"Who are you trying to find?".
He was a man either in his early sixties or his late fifties. His hair, which looked like white fuzz, had begun to recede back into nothingness. He wore a plaid shirt that clearly displayed years of wear and brown, baggy pants that swayed with the breeze – had it not been for his belt, I'm sure that they would have fallen off a long time ago. He smiled at me and I could see multiple golden molars shining like crystalline rocks in a cavern. He was extremely short – maybe four foot seven – which was odd for a man his age. I was intrigued and decided to converse with him.
"No one in particular," I replied. "I was actually just passing by and wondered whether there was anyone I knew. This is a pretty small town and I've resided here for years, so I wouldn't be surprised if I did.".
"Do you have a name?".
"Are you asking for mine?".
He shook his head and smiled. It was a slight smile, a sympathetic one. "I meant for the deceased.".
I stared at him, confused and taken aback by his implication. I thought back on the very first time I heard of the concept of Death.
"Her name was Abigail.".
Her name was Abigail, but she referred to herself as Abby. I had seen her last about ten years ago, but I could still remember her features: she was younger than me by three years and number of months; if there was ever a physical manifestation of joviality, it was definitely her. Her auburn hair would glisten in the summer sun and glow in the winter snow. Her smile – to see her smile once more! – was one of innocence, the embodiment of an eternal youth. But this was her curse and she was fated to be forever young when her heart failed at the age of nine. I never attended her funeral or visited her grave – I just couldn't bring myself to do it. And so years passed, and I forgot about her until this moment, when an old man asked me.
