The Circadian Rhythm of Death

2) The First Rehearsal

Abel's father was incessantly designing words to describe all the startling and unfamiliar emotions that every day seemed to spring from nowhere and rest on their shoulders, serving no purpose other than to add to their daily burdens.

Abel's father had long since run out of things to name that he could see, touch, or hear, and gave up naming things that could be tasted almost as soon as he began. He was obsessed with capturing the very essence of things with his labels; and these days he worked meticulously to form something concrete out of the intangible layers of feelings draped around each human as delicate and difficult to grasp as the silk thread of a chrysalis.

But Abel's father had never given him a name to call the emotion that came upon him as his brother slew him. It was his heart dropping out from underneath him. The sudden uncertainty of the air around him. The boiling of his bones, the pounding in his ears, and the unfamiliar look in his brother's eye.

"Yārē, "Abel whispered.

Then it was all over, and his brother left him alone, dying in a field.

Abel's broken body laid motionless but not yet lifeless, when Death appeared, standing likewise motionless to the east. Only his chest rose and fell with each breath.

His dark eyes were glossy and unfocused; not seeing Abel though he stared directly at him. His ears were blocked and silent. All he could hear was a slow rhythmic ticking coming from some ethereal place that didn't feel familiar to him

A wind blew through the field. The sound of the rushing air was lost on him, but Death still felt his left cheek grow cold. His hands held closed the soft black panther fur draped loosely over his body, keeping the rest of the chill out.

"I think I must be dying," Death heard Abel say. Death blinked, his ears opened to the wild sounds of the field, which complemented the rythm of the ticking that had moved inside his head. He reflexively took a step forward. His bare foot sunk slightly into the muddy grass, solidifying the connection between his senses and his surroundings.

Streams of blood slowly dripped down the man's useless body to mingle with the mud. Without having to inspect the wounds, Death knew they'd be successful in their work. The end of Abel's life had already been written, signed, and sealed.

Death knelt down as softly as a humming bird alighting on a flower stem. Abel's lips were moving, but this time, Death could not hear him. He leaned down to put his ear close to the man's face.

"My brother always begged me to be gentle whenever I slaughtered a lamb for a sacrifice. 'Do not let the last thing it knows to be hurt,' he would say." Abel's voice got quieter with every word. His chest heaved up and down, laboring hard for each and every breath.

Death tried to remember what a lamb looked like.

"Do you want to know something funny? It didn't occur to me that humans could die." There indeed was a glimmer of humor in Abel's eyes fighting through the wash of suffering and betrayal that consumed the rest of him.

Death couldn't recall a glimmer of anything when he had been drowning alone in the dark.

Death reached out hesitantly and paused with his hand hovering over Abel's brow. He wondered who this man was and why being human was significant to him.

With the strength of a lion, Abel lifted up a shaking hand dark with blood and grime and rested it on top of Death's hand, leaving a crimson thumbprint stain on Death's ivory skin.

Abel sighed and closed his eyes in exhaustion. He had died.

Death lowered his hand to the ground with Abel's still balancing on top of it, and so very gently slipped his hand free from underneath. Death remembered what a lamb looked like. The lifeless man looked like a small lamb, slumbering serenely in a meadow.

Death carried Abel's body away on his back. He walked for some time and grew weary of the monotonous rhythm of his own footsteps.

The air chilled further as twilight took over the already gloomy fields. Death was practical and carefully set Abel down to build a sheltering fire for both of them. To keep away the cold and the loneliness.

Death hugged his knees and stared into the fire, listening to the wind, the ticking, and the voice of blood crying out from the ground. A tear ran down his cheek.

In the mirage-like shadows of the darkness, a pale gray horse emerged from the eastern horizon and trotted his way to Death's side. The exact color and pattern of the horse could not be distinguished, but his coat reflected what little light there was, shrouding him in a halo-like mist.

He nuzzled Death's ear until the man stirred from his distant thoughts. With the intense relief that can not be described to someone who hasn't felt it, Death stood and turned and buried his face into the soft and powerful neck of the horse. The horse rumbled in a low, comforting frequency and rubbed his nose against Death's back fondly.

The horse stayed with them all night, allowing Death to lean on his warm side and drift in and out of dreams, knowing that the man had a long task ahead of him. Without memories, most of Death's dreams were vague and empty.

Just before dawn, as the last embers of the fire settled down for bed, the horse woke the sleeping man. He knelt down next to Abel's body to prompt Death to lift him onto his back.

Once Abel was safely positioned so as to not fall off, the horse bumped his nose into Death a few times and started his journey. Death apparently didn't understand his signal to stay because Death tried to follow him at first.

After a few pointed stomps with his front hoof, Death got the idea and sat back down by the slumbering fire and pulled his panther fur tight around him.

The horse felt bad for leaving Death on his own while he was so confused and unsure, but he had a job to attend to, and they would see each other again soon.