"I hate it here.

Not this place. Not even this town, though it leaves much to be desired when the free library cabinet you've put at the end of your garden gets alternately vandalised and set alight. No. Here. This world. This plane of existence. This God damned life."

Barbera (she hated her name too, not least because it kept being abbreviated to 'Barb', and that, well, made her prickly), said this to herself, but not quietly enough to keep the words from crawling into the ears of those around her. She was frustrated at something that, to her, was a big deal. To those nearest, it would possibly be something of an issue. To the wider circle of shoppers just wanting to get that final Christmas gift for the second cousin's aunt's postman's dog they'd forgotten about until the last minute, it was just a noise.

Not just a noise, of course, because nothing was just anything. It all mattered in some way to someone.

No, it was an itch. It irritated their tympanic membranes enough to make them shove a finger in and wiggle it.

But it carried weight. The sort of weight that clung on invisibly, dragging the bearer down emotionally without them realising why.

Barbera stamped her foot in frustration.

"Hey! Watch it," Ian exclaimed, yanking his foot back from under her heel.

She glared at him and turned away, her attention already back to her phone screen, her face a mirror of her words.

"Fuck," Ian said, not caring if anyone heard his profanity.

It was deserved. Needed. That bloody hurt, and the bitch didn't even apologise. Of course, he wasn't the sort to insist, even if he was, as in this case, wronged. Confrontation was something he avoided and, if its bolder came rolling down towards him, he'd run into a jungle of any other situation to avoid it.

"Muppet," whispered Liv, being careful in her tone in case Ian, her boyfriend, heard her.

Andrew, who secretly preferred to be called Andy, but had never told anyone, so now it was too late to mention, smirked. He'd always liked Liv, not that she even knew who he was. He knew Ian was too afraid – no, too self-conscious – to speak up for himself. He wouldn't be with Olivia if she hadn't made the first move, something Andrew berated himself for not doing so even more... firstly.

He sighed. Maybe one day, Liv would see that she and Ian weren't suited to each other and...

Izzy blinked. She'd been staring, zoning out of the melee around her for self-preservation. She didn't do crowds. Didn't do people. Didn't do outside, unless she absolutely had to. This was one of those occasions she simply couldn't avoid, particularly since she'd let her Amazon Prime subscription lapse, so she'd never receive the gift in time.

She had seen the chain of events without actually taking any of it in consciously, but now she was back in the 'real world', she wondered what had concerned the woman enough to bemoan her entire existence. She could see tears in the woman's eyes and was disappointed in the surrounding throng that they could so easily dismiss someone in need.

Could she? Could she? No. She couldn't... but... what if...? What if this was her gift to herself?

No.

No...

But...

With a deep breath, Izzy pushed forward. She was going to do it. She was going to ask if the woman was OK. She'd break through the barriers she had built around herself. All it had needed was something to do so for. Her therapist had pretty much said as much in their last session.

"You'll never just go for it. Not unless you get a push or prompt. I wish it were otherwise, but the walls are almost impenetrable, Izzy. I do hope you get that."

Izzy had expected something more supportive from a professional. She had also agreed with the comment.

Except, here was the prompt.

Emboldened, she accidentally knocked another man who bumped into the small, impossibly attractive woman. The pair made eye contact, which lasted for a little longer than it perhaps should have done. The man blushed. The woman smiled...

And released the hand she had been holding of the one whose foot was, likely, still aching.

That man didn't seem to notice the release. He was still quietly scowling.

When Izzy reached the tearful woman, she didn't know what to say. She'd not been in such a position before. Hesitation would be her undoing, however, and she knew it.

She put a hand on the shoulder. The woman turned, her eyes red and her lips trembling from trying to hold in emotions that were desperate to be allowed their freedom.

No words were exchanged. There was only a simple, immediate embrace.

I look on from the midst of the crowd. People mill around me as I stand, unnoticed. I could be a ghost, for the impact I have. I could be Death, grinning like a child in a sweet shop, with my pick of souls.

I'm neither. I'm just me, watching how so many lives can touch one another in the most insignificant of ways, but with the most significant effect.

All except mine. I wish I were with them, in any way they'd allow. But I'm not. I'm outside of it all, to the point I barely see my own reflection.

But, as they have their lives, I have mine. I am not Death, but I do look at them for the ways I can touch their lives.

By ending them.

I hold my breath, and...