Blancoff story dumpster

A Man's Little Death

The gray and crooked silhouette of our old man stood still on the front of his house. His eyes locked on the sky, waiting for the reply that never arrived. For many years God didn´t hear his prayers, he couldn’t make true that man´s last wish; he couldn’t give him a child with who share his last years. Even though the skies remained silent, the request had echoed into the dark abyss under his feet, Death herself heard the poor fellow crying and whimpers.

Many would say that it was a merciful and kind of her, but Death was just curious and also bored enough to take things into her own hands. Crawling from the depths of her realm she felt how her limbs become meatier, shorter, heavier. A loud cry of pain cut the night as her lungs filled with air; it was the pain of a new life.

“A baby?” The old man lollygagged his way to front door, one hand on the handle the other on the iron log tog “Why is a baby crying?”. Slowly he jerked the door opened, trying to surprise whatever could have been behind it. But there was only a dirty, wrinkled and crying newborn. The old man could not believe his eyes, still holding the iron tog, he walked towards the loud mess of a child. “Is this it God? You finally heard me?” he held the little girl on his arms, not really sure what to do with her. Finally he went back home leaving the tog behind.

The baby showed pitch black hair and reddish brown eyes that matched the color of the dried blood that stained her pale body. Once washed, calm and fed, the little girl glowed with vividness.

He tried to be rational, but truth is he had already fallen in love; he called the little girl Mary. He made a little cradle out of a big basket and some old blankets “That will do for now, Tomorrow ill go the village and buy nice things, baby girl”.

In the morning, the old man left the house with the little girl rolled up in a blanket. Finally, after a long morning shopping and the charity of the villagers, all the furniture and other products were inside the house. The man smiled looking how the small girl gazed in amusement to the little golden clock- “It was on your porch, I saw it when I brought you the dippers” said the neighbor- He didn’t understand how many precious things were left on the front of his house the night before. The clock looked ancient and valuable, but it was certainly broken, obviously, clocks don’t tick back; But Mary seemed liked it so much the old man decided to keep it anyway.

No one asked were the baby came from, but everyone was whiling to help him raise the beautiful baby girl. Like that, Mary and the old man lived out their days, with lots of company and always their hearts filled with happiness. The girl was of astonishing beauty, as delicate and precious as the clock that continued to tick back on her chest. she said it was born with her, so she was meant to keep it close.

On the child 10th birthday, the old man fell ill. Mary could see how life seeped out of his body, to the point he could no longer raise from his bed. The clock ticked back merciless and the girl noticed with despair that the time had arrived.

She looks the clock once more before going knocking on the door. The old man, in front of her, in his bed, laughed and chuckled in content, a wide smile on his pale and bony face “is the time over baby girl?” .Mary raised the clock “I’m sorry papa”. A single tear fell from the old  happy man´s eye “Don´t be, everything I’ve ever wanted was given to me” just as he planted a kiss on the girls forehead, the clock stopped clicking.

Mary went to the door with the clock locked to her chest, aging with every step, when she reached the porch, Death cleaned a small tear that slid on her bony mask….and once again fell to the depths of her kingdom.