365 DAYS 365 TALES

Guilt and the Reaper

'No Nightingale did ever chaunt

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travellers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian sands:

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heardIn spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides.'

I read loudly as the words of William Wordsworth start ringing in my head. His power to make reader see what he is saying just through the words is unbelievable! And his poem, the one I'm reading right now, 'The Solitary Reaper' is one of my favorites, now. I can actually see that Scottish girl working in the field and singing sadly, in my head. Such a power words hold! 

I should look up the semantics of these words. Where is this dictionary now? Hmm... 'Solitary'... It means 'alone or secluded or isolated'. And 'Reaper'... Oh, there are two meanings! First is a person or machine that harvests a crop. The word 'Reaper' in the poem must mean this. And another meaning of it, 'a representation of death as a cloaked skeleton holding a large scythe.'

Scythe? Now, what is this scythe? Have to look up this too! Yeah, found it. Scythe, 'a tool with a long curved blade at the end of a long pole.' Oh.

My imagination is going in overdrive. I can see that another meaning of Reaper in my head. And it is pretty scary. The black cloak, the human skeleton inside it, the white bones shining in starlight, the wicked, evil smile on its bared teeth, the hollow sockets of eyes but still looking like fiery, dark pits of hell, that bony hand clutching that creepy tool, Scythe, its blade shining brightly like a moon.

Oh my god. I shudder looking at the creepy figure in my mind. Gosh, even if I close my eyes, I can see that Reaper. Oh no! I don't want to see it. No! My heartbeat quickens and shivers run down my spine.

Think about something else, quickly. Candies, unicorns, rainbows.. Rainbows.. Rain, heavy rain, darkness, thundering lightnings, heaps of deadbodies, in the middle of it all, the Reaper. His features twisted into a grimace, the scythe in his hand leaning forward, as if its blade is pointed towards me. God, no! I don't want to think about this. No! No!

I open my eyes to look at anything else that will take my mind off of this disturbing sight. And I scream. I scream so loudly, I hurt my own ears. There, in front of me, is a little version of what I was seeing in my head.

"Hey mom, don't be scared, it is my Halloween costume!" The little version chirps cheerily.

But I'm already clutching my unbearably aching heart with all my might. I can't tolerate this pain. Before my eyes close and darkness engulfs me, the last thought in my head is,

"I shouldn't have killed her."  

***

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