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Every Goddess Must Have a God

Novel By: zadudet1
Fantasy



Delilah is the goddess of death. She does not truly dislike her job; it is what she was designed to do. What she does dislike is all who see her are moments from dying. She is lonely and she wants nothing more than a friend, maybe a lover. She meets that friend, but what happens when they forget about their duty and death stops in it tracks. For Hayley Elizabeth Ariveer, originalazrael, and alice tsukiyomi contests. View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3

Submitted:May 25, 2011    Reads: 108    Comments: 4    Likes: 2   


I Kill People

She looked at the small girl. She had a large gash across her throat. That must have been the wound that had killed her. Delilah, as she liked to call herself, raked her scythe across the child's heart. This was the easiest way to release her soul. Delilah wondered, not for the first time, what happened to the soul once she freed it.

The girl was not alone. Her murderer was still right there, standing over her with a knife. He could not see Delilah, but the girl did. Just before she had ended her life, the girl had looked over Delilah's shoulder and then back at her. Her eyes seemed to say Take him too.

Of course, Delilah could not do that. She could release his soul, but without a wound worthy of death he would just live on as an empty shell. She knew this because she had tried it once. It was her greatest mistake. It is the only thing she has ever done that she regrets.

She has been known by many names over the years. Coatlicue, Proserpina, Persephone, Miru, Nebthet, Izanami, Sedna, Tuonetar, Kali, Qamaits. No one knows for sure what she is called. They just know she brings death and she exists.

Delilah sighed as she swung up onto her white horse. It's pretty ironic right? You would expect the goddess of death to have a midnight black horse, but no. Pure white.

The second she sat on her horse, she slipped through the time stream to the next death. It's funny to think about it, but nearly two people die every second. If her horse couldn't slip through the time stream, her job would be impossible. Nonetheless, her life was reaping.

She never slept. She never ate or drank. The clothes she wore were the only clothes she had ever worn. Her dark purple hair had never been washed. Despite all of this, she was healthy and clean. It was how it was meant to be. She was death and death did not have needs.

The blur came to a stop and her horse and she were inside a hospital room. Her target was a wrinkled old man with no hair. He was hooked to about a hundred different machines. By the looks of it, he was a cancer patient. It was weird to think that girl and this man had died in the same moment.

She dragged her scythe across the man's heart for the 151,649 person of the day. She knew this because there was a clock on the wall read midnight. It was funny because she could clearly remember everyone she had killed, but she could not remember why she killed.

What started it all? Did someone tell me to kill? Did I decide on my own? She didn't even recall where her horse and scythe had come from. Had she just popped into existence ready to kill? Is that why she couldn't remember?

She was all alone in the world. The only people who could see her were on their death bed, so she had no friends. She had no companionship. She had no love. Someone, anyone, to talk to was the only thing she longed for. It felt like she once had that. She felt as though she had someone in the time she could not remember. If she thought really hard she could almost see a face, but had never succeeded.

Four days of reaping came and went just as usual. One after another after another. It's was a pattern Delilah almost enjoyed. Each new death gave her something to think about. The only thing she hated was never talking. There was no reason to, so she never did. At one point she tried talking to her victims, but it just made it too hard to kill them.

She sighed heavily as her horse brought her to a site of mass destruction. By the looks of it, it was a bombing of some sort. So many dead were spread before her. She hated jobs like this. It was very hard to tell who was dead and who was alive. The only way she knew was if they were able to see her.

Of the first seven people she found only two responded to her presence. She was about to walk to her eighth when she saw a boy holding a net. He had dark purple hair and the mask of the hawk just like her. A moment after she saw him, he saw her. When their eyes met time stopped and she had no job. There were no souls to reap. They were the last to people on earth.

It was in that moment that the boy collapsed.





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