❝ Death is not what you should be afraid of.
Love is.
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Jeon Jungkook is tired of his dull, monotonous life and he's more than ready to end it until Death himself took interest in the des...
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IT is quiet.
The air reeks of bleach with a little tint of alcohol that you can probably taste when you breathe in with your mouth. Even worse, the strange, aseptic smell seems to be coming from everywhere.
It is currently early in the morning—too early. The sun hasn't risen yet, but there really is no way to tell from the hollow corridor with no windows whatsoever. There are doors, though; along the walls of the hallway. The walls itself have an ivory tone to it with a few huge art pieces hanging on it every other three doors. The floor is filled with grids of wide, almost-reflective, grey tiles. The ceiling lights are too bright, arranged all the way to the end of the hallway where a counter sits. It's a hospital.
The silence didn't last any longer as the sounds of footsteps echoes through the hallways. Louder and louder the sound grows, but the footsteps itself is steadily slow—you can almost hear the laziness behind it. Then, from the corner, a boy appears. A tall, lean boy with messy silver hair with a gray sweatshirt and black wide pants on. His Gucci sandals flips and flops every time it meets the floor. Not long after, a little creature the size of a soccer ball prances its way behind the boy. It's a puppy. Its tongue is out while it happily tags along its companion. Its tiny body is covered in black and brown fur and its paws create a clicking sound everytime its nails touch the marble floor.
"Fifty-two, fifty-four, fifty-six. . ." The boy mumbles as he walks, reading the metal plate next to each door he passes until he stopped right in front one of the wooden doors. The metal plate beside it reads 62. He reaches out for the cold handle of the door but before his fingertips touch anything the door was abruptly opened, revealing an elderly woman dressed in a white hospital gown. Her eyes were empty and dark circles surrounds it as if something's slowly consuming her from the inside. Her face and arms aren't any better, they are pale and absent from any tint of color. She looks exhausted and dull but mostly, she seems lost. And what she's seeing right now sends chills to her already cold, deceased body.
What's standing before the lady was no longer a boy in a sweatshirt with a puppy by his side, but rather a hooded dark figure that seems to be emitting a strange, unfamiliar atmosphere in the perfectly sterile air of the hospital. Dark specks of dust floats around the. . . thing. Exactly twelve big, black wings in different shapes and forms crowns the figure of the creature in the most beautiful way. Its body is covered with a black material as soft as silk and as light as feathers as it moves just from the slightest movements making it looks almost as if it is floating in thin air. The thing has no face but its hands and feet are of a human; just thinner and longer. Its right-hand grips firmly a black, heavily polished scythe.
The furry ball of happiness is now replaced with a jackal in golden fur, standing with so much elegance and pride beside the hooded creature. Its eyes are all black—so dark that it looks like they aren't even there—and its teeth are double the amounts of the teeth a normal dog would have. All in all, the creature and the jackal side by side look like death.
The small opening of the door allows the sight of the same old woman on a hospital bed to be seen. The heart monitor beside her shows a steady, straight green line indicating the death of the human. Her eyes closed shut and hands neatly placed on top of her stomach. She does look very much dead by her greyish complexions and another her standing by the door confirms it.
It does not speak nor does it listen. No matter what the old lady says or does, the creature and the jackal stands still—calm and almost robot-like, but when the creature and the jackal turns around and leaves, the old woman follows closely behind them without any sense of doubt. She has probably figured out the situation she's in and decided not to annoy the Angel of Death with any more questions.
When the creature gestures to a bright circular wormhole, the lady hesitates. "Please," the creature finally spoke. Its voice is unidentifiable; neither a man nor a woman, but it holds darkness and enigma. Then the woman steps into the white clouds of dust and disappears into thin air as the creature, along with the jackal, does the same.
