text: Alaric sat on a hard stone park bench across from an old man. He’d never seen the man before when he roamed the park and Alaric roamed the park often enough to recognize regulars. Like the woman who walked her beagle while wearing heels every night like clockwork. He hadn’t seen her this night but had shrugged it off to greedily accept the old man’s offer of a game. Alaric hadn’t had real friends in years, perhaps in his whole life, and actual companionship in his position was so hard to come by that he had never willingly passed it up. So there he sat, contemplating his move in the middle of central park. For a late summer evening, the park was completely empty besides the two of them. He thought about the lady in heels or the man who played saxophone under one of the bridges. He bit his lip, wondering why the park was empty, before reaching out to put his coin into the connect-four slot, listening to it ping against the plastic. He grinned at his partner. “You’re not going to win.” “Perhaps I do not want to win, young man.” The old man, he never learned his name, winked at him as he contemplated his moves. Alaric studied his companion, taking in the soft wrinkly skin that drooped from his face and the milky color of his blue eyes. Small puffs of white hair nestled on his head like a crown. It gave the man the appearance of an old forgotten king. Not for the first time, he wondered why the old man was playing connect four at a park bench in New York City. He shrugged off his questions as the man dropped his puck into a slot. Darn. The two of them were squared off across the board and the old man hadn’t left him any useable moves. If he placed his coin into any of the slots, it wasn’t likely he’d hit the four blue circles of victory. At least, not that he could see. Alaric raked a tan hand through his amber waves. “What are you waiting for?” The old man asked, peering through the holes of the game board at Alaric. The rings of the game circled his eyes perfectly, forcing him to stifle a chuckle at the old man with blue glasses. “I’m waiting for the right move to come to me.” Alaric gave the man a strong nod as he finally made his decision and then slipped his blue coin into the farthest slot. It ruined his companion’s ability to finish his straight line of blue and if he managed to convince the old man to put his puck into the open slot a few rows over, he might have a chance of winning. “What’re you waiting for?” The old man sighed. His whole body heaved with it and Alaric thought the man might fall over. Do I have to call the cops if he passes out from my question? “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I’m fine just playing with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve just sat and played a game. Don’t got many friends.” Alaric gave the man a weak smile. He brushed away the thoughts of his haunted childhood, the lonely teenage nights, and most recently, the alcohol-filled nights where he pretended to have friends who in reality didn’t care for him. He just had people who fueled his addictions at his expense. That’s what had brought him to the park in the first place. Alaric just wanted to be close to nature. At least, as close as one could get to nature when they didn’t have a car and lived in the city that never sleeps. He used the word lived loosely since most people didn’t consider living in a cardboard box under the Brooklyn Bridge ‘living’. “It is fine, dear boy. I have lived a very long life and I am just waiting...” He trailed off as he dropped the red puck into the slot a few rows over. Alaric grinned and whooped before reaching out and dropping his blue coin above it. He eyed the blue line happily. It was the first achievement, abate a small one, that he’d had in years. Offering his hand out for a shake, Alaric tilted his head at his curious companion. “Thanks for the game, sir. This was fun.” The old man shook his hand as he stood up. The man was a good foot taller than Alaric and he gaped at the frailty that was stretched so tall. A small voice wondered if the man would fly away at the first real big wind gust. Wind or rain were usually what caused him to lose his home, he thought bitterly. “Do you still wish to know what I am waiting for?” His partner pulled him out of his dark thoughts and gave him a toothy grin. “Sure, but then I really need to get going. It’s almost dinner time.” He peeked behind the man to see the orangey hue of late evening. Alaric couldn’t be late to the soup kitchen or there wouldn’t be food left. How did it get so late? “I have been waiting centuries for someone to beat me so that I could do this.” The old man reached behind him and pulled out a long scythe. “Congratulations. You are the new reaper. Good luck.” He thrust the weapon into Alaric’s hand and poofed out of sight. Spinning around, Alaric realized that he wasn’t in Central Park but was standing next to colossal gates that separated him from a large expanse of black rolling hills and dead trees. A small woman with long blond hair stood to his right. She gave him a broad smile and wrinkled her nose in delight. Karen gestured at the gates which started to creak open. “Hello, Master Alaric. I’m Persephone’s personal assistant - Karen. I’m here to welcome to hell, sir... We’ve been waiting for you.