Death's Song

5-Libera Me Domine

After asking Hazel and her husband if they would like to take the house, Death watches me pack. I gather all the food left in the house and say my farewells to the goats and cows. Planting my feet around the bag, I pick a patch of ground that looks sturdy enough to weather all of time. Bow glides across strings, and the song of Time begins in its experimentation for the day. Death watches as the trees around us grow and shrink, shed their leaves and gain new ones. The trees disappear in favour of shiny, metal ones, and then reappear with flower buds of reds and pinks floating from their limbs along the wind. When I pause for a break, the once warm summer chills me with its autumn breeze. Picking it up after a bite to eat, Death and I travel through what I presume is all of Time.

Tired of playing, we set out walking from the last Time I play. The wooded surroundings quickly give birth to city streets, the cleanest city I'd ever visited. Father used to take me on short day-trips to nearby cities. Their streets spilled filth all over the bottoms of my dresses. The channels dug in the roads trapped excrement but not thoroughly enough. The smell generally cut our days of exploration short, but this city did not smell quite as horrible. Someone made an effort to clean up the traps every so often. The farther into the city we walk, the more people join us. Everyone seems to be going in the same direction. Suddenly, the narrow street opens into a massive courtyard, surrounded by pillars of white, lining the ellipse. A fountain stands in the middle of it, bowing to the massive cathedral at one end. The entire city converges here, and they all walk into the church.

When I stop suddenly, a little boy bumps into the back of my leg.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say to him. He looks up at me with large innocent eyes, and his mother drags him toward the church.

Standing by the fountain, we admire the fine architecture of the surely the largest church in existence. My family visited the town church every so often, but it was nothing special. We prayed, but religion didn't milk the cows every morning. Uncle Jack and Aunt Gemma love their religion, but my parents were always too busy for it. Still, something draws me into the church. At least curiosity at the masses of people lining up for mass intrigues me.

A gap appears after a long line of people, so Death and I join it and enter the church. A breath escapes my throat as the massive size of the inside of the building surprises me. Almost the entire building is hollow. The ceiling appears to stretch to Heaven. Within it hover angels who guard the saints, chubby cherubs poking their faces out, each representing, somehow, Christian love. Mosaics of church figures line the walls in scenes of famous stories told through the ages. All of this is part of one religion, and the entire city celebrates it. Burying the thought away for later musing, my eyes once more examine the dome. A small ledge circles the bottom of it, the perfect viewing place for a mass.

Running up the hundreds of steps, the air feels thinner, but the view will be worth it. A smirk lines my lips, reflecting my feelings of rebellion in freezing Time, just to be able to sit where I want. The stairs at the bottom act more like giant ramps, but the farther up the dome we run, the steps shrink. I run, breathless, as I try to keep singing the tune that stops time. The narrow column opens to a small door with light pouring out of it. Timidly, I poke my head out and clutch the wall as the floor below the dome looms too far away. Breathing deeply, my hands release the wall, and Death follows me onto the little ledge. We sit down, allowing my feet to hang off the edge, and Time begins to flow again.

Priests in white robes enter from a side door beneath us, and the shuffling of feet scurry to quiet themselves. Lots of chanting and speaking in Latin follows. My mind has a hard time focusing, so I turn back to examining the art around me. Each saint holds a unique object. Their halos grant them a regal appearance, a holy crown of sorts. Above each figure rests solely the head of a cherub who is guarded by a full angel with wings outspread. The dome, cut into pie-shaped sections, continues in this pattern all the way around with blue partitions filled with stars. Could they represent the stages towards Heaven? Perhaps saints are reborn as cherubs who grow up to be angels. Not many back in the town know much of the specifics of Christianity. Maybe I shall be the first to know. If nothing else, the art is as intriguing as it is beautiful. Lost in thought, I fail to notice the choir preparing to sing in the loft opposite me in the cathedral.