Immortality
By
LJ Jacobs
‘And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.’
-Revelation 9:6
‘Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.’
-William Shakespeare
1.
The Devil appeared at exactly the right time.
Vincent Llewelyn was feeling in a melancholic mood. Not because he was in the pit of poverty and couldn’t afford a meal or a roof over his head, or because he had no partner or family to love him; he was feeling down because life couldn’t be more perfect.
Truth be told, life was too good - the ultimate definition of perfection - and he didn’t want it to go on without him. At seventy-four, with chronic asthma, creeping arthritis and an enlarged heart the size of the Albert Hall, he knew that seeing more years was as unlikely now as seeing peace in the Middle East.
Although Vincent was a wealthy man, he’d never looked after his health. He’d always been a white-collar worker - and because of his stationary life and having access to the best restaurants and the best food money could buy, he was hefty, and this contributed greatly to his crumbling joints and poor mobility, as well as his other ailments.
The one thing he now desired more than anything was the one thing his riches could never buy: immortality with renewed health. He would daydream about it regularly.
He’d worked hard all his life to create a business empire worth billions; to build a big mansion on a plot of land the size of a tiny island; to marry gorgeous prenup arranged brides and raise two beautiful teenage daughters. His life was filled with love, lust, luxury and entertainment, and he wanted to live longer to enjoy it all without the looming inevitability of illness and death.
“Christ, what I wouldn’t give for a bit more life and no pain,” he said aloud, while driving his golf buggy through the expansive grounds of his mansion, admiring the lavish lawns and large carp ponds with cherub water fountains at their centre.
This was when he met the gardener. But not his usual gardener…
2.
He remembered later that it had been the clothes that had confused him. All gardeners pretty much wore the same thing – wax jackets, brown corduroys pants and wellington boots – and it was no different with the figure before him now.
“Once you’ve done that, Dennis, you can empty the shit from the pond filters,” shouted Vincent, still driving but slowing down as he approached.
The golf buggy crawled to a stop and he fumbled out with his walking sticks. He stopped suddenly and started blinking. He realised he’d made a mistake. “Wait a moment! You’re not Dennis! Where’s Dennis, the regular guy? Did hard work finally get the better of the lazy little sod?”
This new gardener looked as ancient as Moses and walked gingerly along the flower beds towards a waiting wheelbarrow. He had a bunch of fresh weeds to get rid of. Vincent couldn’t imagine him being able to do much work around here with having what appeared to be an even frailer body than himself. But the wheelbarrow was full, so he must have been doing some work! But, God, he looked so old and walked very slow… He was so stiff he looked like a robot.
Maybe the stiffness is because the old guy has been stuck in one position for too long, thought Vincent. I suppose it happens - especially to gardeners and groundsmen. It must be what they call an occupational hazard.
“Dennis is sick,” croaked the old man, finally reaching the wheelbarrow. “The agency sent me instead. My name’s Damon. Damon De Ville. You must be the owner, Vincent Llewelyn!” He threw the weeds on top of the others in the wheelbarrow, took off a soil-stained glove and offered a bare bony hand for Vincent to shake. He was smiling and showed yellow teeth.
Vincent hesitated at first. He just looked at the outstretch hand with contempt. Then he slowly took it. “I offer the handshakes around here,” he said, coldly, “but since you’re new, I’ll let it pass. You’re lucky I’m too tired to raise my voice today.”
“I apologise unreservedly,” said De Ville, still smiling.
It unnerved Vincent that he continued to smile. Did he not feel shame and embarrassment? He had a feeling this particular worker would be trouble on the estate.
“I’ll remember my place in future,” said De Ville.
“Yes, you should,” said Vincent, wiping his hands on a handkerchief while resting his walking sticks on his large hips. “Anyway, what’s wrong with the usual groundsman?”
“He couldn’t stand his employer being so rude to him anymore,” said De Ville, still smiling. “Things like that don’t bother me, though. The gardening agency know that I care nothing for grandstanding. It is like water off a duck’s back. After all, we all go to the same place, don’t we?”
Vincent couldn’t believe the gall of the man. How could he say such things to a superior, both in wealth and genes?
“I must say you have a beautiful place here, Mr Llewelyn,” said De Ville, changing the subject of etiquette. “You must be incredibly pleased with your lot in life…”
“I should say that it’s a no speaking unless spoken to policy here, Mr De Ville. But, again, I’ll let it slide today.” Vincent suddenly became the proud man he presented himself as when he was out amongst equals. “As it so happens, yes, I am proud of what I’ve achieved in my many years on this planet. I usually take the golf buggy around the grounds on an afternoon to remind myself of how lucky I truly am. Though I must say that good breeding certainly played a part in my success. Unfortunately, the golf buggy is reminding me more and more of how fragile my body is, how old I’m getting and how I won’t be able to appreciate anything that I’ve earned much longer. Age is a bastard isn’t it, Mr De Ville? You must be feeling it, too. We can’t be that much different in age.”
De Ville opened his mouth to answer, when Vincent suddenly started to cough, highlighting that serious ailments were indeed below the surface. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and brought out an inhaler. He took two long puffs and stayed silent for a moment to let the medicine take effect, replacing the applicator as he closed his eyes and held his breath.
De Ville didn’t interrupt him. He simply knelt onto a spongy mat at his feet and continued his work. He replaced his glove and started to trim overgrown vines with a pair of secateurs.
Only after Vincent exhaled and smiled did De Ville give his reply. “Some days, Mr Llewelyn, I hurt just getting out of bed in the morning. I’d give anything to live forever with a renewed vitality. Do you feel like that?”
De Ville stopped cutting the thorny stems and stared at Vincent over his shoulder. His eyes were pitch black and unblinking and his pointed gaze was piercing, as if he could see into Vincent’s mind!
Vincent felt uneasy and he looked away quickly. “Yes,” he said, finally, “I’d love to live forever. In fact, I’d give my soul.”
“And that’s all you would want?” asked De Ville, still staring
“Yes,” said Vincent, “that’s all. That and my ailments gone, of course.”
De Ville dropped the secateurs and rose carefully. His face suddenly started to change. The features became sharper and more pointed. His skin turned to scarlet and black thorns burst out of his temples and rose high above his crown. He looked mean and nasty. He grew tall, towering above Vincent, and his shadow cast long over the overweight businessman. Torn clothes hung loosely from his body like rags.
Is he some kind of a demon? thought Vincent, urine trickling down the inside of his leg. A… devil? Maybe, The Devil!
Of course! he thought, suddenly snapping out of his naivety, his name is Damon De Ville! How did I not see that! Damon De Ville is really a… demon devil!
“Mr Llewelyn,” said the creature, now in a deep growl, with dark smoke streaming out of its flaring nostrils, “I could make that wish a possibility, if you’d like? I could make you live forever and let you enjoy and experience everything you’ve ever made and accumulated for many more years to come!”
“I know I’m not dreaming,” said Vincent, assuredly, “and I’ve never had a mental health issue or experienced any hallucinations in my life, so I believe you are real, Mr De Ville. I must therefore be mad to pass on such a glorious opportunity as this. But what’s the catch?”
De Ville looked hurt.
“There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” said Vincent.
De Ville smiled a knowing smile. “Obviously, I would want your soul, Mr Llewelyn. That’s all!”
Vincent looked confused. “But how can you have my soul if I’m to live forever?” he said, impatiently.
“Ah, but it would be your eternal prayers rather than your actual soul I would require, Mr Llewelyn. I grow stronger and more powerful with the prayers of my ever-increasing flock. The cries and hails sound like sweet music to me. Please tell me you’ll join that choir…”
“I would love to join your flock, Mr De Ville,” said Vincent, offering his hand.
De Ville went to shake it but hesitated. “There’s no going back, Mr Llewelyn. You do know that, don’t you? God, I’ve found, tends to go missing once you’ve… crossed the floor to the other side, so to speak…”
Vincent Llewelyn thought for a moment, then smiled and gave a firm nod, thinking about a happy infinite future, and grabbed the red bony hand with the sharp black claws.
“Welcome aboard, Mr Llewelyn,” hissed De Ville, “your prayers now belong to me.”
Immediately, Vincent began to feel healthier. His aches and pains disappeared and the breathlessness that had been torturing him for years was gone.
“You will always look this age, Mr Llewelyn,” warned De Ville, “but you will not be immune from external pain. You can get hurt like an ordinary man, but you will never die. Enjoy your time and your possessions.”
There was a blinding flash of light, and when Vincent could see again, the demon - The Devil - was gone. Where he once stood, only a patch of scorched earth remained and a strong smell of sulphur hung heavy in the air.
3.
Vincent Llewelyn did indeed live forever.
He saw his daughters grow, become strong independent women, marry and create businesses as successful as his own.
He saw their children, and their children’s children. And their children’s children! It got to a point where he had no emotional tie to his line anymore.
So, he had more wives and more children. He had more divorces and outlived his descendants yet again.
He lived long enough to spend all his wealth, regain it, then lose it again. This became a cycle. In the end, he thought he deliberately lost his money just so he’d have something to do building it back up again.
Finally, after many hundreds of years of repeating himself, he became depressed and began drinking too much. One day, during a particularly low point, he simply walked out of his bedsit and went and lived on the streets.
While Vincent Llewelyn was living his never-ending life on Earth, an ecological disaster was looming in the background. Volcanic activity was increasing, toxic gases were escaping and lava seas were developing. The world was turning into a hell like environment.
All life on Earth died in agony in the raging fires and smoke that eventually came forth. All life, that was, apart from Vincent Llewelyn.
He stood on a small piece of land not yet eaten by the encroaching lava. The size of the area was at most four feet by four feet. Spits and splashes of lava spurted up randomly and he dodged them as best he could, but one managed to hit his shin, instantly burrowing into the fabric and flesh below with a smoky sizzle. The pain was excruciating.
“Oww, oww,” he wailed. “Shit, that fucking hurt!”
Within ten seconds the wound, and the intense pain, were gone, like he knew they would be.
Thank the Lord - no, thank The Devil, he thought, for my infinite life and the ability to renew.
Another splash of lava hit him with a hiss.
He screamed in agony, but once again healed like before.
This happened two more times before his clothes caught fire. There was no room on the ground to drop and roll and the lava was now edging towards his toes.
“I’m fucked!” screamed Vincent, the reality of the situation now dawning on him. “If the environment is constantly wounding me, then I’ll never have time to heal. Then…”
He gulped as the flames engulfed his head and the lava ate his feet.
“Then… I’ll forever be in pain!” he bellowed. “Oh, God, no! Please don’t let this happen to me. Please save me, oh, Lord!”
In the distance, above the roar of the flames and the lava were more screams and wails.
Are there others like me? thought Vincent, though his ability to think was fast declining. “Yes, there must be others like me who also sold their souls…”
No, not souls, thought Vincent, prayers. De Ville said he wanted eternal prayers. The type of eternal prayers that sound like cries and hails! Cries and hails from…from… pain. ‘…for they sound like sweet music to me,’ he had said.
Jesus Christ…
He imagined the kinds of people who were now burning. They would be the sinful like him. They would be the envious, the gluttonous, the greedy, the lustful, the proud, the lazy and the angry, who stupidly saw their sins as virtues, wanting them to continue.
He wanted to die. He’d never been the type of person who’d ever thought of suicide before, but now he wanted to die.
“Oh, Lord, please let me die. Please hear my pleas and let me die…”
The pain was too much now. All he could do was squeal, thrash and rive in the sea of molten rock, as his flesh healed and burned, burned and healed and healed and burned some more.
What was it DeVille had also said?
‘I grow stronger and more powerful with the cries and hails of my ever-increasing flock! Please tell me you’ll join that choir…’
The cries and hails filled the blood red sky and the rotten sulphuric air, and Vincent Llewelyn no longer had the clear metal ability to tell which screams were others and which were his.
LJ Jacobs was born in Chester, England and raised in North Wales. He lives in a small Welsh hamlet and enjoys the quiet life with his lovely family.
He enjoys playing and listening to music as well as writing.
He’s contributed to numerous anthologies and online journals with publishers such as Mind’s Eye Publications, Wicked Shadow Press, redrosethorns, New Edition, Theaker’s Quarterly and Culture Cult.
He hopes to collect his work for his own anthology one day.
By
LJ Jacobs
‘And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.’
-Revelation 9:6
‘Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me.’
-William Shakespeare
1.
The Devil appeared at exactly the right time.
Vincent Llewelyn was feeling in a melancholic mood. Not because he was in the pit of poverty and couldn’t afford a meal or a roof over his head, or because he had no partner or family to love him; he was feeling down because life couldn’t be more perfect.
Truth be told, life was too good - the ultimate definition of perfection - and he didn’t want it to go on without him. At seventy-four, with chronic asthma, creeping arthritis and an enlarged heart the size of the Albert Hall, he knew that seeing more years was as unlikely now as seeing peace in the Middle East.
Although Vincent was a wealthy man, he’d never looked after his health. He’d always been a white-collar worker - and because of his stationary life and having access to the best restaurants and the best food money could buy, he was hefty, and this contributed greatly to his crumbling joints and poor mobility, as well as his other ailments.
The one thing he now desired more than anything was the one thing his riches could never buy: immortality with renewed health. He would daydream about it regularly.
He’d worked hard all his life to create a business empire worth billions; to build a big mansion on a plot of land the size of a tiny island; to marry gorgeous prenup arranged brides and raise two beautiful teenage daughters. His life was filled with love, lust, luxury and entertainment, and he wanted to live longer to enjoy it all without the looming inevitability of illness and death.
“Christ, what I wouldn’t give for a bit more life and no pain,” he said aloud, while driving his golf buggy through the expansive grounds of his mansion, admiring the lavish lawns and large carp ponds with cherub water fountains at their centre.
This was when he met the gardener. But not his usual gardener…
2.
He remembered later that it had been the clothes that had confused him. All gardeners pretty much wore the same thing – wax jackets, brown corduroys pants and wellington boots – and it was no different with the figure before him now.
“Once you’ve done that, Dennis, you can empty the shit from the pond filters,” shouted Vincent, still driving but slowing down as he approached.
The golf buggy crawled to a stop and he fumbled out with his walking sticks. He stopped suddenly and started blinking. He realised he’d made a mistake. “Wait a moment! You’re not Dennis! Where’s Dennis, the regular guy? Did hard work finally get the better of the lazy little sod?”
This new gardener looked as ancient as Moses and walked gingerly along the flower beds towards a waiting wheelbarrow. He had a bunch of fresh weeds to get rid of. Vincent couldn’t imagine him being able to do much work around here with having what appeared to be an even frailer body than himself. But the wheelbarrow was full, so he must have been doing some work! But, God, he looked so old and walked very slow… He was so stiff he looked like a robot.
Maybe the stiffness is because the old guy has been stuck in one position for too long, thought Vincent. I suppose it happens - especially to gardeners and groundsmen. It must be what they call an occupational hazard.
“Dennis is sick,” croaked the old man, finally reaching the wheelbarrow. “The agency sent me instead. My name’s Damon. Damon De Ville. You must be the owner, Vincent Llewelyn!” He threw the weeds on top of the others in the wheelbarrow, took off a soil-stained glove and offered a bare bony hand for Vincent to shake. He was smiling and showed yellow teeth.
Vincent hesitated at first. He just looked at the outstretch hand with contempt. Then he slowly took it. “I offer the handshakes around here,” he said, coldly, “but since you’re new, I’ll let it pass. You’re lucky I’m too tired to raise my voice today.”
“I apologise unreservedly,” said De Ville, still smiling.
It unnerved Vincent that he continued to smile. Did he not feel shame and embarrassment? He had a feeling this particular worker would be trouble on the estate.
“I’ll remember my place in future,” said De Ville.
“Yes, you should,” said Vincent, wiping his hands on a handkerchief while resting his walking sticks on his large hips. “Anyway, what’s wrong with the usual groundsman?”
“He couldn’t stand his employer being so rude to him anymore,” said De Ville, still smiling. “Things like that don’t bother me, though. The gardening agency know that I care nothing for grandstanding. It is like water off a duck’s back. After all, we all go to the same place, don’t we?”
Vincent couldn’t believe the gall of the man. How could he say such things to a superior, both in wealth and genes?
“I must say you have a beautiful place here, Mr Llewelyn,” said De Ville, changing the subject of etiquette. “You must be incredibly pleased with your lot in life…”
“I should say that it’s a no speaking unless spoken to policy here, Mr De Ville. But, again, I’ll let it slide today.” Vincent suddenly became the proud man he presented himself as when he was out amongst equals. “As it so happens, yes, I am proud of what I’ve achieved in my many years on this planet. I usually take the golf buggy around the grounds on an afternoon to remind myself of how lucky I truly am. Though I must say that good breeding certainly played a part in my success. Unfortunately, the golf buggy is reminding me more and more of how fragile my body is, how old I’m getting and how I won’t be able to appreciate anything that I’ve earned much longer. Age is a bastard isn’t it, Mr De Ville? You must be feeling it, too. We can’t be that much different in age.”
De Ville opened his mouth to answer, when Vincent suddenly started to cough, highlighting that serious ailments were indeed below the surface. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and brought out an inhaler. He took two long puffs and stayed silent for a moment to let the medicine take effect, replacing the applicator as he closed his eyes and held his breath.
De Ville didn’t interrupt him. He simply knelt onto a spongy mat at his feet and continued his work. He replaced his glove and started to trim overgrown vines with a pair of secateurs.
Only after Vincent exhaled and smiled did De Ville give his reply. “Some days, Mr Llewelyn, I hurt just getting out of bed in the morning. I’d give anything to live forever with a renewed vitality. Do you feel like that?”
De Ville stopped cutting the thorny stems and stared at Vincent over his shoulder. His eyes were pitch black and unblinking and his pointed gaze was piercing, as if he could see into Vincent’s mind!
Vincent felt uneasy and he looked away quickly. “Yes,” he said, finally, “I’d love to live forever. In fact, I’d give my soul.”
“And that’s all you would want?” asked De Ville, still staring
“Yes,” said Vincent, “that’s all. That and my ailments gone, of course.”
De Ville dropped the secateurs and rose carefully. His face suddenly started to change. The features became sharper and more pointed. His skin turned to scarlet and black thorns burst out of his temples and rose high above his crown. He looked mean and nasty. He grew tall, towering above Vincent, and his shadow cast long over the overweight businessman. Torn clothes hung loosely from his body like rags.
Is he some kind of a demon? thought Vincent, urine trickling down the inside of his leg. A… devil? Maybe, The Devil!
Of course! he thought, suddenly snapping out of his naivety, his name is Damon De Ville! How did I not see that! Damon De Ville is really a… demon devil!
“Mr Llewelyn,” said the creature, now in a deep growl, with dark smoke streaming out of its flaring nostrils, “I could make that wish a possibility, if you’d like? I could make you live forever and let you enjoy and experience everything you’ve ever made and accumulated for many more years to come!”
“I know I’m not dreaming,” said Vincent, assuredly, “and I’ve never had a mental health issue or experienced any hallucinations in my life, so I believe you are real, Mr De Ville. I must therefore be mad to pass on such a glorious opportunity as this. But what’s the catch?”
De Ville looked hurt.
“There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” said Vincent.
De Ville smiled a knowing smile. “Obviously, I would want your soul, Mr Llewelyn. That’s all!”
Vincent looked confused. “But how can you have my soul if I’m to live forever?” he said, impatiently.
“Ah, but it would be your eternal prayers rather than your actual soul I would require, Mr Llewelyn. I grow stronger and more powerful with the prayers of my ever-increasing flock. The cries and hails sound like sweet music to me. Please tell me you’ll join that choir…”
“I would love to join your flock, Mr De Ville,” said Vincent, offering his hand.
De Ville went to shake it but hesitated. “There’s no going back, Mr Llewelyn. You do know that, don’t you? God, I’ve found, tends to go missing once you’ve… crossed the floor to the other side, so to speak…”
Vincent Llewelyn thought for a moment, then smiled and gave a firm nod, thinking about a happy infinite future, and grabbed the red bony hand with the sharp black claws.
“Welcome aboard, Mr Llewelyn,” hissed De Ville, “your prayers now belong to me.”
Immediately, Vincent began to feel healthier. His aches and pains disappeared and the breathlessness that had been torturing him for years was gone.
“You will always look this age, Mr Llewelyn,” warned De Ville, “but you will not be immune from external pain. You can get hurt like an ordinary man, but you will never die. Enjoy your time and your possessions.”
There was a blinding flash of light, and when Vincent could see again, the demon - The Devil - was gone. Where he once stood, only a patch of scorched earth remained and a strong smell of sulphur hung heavy in the air.
3.
Vincent Llewelyn did indeed live forever.
He saw his daughters grow, become strong independent women, marry and create businesses as successful as his own.
He saw their children, and their children’s children. And their children’s children! It got to a point where he had no emotional tie to his line anymore.
So, he had more wives and more children. He had more divorces and outlived his descendants yet again.
He lived long enough to spend all his wealth, regain it, then lose it again. This became a cycle. In the end, he thought he deliberately lost his money just so he’d have something to do building it back up again.
Finally, after many hundreds of years of repeating himself, he became depressed and began drinking too much. One day, during a particularly low point, he simply walked out of his bedsit and went and lived on the streets.
While Vincent Llewelyn was living his never-ending life on Earth, an ecological disaster was looming in the background. Volcanic activity was increasing, toxic gases were escaping and lava seas were developing. The world was turning into a hell like environment.
All life on Earth died in agony in the raging fires and smoke that eventually came forth. All life, that was, apart from Vincent Llewelyn.
He stood on a small piece of land not yet eaten by the encroaching lava. The size of the area was at most four feet by four feet. Spits and splashes of lava spurted up randomly and he dodged them as best he could, but one managed to hit his shin, instantly burrowing into the fabric and flesh below with a smoky sizzle. The pain was excruciating.
“Oww, oww,” he wailed. “Shit, that fucking hurt!”
Within ten seconds the wound, and the intense pain, were gone, like he knew they would be.
Thank the Lord - no, thank The Devil, he thought, for my infinite life and the ability to renew.
Another splash of lava hit him with a hiss.
He screamed in agony, but once again healed like before.
This happened two more times before his clothes caught fire. There was no room on the ground to drop and roll and the lava was now edging towards his toes.
“I’m fucked!” screamed Vincent, the reality of the situation now dawning on him. “If the environment is constantly wounding me, then I’ll never have time to heal. Then…”
He gulped as the flames engulfed his head and the lava ate his feet.
“Then… I’ll forever be in pain!” he bellowed. “Oh, God, no! Please don’t let this happen to me. Please save me, oh, Lord!”
In the distance, above the roar of the flames and the lava were more screams and wails.
Are there others like me? thought Vincent, though his ability to think was fast declining. “Yes, there must be others like me who also sold their souls…”
No, not souls, thought Vincent, prayers. De Ville said he wanted eternal prayers. The type of eternal prayers that sound like cries and hails! Cries and hails from…from… pain. ‘…for they sound like sweet music to me,’ he had said.
Jesus Christ…
He imagined the kinds of people who were now burning. They would be the sinful like him. They would be the envious, the gluttonous, the greedy, the lustful, the proud, the lazy and the angry, who stupidly saw their sins as virtues, wanting them to continue.
He wanted to die. He’d never been the type of person who’d ever thought of suicide before, but now he wanted to die.
“Oh, Lord, please let me die. Please hear my pleas and let me die…”
The pain was too much now. All he could do was squeal, thrash and rive in the sea of molten rock, as his flesh healed and burned, burned and healed and healed and burned some more.
What was it DeVille had also said?
‘I grow stronger and more powerful with the cries and hails of my ever-increasing flock! Please tell me you’ll join that choir…’
The cries and hails filled the blood red sky and the rotten sulphuric air, and Vincent Llewelyn no longer had the clear metal ability to tell which screams were others and which were his.
LJ Jacobs was born in Chester, England and raised in North Wales. He lives in a small Welsh hamlet and enjoys the quiet life with his lovely family.
He enjoys playing and listening to music as well as writing.
He’s contributed to numerous anthologies and online journals with publishers such as Mind’s Eye Publications, Wicked Shadow Press, redrosethorns, New Edition, Theaker’s Quarterly and Culture Cult.
He hopes to collect his work for his own anthology one day.
