The sun illuminates the whole of the city. An hour from now, it will happen. A bus and a cab will collide causing three casualties, the cab's passenger, the driver and one crossing pedestrian—Sands.

Walking the streets of New York is always good for a change of pace. At this time in the morning, the avenues and boulevards are congested with people, especially around the Time Square where major streets intersect, also making it one of the world's busiest pedestrians. Massive billboards and live broadcasts or advertisements from a number of large digital screens are seen even from a distance, earning the title of one of the major centers for the entertainment industry globally.

On a sidewalk, I await for the bus routing West 47th Street. I check my wristwatch. It's 07:43. Three more minutes.

The cab's driver will be crushed between the wheels and the seat resulting in his instant death. The cab's passenger will survive the impact but will die arriving at the hospital due to a severe head injury. Luck is on the side of the bus driver and passengers, no casualties waiting for them. Regardless, luck doesn't play a part if someone is fated to die.

If all sands vanish, it's the end; if it's your time, it's your time.

The passenger is an aspiring model, the driver is a family man, and a well-known personality aiming the heights only few have a chance to achieve. Each having a name. Each name carries a dream that will never be reached because their fate says so.

07:46. Screeching tires come first, then a loud crash is heard in the vicinity of the square.

While remembering Sands in his suit last night, I see his lifeless body lying on the road. His crimson blood spreads across, head rammed on the pavement crushing his skull, deformed upper body and gouged organs. But I feel nothing.

People keep on pouring to the scene causing commotions around the accident scene. Reporters come continuously as the news circulates around the square like wildfire. Police and fire department arrive to control the curious crowd. And after a few minutes, the blaring of the ambulance siren follows.

Sands' death is just another example of a life that was lived, but didn't reach a desired pinnacle. A life set to reach a greater height, but his contract with life is over. Too bad, there's no time for negotiation.

I have already ferried billions of souls. It makes no difference guiding three at once. In fact, there are more incidents that are graver which makes their death just a miniscule fragment on a broader scale of things. To put it simple, I have seen worse.

I leave the scene collecting their souls. Sands vanish, what a coincidence. Three hourglasses emptied. Three more souls going to the Realm.

No matter how beautiful a life you've lived, it is all inconsequential in the end. No one has a chance to outlive their fate. No one has the power to escape death. To escape me.

My wandering leads me a few blocks away from the square, to my next guy, Laye, an adolescent in his late teenage years who was born with severe heart complications. Ah, I need rest. Seriously, my job never stops. And it never will.

Every morning, after waking up, Laye just stares on the ceiling, studying the slowly moving shadows of the window muntins. He just stays still, not moving an inch, earnestly breathing beneath the blanket covering the whole of his body. Slowly, he gets up and breathes a sigh of relief. Making the bed and stretching before anything else have been his habit. And muttering something as he closes his eyes has always been his thing, I believe it is something like a ritual, or a mantra expressing gratefulness for waking up again.

"Good morning, Laye," I greet.

"Oh, hey. Good morning." He rubs his eyes while yawning, then proceeds on opening the window. "Since when did all the cars stop moving?"

I take the remote and turn the television on. The screen shows what happened earlier. "Might be a traffic jam. There was an accident in the Square."

"Mr. Molver, really? The one who has his face flashed all over the city?"

"Yes."

Watching the news, he has this mixed disgusted and staggered face. His body language also expresses dejection after knowing what Sands went through. "Oh, shit! That is a bad way to die. Terrible!"

"Yeah, and I just talked to him last night, too."

"That makes it worse for you, then. I'm sorry."

"No. Not at all. Actually, I'm used to it."

He shrugs his shoulders and walks by the window. "What is it? All cars are literally not moving. Still. Like time has also stopped. Look."

I look out the window. No honking of horns. Branches of the tree in the front yard is not swaying, even the leaves are not falling. Time is halted.

"That can only mean one thing, then."

"What?"

"I will be frank with you since you're too passive and such. What's happening right now is something either you or I set off. You're experiencing a Glimpse of Death."

"Glimpse of Death? That's cool. Like in the stories and movies? Something like that?"

"Indeed. The only difference is that I am real."

His face casts fascination, looking at me with awe. "So you are the Grim Reaper, the personified form of Death? The one tasked to collect souls to ferry them on the other side? That explains how you got in. That's cool. You're cool, mister...?"

There are many situations like this where timed people show neither fear nor confusion upon meeting me. Vibing and chilling as people call it. Just accepting what might happen and yielding to the atmosphere created by the temporary suspension of time.

"I don't have a name. I don't really need one. Feel free to call me whatever you want."

"All right. If you say so, Mr. Gloves and Sleeves," he responds. "No, no, no, that's too lengthy. Gloves and sleeves... How about Mr. Gleeves?"

Gloves and long sleeves, my standard requisite for dressing. It is to protect humans from direct contact, better to be sure than sorry. I am not into fashion. I find them bothersome. So as long as I wear all-black, I'm all set. Nobody can change my mind.

"That should be fine, kiddo," I approve.

"So am I now literally experiencing a near death experience? You know what I'm saying?"

"I've been hearing that often these days it's getting stale, but yes. I am Death. By the way, nice meeting you again, Laye."

"Thanks. I guess there's no need for me to introduce myself here, right?

"Precisely."

He heads on the fixed beddings and lies down, his feet not touching the vinyl flooring. Then, he moves his leg back and forth, hitting the base of his bed. "What I find a little bit odd is the frozen cars below and the news currently telling us what happened out there. Will you explain that to me, Mr. Gleeves?"

"The cars seem completely still, but they are moving in succinct increments not visible to the eye. The reporter talking on the screen is proof that you are still in the real world. The contrasting phenomena you observe is created by your mind, to show you that what is happening here is not affecting the natural flow of time for the others. That is because within this very moment, you are experiencing phantasmagoria, in which your brain stimulates some vague information. Or should I say, time for you is moving at a very slow pace. This is to comfort your conscious mind and ready you for the shock of knowing that you are about to die once your time recommences."

"I don't understand any of that. But fine, if you say so." He stretches his left arm upward with his palm parallel to the ceiling, then closes his hand as if making a fist. "I knew it. The life I always wanted is something I can't get. It appears to me that living a normal life is not very normal."

I watched how he lived through treatments, but there is just no cure, only continuous medications that cost his family quite some fortunes. Living a life restricting himself from fully enjoying his youth, not doing the expected things his age are usually doing. Worrying just about every night if he will awaken for tomorrow. I saw the sadness in his eyes every time he discerned that he was just not meant to live a normal life.

"Quite a life you had there. I suggest that you pat yourself on the back. You did a good job."

"So... when is it?" asks Laye.

"Tomorrow, in your sleep."

"I won't sleep."

"Not possible. You won't even know that you talked to me."

"If that's the case, then why are we having this conversation? It's unnecessary. I mean, what's the point if I am not going to remember this? So I won't even have a chance to say goodbye to my family, are you getting me?"

"Yes. I have been asked like that almost all the time. It's for me to know what are the present outlooks of humans upon dying. To establish a connection between the physical world and the other side. As of this moment, I am talking to your soul."

He sighs and leans himself on the side, then eagerly asks me, "Is there a way to cheat death?"

"None. There is no way to cheat death. Whether you like it or not, there is no escaping fate that awaits you." I take his hourglass and show it to him. "Here is your hourglass. The amount of sands on top is your remaining time. Slowly, all the sand will fall indicating the end of your life."

"So I'm really screwed! Oh, man. What did I even do to deserve this? Seems my being born was just a joke. I was brought into this world, then I'd die without even realizing what I really want to do with my life. That's terrible. I am terrible."

Laye is just like many people who are living a hard life, continuing every day, choosing to fight, and at the end of the day, solemnly seeking for quietude. What other choice do they have, really? Living an endless cycle only I can take. Somehow, I feel pity, but most of the time, I envy them. They have means of breaking free.

"I hope I can do something. But that would be defying the Natural Order." These are words that, obviously, cannot do much. But at least, I tried to lighten up his load.

"Keep the terminologies, Mr. Gleeves. I just want to know if this other side is the afterlife. Is there an afterlife? Heaven, hell? Where do I belong? I want to know real bad."

"Sadly, I don't have an answer to your question. I don't exist to bestow judgement for people upon their passing. I am just a mere entity that guides souls finding their way to the other side. Well, if you really want to know, you'll find out shortly."

"Damn. Never had a chance to eat a whole pizza. Never will."

"You never know," I say as I fade from his sight. The cars continue to move, branches sway and leaves fall to the ground. Laye walks towards the stairs and gets down as he yawns.

He never knows. This night will be his final night. Laye feasts on foods that are prohibited for him. Fats, sugar, salt, you name it. This serves as his parting meal. Unlike Sands that has his life already set in stone, Laye would die without even realizing what his dream is.

His eyes never open. Laye dies, and probably while still dreaming.