“Don’t be a stranger,” the man says, affable grin on his face. She lets his hand go and smiles back at him, watching as he walks away into the light.
The man has not been able to walk by himself for six months.
The man has been pronounced dead as of 4:37 this morning.
Her vision distorts as it usually does, back to the normal shades of gray that she sees the world. She is told that it’s usually the opposite for most psychopomps–at least the ones that bother with vision–but for her, the dead and the place they go to has always seemed more vibrant, more real than the monotony of everyday life.
She is in the custodian’s closet on the same floor as the man’s room, just down the hall. Crinkling her nose at the stench of cleaning supplies and soiled laundry, she rises from her prone position seated on an overturned bucket, and leaves the hospital.
The nurses don’t see her, or rather, don’t notice, just another faceless scrub-wearing member of their ranks shuffling along the graveyard shift. She appears frequently enough that the staff know her face, if not quite her purpose and definitely not her name. She will be back, eventually.
She has school in three hours.
A/N: Short drabble is short! But you got two yesterday so 😛
I do have an OC name for a psychopomp, though I’m unsure if I want this one to necessarily be her. Anyway, it’s Kira Val, (unsubtle valkyrie pun).