Death Comes(For Mythical/Fantasy Creature Contest)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
death comes to us all, but to some of us sooner than others

Submitted: July 10, 2009

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Submitted: July 10, 2009

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Sickness has laid claim to Adam’s life. Death comes merely to serve the warrant. It pleases him to ride on a ghostly white stallion though the world of men. Pale horse and rider stop on the street in front of the house, illuminated by orange streetlamp and white star light.
Death is not a murderer even though he has been called such many times as well as other names such as a ghoul, demon, oreven the devil at times; but Death is all and none of these things he or it is force, a dispenser of consequences, the consequences of man's twisted plans, sickness, impersonal slaughter, and Happenstance's blindness. Over the course of centuries Death has slowly developed a sort of personality; he has begun to identify with his work, if not with is individual subjects. Tonight he has come to reap the life of one Adam Darryl Holman.
Death walks slowly and surly toward the last light of tonight's appointments. His cowl billows in the chilly night breeze, and his scythe glints in the moonlight. His hood opens into an infinite void. No light penetrates into Death's visage; his expressions are as ineffable as the will that guides his hand.
Death has no need for windows or doors--he is as immaterial as a thought. He comes and goes according to his own silent wishes, but tonight seems strange to him. As he walks up the wild unkempt yard, he sees Sickness slithering out of the house. Sickness is as immaterial as Death and he moves right through the front wall into the lawn without a second thought. He sees Death and stops.
"it'sss about time you sssshowed up." Sickness cocks his serpentine head to examine Death with one conniving eye.
"I came at the right time. And no sooner."
"He'sss been ready for daysss. Ssssome of usss think you are getting...ssssoft..." Sickness lets a malignant grimace cross his features.
"When you are able to fulfill my duties, you may have them."
With this Death brushes past him towards the house. Sickness has already faded off into the night.
When Death reaches the front wall, he pauses. Immediately opposite of where he stands is the bedroom, where the form of Adam .D. Holman lay somnolent. Another night Death would have just stepped through and with a grand arc of his scythe severed Adam’s soul from his earthly form, But then Death hears a sound faint at first than growing loader.
It is Adam’s wife, with their child, who could not have been anymore than three. She comes in tears running down her face, like she knew he was there, But of course she couldn't. Binding down she kisses her sleeping love.
"Good night my love" she whispers into Adam’s ear before she walks out
Death raises his scythe swiftly over his head, than stops this is not right, but neither was stopping to do his eternal duty. Who was he to decide who lived and died? He merely severed the warrant.
Than ever so slowly, ever so softly he lowers his scythe back down and leans it up against the wall. He is Death, and he decides than--who better to choose who lives and who dies than he?
He stares at Adam the first man granted a second chance by Death.
Slowly Adam comes awake and his hand leaves the cocoon blankets to feel around on the nightstand for pen and paper. Adam writes a brief scrawl in a shaky, nearly illegible blur. Finished, he places the paper back on the stand. He tries to put the pen back on top of it, but his quivering hand misses the mark and the pen falls to the floor. It appears that in his cancer-weakened state Adam is unable to finish the note. Death reads aloud.
"Dearest Janice: I love you deeply, and I am so deeply sorry, but this pain...."
Death turns sharply around just in time to see Adam fireing a single shot from a .38 revolver into his own temple. Stunned, Death begins, slowly at first, and then steadily growing louder, to weep.


© Copyright 2019 Drizz. All rights reserved.

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