The Messenger and the Disciple: A Reflection on Hemingway's Death

"It’s up to you now."

[🎧 The audio version is available at the bottom of the page.] ⬇

(Scene: By the Sea at Sunset. YOU sit on the rocks, staring into the vast horizon. A SHADOWY FIGURE in a black cloak approaches from behind, pausing a few steps away.)

You: You’re here, finally.

Figure: Yes. But not for the reason you think. It’s not time yet.

You: I don’t mind. You’re a fitting companion for these last hours of my life.

Figure: How is everything?

You: All settled. Nothing left undone—thanks to you.

Figure: I didn’t do much. I simply told you the truth.

You: And for that, I’m grateful. I wanted to ask why you gave me this year, but… no, it doesn’t matter now.

Figure: I see you’ve changed.

You: You have to, don’t you? When you know you only have a year left, even the biggest fool would wise up.

Figure: Tell me, what did you do with your year?

You: Nothing grand. Just wrote. Day after day. It’s finished now.

Figure: Your book?

You: Yes. A week ago. I gave it to the one person I trust to publish it.

Figure: Did you tell him today is your last day?

You: No. Just said I was leaving for a while.

Figure: Why not the truth?

You: I don’t like drama. Never did. I’ve always been a shadow. Maybe it’s something inborn.

(The two of you sit in silence, watching the sun sink lower.)

You: You know, I’ve spent years wondering why Hemingway took his own life. Was it fear? Fear of never writing anything as good as before? Or was the well just empty? If he’d had twenty more years, what could he have written?

Figure: Hemingway’s your hero, isn’t he?

You: He was. But now… I see him differently. Even Tolstoy, whom Hemingway always tried to outdo, isn’t the greatest. There are writers today who’ve surpassed them, but novels aren’t what they used to be. Even the best writers don’t realize they’ve outdone the old masters.

Figure: Do you still admire Hemingway?

You: Always. He’ll never be the “greatest,” but as his Disciple, in my world, he’s number one.

Figure: That’s enough, then.

You: It is.

(A flock of gulls flies across the horizon, their dark silhouettes cutting through the fading light.)

You: Beautiful.

Figure: Do you still feel like writing, if you weren’t going to die today?

You: No. There’s nothing left to say. One good book, the one I’m proud of, is enough.

Figure: So, even with twenty more years, like Hemingway might’ve had, you wouldn’t write another word?

You: No, I’d live simply. Fish by the sea, and find peace. Most people would want that kind of life, if the world weren’t the way it is. But who can change it?

Figure: What if I told you you weren’t going to die today? Would that change anything?

You: No. I’ve done what I needed to do. I just want to leave peacefully.

Figure: But it’s true—you’re not going to die today. Nor tomorrow.

(You turns, startled. The Shadowy Figure suddenly transforms into a LITTLE BOY wearing a white cloak and holding a white book. The voice changes to that of a child.)

Little Boy: You’re not dying, Mister. I’m not a Death’s Messenger. I lied—I’m the Trainee God of Writing. You were my final assignment.

You: What?!

Little Boy: I needed you to finish your book so I could graduate. And since you’re one of the top procrastinators, I had to… motivate you. Pretty smart, huh?

You: So this whole year—the stress, the late nights—was just a scheme?

Little Boy: Yep. But hey, you finished, and I graduate. Win-win!

(You stands, trying to process this.)

You: I thought I was ready to die. I sold my car, ended my lease… I don’t even have a place to—

(You stop, realizing how irrelevant it all is.)

You: But I’m free.

Little Boy: Exactly! Your book will sell, and you’ll be fine. Whether you write more or live quietly by the sea, it’s up to you now.

(The Little Boy smiles, closes the white book, and begins to dissolve into the fading sunlight.)

You: Wait… will I see you again?

Little Boy: Nope. You don’t need me anymore. Goodbye, Mister.

(The Little Boy vanishes, leaving you alone by the sea. The rhythmic sound of waves fills the silence.)

You: Goodbye, then.

(The sun disappears beneath the waves. You remain, gazing at the endless horizon, ready to embrace life on your own terms.)

(Posted on 18.1.2025)

#ReflectionsOnHemingwaysDeath

(🎧 Audio Version) The Messenger and the Disciple: A Reflection on Hemingway's Death