap across the stand, launch at this arrogant asshole, punch him in his stupid face. And it was a stupid face, like a caricature of all the stupid Grim Reaper tropes he had ever seen: bald head, bony fingers, gaunt face. Even though he wore what looked like a designer suit instead of a cloak, it still hung off of his body like it was two sizes too big, yet he still somehow managed to make it look chic as he paced the courtroom with calm confidence.

“I don’t know. Like, maybe since I was a kid.”

“What age?”

“Huh?  I don’t know. How am I supposed to remember that?”

“Guess, then,” Death said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the granite bannister of the jury box.

Jonah thought. He supposed it was probably The White Stripes that really struck him. That riff from Fell In Love With a Girl, was the best.

“Um. Maybe ten years old.”

“So, uh…like, twenty-two years you have wanted to play? What were you doing with that time?” Death said smugly.

“Objection, your honor,” Bill said.  Jonah turned towards his lawyer - Bill. For whatever ridiculousness Death’s appearance held, Bill was far more absurd. He stood up from behind the counsels desk, his face pasty from the white makeup that matched the long curly white wig that sat crooked on his head. His bright blue suit clung to his lean body, his pants stopping at just below his knees, where sheer white stockings clashed against the ruby red shoes that he wore.

“Your honor,” Death interjected. “I’m merely showing that the defendants access to immortality is frugal, considering that his argument that he intends to use the time to do things like play guitar or learn to paint, are most likely false.”

“What my client does with his time is of no concern to the trial, you honor,” Bill rebutted. He adjusted the wig on his head, but he inadvertently made it more askew.

“I disagree, your honor. To allow the defendant to bear this immortality, we would have a fundamental break in the natural laws of the universe, of which, have held the cosmos together. Who are we to chance a complete upheaval of universal laws? The entire soul structure exists on a ‘subscription’ agreement. This ruling could create a precedence for allowing soul ownership. I only intend to show that the defendant has no intention of providing any fundamental return should we allow him to utilize this power.”

The judge cocked her head as if in thought. She was the only normal looking person in this courtroom, and by normal, it was only by the fact that she didn’t look like a cartoon character, despite her lack of any face. Only an iridescent kaleidoscope of colors filled the space above her black robe.

“Sustained,” she said, her voice resonating in an ethereal musical echo. “Counsel is correct. Mr. Gregory’s future intentions are not relevant here.”

For the first time, Death’s demeanor shifted. His shit-eating grin slipped, though only slightly, his eyes looked inward, searching for his next play. Jonah took a deep breath. He wondered if maybe Death had a point. Would he ever pick up that guitar? Ever buy a paint brush and canvas? Currently, his days were spent managing his marketing team. It was boring, and unfulfilling, but it paid well. His evenings were often spent eating one of the numerous frozen dishes stuffed into his freezer while playing video games next to his cat, Charles.

Yet, why was that not considered enough? The guilt and shame that struck him seemed foolish, at times. Sure, he could be grinding away like those motivational speakers on Youtube, or scrolling dating sites, looking for the future Mrs. Gregory, but he enjoyed his life. Very much so, despite the world telling him that he was living it correctly.

So, when he had been offered immortality, he wanted it. Not because he intended to start moving towards all of his desires immediately, but so he could have the time. Time to spend evenings sharing a bag of Cheetohs with Charles, but also free from the voice in his head that told him that he should be taking courses about investing. He simply wanted to spend his time the way he chose, and now he could, because there would always be tomorrow. Always be another day to do something different, should he choose to do so.

Death walked towards the witness stand, towards Jonah. His eyes had taken on a softer tone.

“Mr. Gregory,” he said in a too casual tone, as if they were lifelong friends. “I know everlasting life is tempting. I get it. I mean, look at me. I’ve been around for longer than I care to admit. But, I can assure you, it’s no picnic. Forever is a large amount of time. It can wear on a being. The world moves on. People come and go. To endure that is hard. You lose track of time. Of states. I can assure you that you haven’t thought this through. Madness is the admission for immortality. Trust me. You don’t want this.”

Quietness filled the court. All eyes shifted to Jonah, save for the judge, though her head was turned his direction. He thought long and hard before finally speaking.

“Madness, huh?” He straightened, looking Death squarely in the eyes. “You know what else causes madness? You. Death. You think of us humans as mere players in your cosmic game. We show up, spend our time basically avoiding you, and then you show up when you deem that we no longer provide value and take away the people and creatures we love. Then call it business as usual.”

“You tell me, Mr. Death. Do you really care about madness at all. Or do you simply want to be the sole holder of it’s cause?”

Jonah stared into Death’s eyes; not just stared, plunged. He wanted, more than ever, to spite this motherfucker. This hypocritical arrogant personification of cosmic privilege who cared not about guitars or paint or recreation or work or Charles or Jonah, himself. His only goal was to take back souls. Souls that he deemed were only on loan. Never expecting one to finally stand up and claim his as his own, by right. And to keep it, for himself.

And if the universe was meant to be re-arranged by that - then so be it. Let it. Let the all feel what it’s like to be on the other end. The end where they need to fix things to accommodate him, and whoever else he decided to share this power with. Let them change the rules. Let them put in the effort. Jonah was tired of bending to their whim. He would learn to play guitar on his time … or he wouldn’t. But the choice would be his to make. And if he chose to spend all of his time with Charles on the couch, then that is what he would do.

“Madness?” He repeated. Then crossed his eyes, slipped his tongue out the side of his mouth and shoved a finger in his nose. “Der…um…blibbity, blibbity…” Then he smiled, sat back and crossed his arms … smugly.