Free Death: A Life by George Pendle

“unloved” and boasting that the two of them were God’s favorites. It didn’t make them terribly popular.
    But God did like them. He was forever fooling around with them, playing hide-and-seek, laughing and singing with them. It was quite a sight to see the three of them—the two muscled young men and the all-powerful oscillating light—walking arm in arm across the earth together. Sometimes the three of them would disappear for hours and come back rosy cheeked and panting, as if from a long journey.
    I thought nothing of this. I was happy for God, so I simply continued with my work. I collected the souls of dead crickets and dead cauliflowers, dead rocks and dead sticks, dead tigers and dead elephants, dead everything. Every day a new creature would die, and I would make its acquaintance. To tell the truth, I liked meeting things and finding out how their lives had been, listening to what regrets they had and what they hoped for in the afterlife. In fact, all seemed well with the world, until I felt myself being drawn irresistibly toward the brothers’ fields.
     

    Cain and Abel: Games of “Uncle” Dragged on Forever Since Neither Knew What the Word Meant.
     
    Lying there on the ground, with blood streaming from his head, was Abel. A lamb was charring on the altar, a sacrifice to Him no doubt. Knowing how much the Creator thought of the boys, I began to feel slightly uneasy.
    “Speak to me, Abel,” I said, crouching down and resting his head on my lap. “What happened?”
    Abel coughed up a mouthful of blood and weakly whispered, “It was…”
    And then he died.
    I leaned over him, popped out his soul, and continued to listen.
    “…too dark to tell. I was busy tying up one of my stupid animals for sacrifice, and then nothing. Maybe I tripped.” He gestured toward his lifeless body. “Aw, look at me, my hair’s all mussed up.”
    I had already seen enough dying to know when foul play had occurred.
    “This was no accident, Abel,” I said. “Someone killed you.”
    “Killed me? But who? Why?”
    Whenever anything died there were always questions. Questions I couldn’t always answer.
    “Look at your skull,” I said to Abel, motioning him toward his former body. “That’s no accidental wound. Somebody hit you over the head with a rock, or some kind of club.”
    “A club?” Abel gaped. “What’s that?”
    The poor sap never even knew what hit him. I looked around and saw a thick branch that had been carved into a smaller, more manageable shape. Blood stained its tip.
    “That’s a club, Abel. I’ll start making some inquiries. In the meantime you’d better get going.”
    The Darkness began to envelop him.
    “Wait!” he cried. “You mean I don’t get to see who killed me? That’s a bit unfair.”
    Abel had a point. It was against the rules, sure, but this was a special case. Four humans had existed on Earth, and the murder rate was already 25 percent. I allowed him to tag along with me.
    Who would want to kill Abel? I asked myself. Who but everything in Creation. They all had a reason to dislike him. My first suspects were, of course, his animals. Abel had been a shepherd, and the bleating in the pasture said he was a harsh one. I had recognized the lamb being sacrificed—I had transmitted him into the great beyond only that afternoon, just another in the boy’s long line of sacrifices. He was called Cyril. He had been popular.
    My first stop was the cliff face above Abel’s farm. It was where the goats liked to sit.
    “Any of you kids know what happened to Abel?” I asked.
    “Get lost,” said a Ram, “We don’t want to hear about Abel. He’s always telling us where to go and what to eat. We’re sick of him.”
    “Sick enough to kill him?” I asked.
    That got their attention.
    “What do you mean? He’s dead?” bleated the Ram. I couldn’t tell whether he was feigning surprise or not.
    “Don’t play patsy with me,” I snapped. “The big man’s going to be disappointed,