Fibres of Death

So... for my english coursework, we had to write a story based on Edgar Allan Poe's poems (bo-ring). So, instead of getting inspiration from the poems like everyone else in my class, I got my inspiration from Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. But hey, the teacher still liked it :-) And it managed to still fit somehow. So those of you who are HP fans, can you find how many HP relating things there are? ;)

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She sat there, drumming her clawed nails against the table in a mere attempt to occupy her jaded mind. After what could have been minutes, hours or days, as time held no value for her, a sand timer and candle appeared on the table, illuminating the surrounding blackness. Her amethyst slit shaped eyes peered into the top cup of the sand timer. Her eyes focused on the minuscule grains of sand that were slipping down the vessel, one by one. This was her only indication of Time. The trickling of the sand lulled her mind and hypnotised her widening eyes. With an exhale of breath, she felt her Being leaving.

The alleyway was dark, no lampposts thought to have been positioned here. Sleet fell from the sky with malice, chilling the night and crashing through the broken windows of the once inhabited buildings. The wind howled and wailed, radiating its own misery into the ominous night. As the scene zoomed in before her vision, she was drawn to a limp body lying out of sight. It wafted that familiar scent that caused sensations of delight to course through her. It held the poignant fragrance of flowers that were wilting, the freshness of bread with the growing spores of mould, and most strongly, the ripeness of a tender apple with that one writhing worm devouring it from the inside. Those scents attracted her like maggots to a corpse therefore; it was unlikely she would miss it. As she got closer, her vision focused to look over the figure. It was a man; the name Eden came into her mind. She stared down at him earnestly, studying how twenty-two years of misery had affected his once lovely features. Behind his thickened skin, she could see the youth he once used to be. He used to be the adolescence that carried a cheeky lopsided smile to vanquish his problems. But things had changed over the years. Something had tipped him off balance and plunged him into the abyss of darkness. It was this destabilized man that lay before her. His legs were angled oddly. His breath escaped raggedly. His ruby blood adorned him, coating his clothes, matting his platinum hair and staining the crystal snow with its alarming colour. He was in no state to be conscious. But his pain stricken eyes and the whimpering sounds that his fragile lungs released proved that he was. He had lived in pain and he was now going to leave in pain. The sand belonged to him.

A strange sensation tingled through her. She couldn’t place her finger on it; it was slate blue in colour. It held the taste of a bittersweet orange. It smelled of tangy rust. As the images swirled behind her eyes, her mind made a connection. Could it be? She’d seen it on the faces of many mortals, especially on those who stood around the hospital bed as they tried with all their might to save the patient, only stopping when a sustained beep came from the box beside the bed. Was she experiencing what mortals did? Was she feeling pity? This was absurd. Never had she felt emotion and definitely not towards any of her clients. But this frail one was peculiar. Her eyes bore beneath his flesh and scanned his Being. It held no fight. There were no sparks. Imagination had vanished. Love was banished. No Hope, no Contempt, no Ambition. This one was dented. This one was happy to leave. Never had she had a client like Eden.

Whilst she was distracted by her thoughts, she had failed to notice the chill that seeped through her like a cool mist. Her alertness returned when she heard a soft swishing sound. It was coming closer. It was getting louder.

Instantly, her eyes snapped to her right. He had arrived. The rustling came to an abrupt stop and His soul-stitched cloak clung to His ankles as the wind diminished. Her acquaintance turned His head in her direction, as if He could sense that she was there. His hood covered His face, crafting shadows to dance on His pasty skull. What skin fibres were left dangled loosely and hovered with each of His breaths. His non-existent eyes radiated with power as they bore into her face. Respectively, she moved aside, allowing Him to carry out His role.

He knelt at Eden’s side and bowed His head. His rotten lips opened and closed as He repeatedly muttered some old incantation that she strained to hear: ‘Vulnera sanentur.’ She watched in awe, as this part of the procedure never failed to fascinate her, as Eden’s blood slowly crawled back up into him and his wounds sealed. However, his blood flow was stagnant. Eden wasn’t being healed. Oh no, Death just wanted him to be presentable for After.

She watched as Death stretched and craned His head over Eden’s. He leaned in slowly, as if He was going to place a tender kiss. But when His hood was inches away from Eden’s face, He stopped. The soul-stitched cloak reflected a miasma over Eden, taunting him of what would become of his own worthless soul. Everything was still for a while. Then, a sharp continuous inhale; she heard the guttural reverberations within His hollow chest cavity.

Eden’s stormy silver eyes rolled back in their sockets. His lips parted and, with hoarse breaths, his Being freed those memories that tortured his soul. Grey distorted splodges escaped his lips and floated towards Death, who ravished these bitter memoirs, now gone forever. The grey reminiscences projected the misery and pain of the weak man’s soul. As she peered into some of the shapes, she mostly saw drunken hazes, gambling and fist fights – all mirroring the deterioration of this once youthful mortal. A large shape skimmed by, revealing Eden with a blade that sparkled in the moonlight. As the tears from his deranged eyes slipped down his cheeks, he brought the blade to his wrist. Slash. The image shattered.

But then something caught her eye - a very small, bright thing that pranced and dodged the large grey vapours. It was a tiny golden spark. Its effects diminished the misery felt by its surroundings and she found herself drawn to this little orb as it tugged at her vision, urging her to see its contents.

In it, she saw a petite mortal girl with dark wavy hair, piercing emerald eyes and a dazzling smile that lit up her beautifully angled face. She had met this girl before; the name Faith resurfaced in her mind. Faith was running, her hips swaying from side to side as she looked back over her shoulder. A younger and happier looking Eden wasn’t far behind, shouting meaningless threats as he chased after her. A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of his lips. The distance between them rapidly decreased when she stumbled and soon, he grabbed her by the waist and knocked them both onto the grass. They were both wheezing from laughter and from running. Their eyes sparkled with mirth. Faith affectionately stroked his hair. Eden’s lips pressed onto hers.

She let out a gasp as the golden glow succumbed and died. A grey bubble had touched it and ingested it; killing it. She glimpsed an image of a headstone before that memory too was devoured by Death.

The end was nearing for Eden. All memories were erased and his hollow body was left quivering pathetically. His grey eyes were vacant. His pupils dilated. His breath was raspy. She wanted to stroke the golden locks that were sprawled on the crown of this destructed mortal, to soothe him that all was going to be fine and that the pain would leave soon. But how could she when she wasn’t even there? She was still sat behind the table, staring at the sand that lulled her mind and hypnotised her widened eyes, lacking a Being.

Death’s skeletal hands plunged through Eden’s flesh but no hole distorted the greying skin. Slowly, His hands emerged, spindly fingers drawing a slippery silver film out. Low vibrations arose from Death’s throat as He coaxed the soul to come to Him. It came with no reluctance. Pity rose in her again as she pondered about what would have happened if only things had been different for Eden. But what was once written in sand had now vanished. There was no retrieving it.

Death stood up, cradling the soul in His arms like a new born baby. His head turned in her direction, His non-existent eyes stared at her, conveying a message. It was her turn now. And then He vanished, taking Eden’s soul to His cryptic cavern.

He had done His job. Now, she had to finish it off.

As her Being returned to her, she watched the last grain of sand fall. She sighed and the emotion left her with that one breath. With a gentle blow through her pursed lips, the gust danced around the candle before killing the diminishing flame.

There. Job done.

For she was Fate, nevertheless she had no control over the escaping flecks of sand.

Dropping her head, she returned to the monotonous drumming of her claws as she lost the sense of Time.

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Let me know what you think please? :-)