Life in Paintings

Chapter 2 - The Triumph of Death

Chapter 2

The Triumph of Death

I wake up gasping thinking this lunacy is all over now, but the second I open my eyes, I know it’s not.

I’m not lying on the street in front of a burning building, and I’m not getting squished and burned alive by a heavy crate in a questionable alley.

No. I’m lying on the ground in a field and things are burning around me, and I can hear screams coming from the houses further away.

But the most unsettling thing in all of this is the way the ground feels like it’s shaking under my back. I sit up. I really must be crazy because I have no idea where I am, and the ground is still shaking, as if a thousand people were walking on the same beat.

I don’t like this. I really don’t like this. Dreams shouldn’t feel this real. Dreams shouldn’t be this vivid. I shouldn’t be aware that this is a dream without having more power. It’s not how things usually go. If you know you’re dreaming you either take control of the dream or you wake up. Why aren’t I waking up? I pinch myself but nothing happens.

I’m going crazy. It’s the only logical explanation.

“RUN!”

I look around to see where that particular scream came from and I suddenly spot a young girl running towards me. The closer she gets the more I can see—her dirty dress, the scrapes on her arms and hands, her dishevelled hair, and the tears running down her cheeks.

“Get up!” she screams once she reaches me, before grabbing my arm, trying to get me on my feet. “They’re coming. Get up!”

I don’t really understand why she’s freaking out this much but I humour the poor girl and get up on my feet. The second I do she grabs my arm tightly and drags me with her.

She runs and I can only run with her. I still feel the ground shaking under my feet and the smoke rising towards the sky, but I’m still as clueless as to why I have to run. And I have someone here that obviously knows the answer.

I tug on her arm, slowing her down. “What’s going on? Why are you freaking out?”

“They’re COMING!” It’s the second time she’s saying this. And she’s still pulling my arm, almost right out of my socket. Normally I would be punching her for this, but I still need answers, and she won’t be able to give them to me if I knock her unconscious. How unfortunate.

“Who? Who are they?” I press, still slowing down.

“What kind of question is that?” she shrieks back and keeps pulling my arm. Her strength is impressive in comparison with how thin she is.

“Huh, a legitimate one.” I answer her.

She takes a second to actually look at me like I’m an alien. Like I’m the crazy one here, which I probably am when I think about it. “Where have you been living all your life? The army of Death is coming and unless you want to die, I suggest you keep running with me. But if you want to die, don’t drag me down with you!”

“Hold up your skirt there Lucy Loo, Army of Death? Are you kidding me?”

“There is no time for your nonsense. If you want to die, do not drag me down with you. If you want to die, I will leave you here,” she answers in a rush, her eyes darting around her.

“I don’t want to die,” I state point blank, because this is as truthful as I can be.

“Then, RUN!”

So I run. I run with the poor lunatic girl who is probably as crazy as I am, or a figment of my imagination. Whatever she is, I follow her because she seems like she knows where she is going and I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. So I might as well follow the girl that has a clue.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“And do you know where that is?”

“Not yet.”

And then when she answers this, at the top of the little hill we’re about to climb up, I see it. I see what’s making the poor girl hold my hand like she’s a Stepford wife and I’m her precious pearl necklace.

When she said Army of Death, I hadn’t exactly believed her, but there it is right in front of me, her army of death—skeletons walking around like they are humans.

The girl lets go of me the second she spots them and runs away, shrieking. She doesn’t go far because the skeletons are everywhere and they grab her and throw her back towards me, right after slicing her throat.

I can’t even utter a word as I look at her lifeless body lying at me feet, the blood staining my shoes. I don’t really want to believe it. I’m tough—I’ve always been tough growing up, but this is more than standing up to bullies or hitting some annoying brat during recess. This is blood and this is death and I’m not prepared for it.

I can’t believe it. This all looks like a cheap version of the Walking Dead. They don’t look real, the skeletons. I mean, they’re real that much is evident, the girl’s blood is proof, but they don’t look it, with they’re yellow coloration and the way they are shaped, like they aren’t anatomically correct. They look… they look like they’re from an old painting.

The thought freezes me on the spot.

An old painting… a painting.

This can’t be.

This can’t seriously be what’s happening. That was another dream, or some sort of psychotic break. That talk with a creepy boy in a dark alley wasn’t real.

This isn’t real.

I’m becoming hysterical but it’s probably the least of my worries because I’m the one the skeletons grab this time. They don’t slit my throat, but the pack of bones that’s holding on to my arms drags me with him as his buddies follow him, dragging the body of the other girl with them too.

I don’t even try to fight them. I don’t see the point. This is obviously some kind of psychotic break and playing along with it will just make me crazier.

I don’t know how long we walk but I know that by the time we reach our destination I don’t understand how we managed, me and the now dead girl, to not see any corpse for so long when I arrived because they are everywhere—absolutely everywhere. People are screaming and fighting the enemy off, but it’s no use. The skeletons’ steps shake the ground as they gather together, and they’re everywhere, burning everything and killing everyone.

Bodies are thrown into a pile and if one is left behind, dogs start chewing on them.

I feel sick.

And I suddenly feel scared.

It paralyzes me how scared I am. It’s one thing to know you’re delusional but it’s a whole other thing to realize that you’re going to die soon—delusion or not.

The skeleton tugs on my hand. His destination is clear—we’re going towards the pile of bodies. The other skeletons throw the body of the girl that helped me on top of the pile.

I whimper and try to run the other way. This is wrong. All of this is wrong.

I don’t struggle for long. I pull once or twice and then my throat is slit. It takes me by surprise when I feel the blade run over my skin and at first I don’t even realize what it is. But then the pain is unbearable and I fall to the ground, clutching at my neck, and I choke on all the blood filling my mouth and my throat and I can’t utter a sound, and I feel empty and my eyes close.

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The Triumph of Death by Pieter Bruegel