a visit from the opera singer

a visit from the opera singer

fiction
edward w pritchard

As a carrier of the virus who couldn't die from the affliction I was often called by the elderly opera singer to formally introduce her to her latest group of victims living high in the luxury hotel where we all stayed. Despite mutual disdain of the elderly Diva I was forced over and over to knock on the
security doors of the wealthy residents and individually introduce each victim to the pancake makeup faced lady who would be their divine reaper of death. Entering a room the ancient opera singer of death stunk of musky spoiled perfumes and ages long past. As she entered a crowded room the opera singer instantly ruined the party. In time despite my neutral non complicity in the opera singers work and results the younger residents of our hotel began to call me a pimp and to shun me should we meet  in the hallways or the lunch room.

Sometimes at night in my hotel room waking late in the middle of a dark night I would hear the creaky old voice of the opera singer practicing her scales and crescendos and grieve for those who passed before us.