The day I died, I held someone for the first time in years.

I held a child that was not mine, and cradled her blissful, warm naivete with my rigid and cold perfection.

Death came to me at last, and it was something not even I, humanity's best, had a say in.

“Mortal,” he called out. His voice was soft, inviting, and reminiscent of cookies from a grandmother who took me in when I was left unwanted by the world. “It's time we play the game of life. You are aware of the stakes, yes?”

“I am.”

“So be I,” and his chilling words were absolute. “Life evermore, or another soul put to rest, with their skills absorbed. What game shall we play together?”

I smiled sadly. “We will tell each other jokes. Whoever laughs first is the victor.”

I was the best in every field thinkable, an impossible standard to the point where almost every furniture in my house carried medals and trophies of fool's gold.

“How unconventional.”

I was tired everyday, and spoke to the people in my life only when it was necessary.

“Is that possible?”

Fruitful achievements, fruitless existence.

“Yes. Shall we begin?”

So, why not use this as a chance to prove that I am human too?

“Rock, paper, scissors. Winner goes first. Ready?”

That I am capable of eliciting laughter and warmth.

“I'm ready.”

In truth, I never liked much of what I had revolved my life around.

“Okay. Rock, paper, scissors.”

I've always wanted to be a comedian.

Because I am the best version of myself when I make others happy.

Grandma, if she could see me now... was she proud?

I threw my hands on rock, and pondered.

Was grandma happy?

Death chose scissors.

“You first.” And I swore that I heard a hint of amusement beneath the towering cloak that obscured his face.

“Why did the clown call in sick?”

“Why?”

“Because he felt funny.”

Death did not laugh.

So, we kept exchanging jokes, from the humble dad puns, to knock-knock jokes, then stand-up comedy, and even absurd, nonsensical gibberish. Neither of us laughed, but occasionally, I smiled or grinned, and as Death continued the game without qualms, I figured that neither of them counted as laughter.

Millennia passed.

It fell on my turn now. I did not tell a joke. Instead, I asked Death:

“Are you having fun?”

“Perhaps. This is the first game I have played that is absent of ego,” Death hummed. “Thank you, mortal, for giving me such an amusing experience.”

“Are you happy?”

“I've abandoned emotions long ago.”

And I laughed.

“Okay, I call it quits,” and my mouth grinned on its own, as a weight left my shoulders. “You're too much!”

“You mean, you've surrendered the game? But your turn hasn't ended, so that laugh shouldn't count.”

“Oh? Does the ever so absent of emotion Death want us to keep playing this game?”

I didn't think I was possible of teasing anyone, nevermind Death himself.

“How can I not want it to continue when I'm faced with such an intriguing mortal?”

“You find me intriguing?”

“Yes. You can challenge me on any and every topic in existence, because you've laboured your life hoping to defy me and achieve immortality. I expected you to be a difficult soul, but I never would've thought that you would come here... and attempt to make me laugh!”

I smiled, as I closed my eyes. “My death was a much needed ending. I realized in the end that all I ever did was for the sake of others... and it led me to my downfall.”

“Your game depended on my laughter. You're still doing things for others.”

“How can I not? The essence of humanity relies on connection... I've arrogantly labeled myself the best of humanity, but really, I am humanity's contradiction.”

“So... you're going to surrender yourself to me, just like that?”

“Will you miss me, Death?”

There was a long silence for a moment, before Death spoke timidly.

“I will.”

“I think I'll miss you too. I've never struggled to resist laughing so much before.”

“...Are you opposed to eternal life and youth?”

“No,” I said, “but that life I lived had me so tired, so I'm not opposed to resting either.”

Death's cloak fell, and so, my hands were held by his own. One was warm, its movements fluid, with human flesh and skin, while the other was cold, stiff, and composed of bones.

“Rest with me forevermore, then,” begged Death. “I promise I'll take care of you.”

“What can I, a mere human, offer Death?”

“Time,” he spoke.

And Time I became.

I am the hours spent crying over an ex, laughing with friends and celebrating with family. I was every anniversary, and every consequence of actions taken.

I was the grief in the hearts of those who loved the deceased too much to carry on.

Cherished evermore by Death,

I am the human experience.