It weakened her- as it did the mortals. Her breath limped at the greasy, flesh-pink candles that conquered every room. She cringed at blood-bruised faces, at feet forcing themselves to walk as she gnawed their heels. She struggled to press her pocket-watch, its ticking as eternally ephemeral as a bleeding heart. No mortal will escape my cage by pretending my shadows vanish between the bars.
Mama Death XVI shuddered. With candle-white fingers she pressed the pulsating thing between her flat breasts. She was an unfinished-looking woman-- being so thin the bones appeared glued to her skin. She resembled a Victorian widow, yet her jet-black corset was comically altered, with a ruffled bustle and a waist that melted like an icicle.
Greasy black curls piled atop her head, writhing like leeches. In fact, her hairstyle was so heavy, her head tipped backwards. This provided an extensive view of her boot-toe chin and full red lips, while they forgot her hawkish nose and bulging black eyes. Muddy blush inhabited the caves called cheeks, sometimes traveling to her napkin-ring wrists and hands. She twirled her hair. Smirked. No mortal deserves my beauty.
Parasol in hand, Death strutted with fearless eyes and spear-straight posture. A jagged pile of pale-pink flowers fainted at her sides, their green-black stalks succumbing to eternal injury. She pinched the flap of skin between her finger and thumb. They wilted into dust. Time chuckled, but dared not speak.
"Good evening," she greeted, "I trust I am not late...?"
Time's blue-black eyes widened into hollow shadows-- an ancient threat.
"No, no," he huffed, "What is a month to mortals, is a minute to us."
"Very well. Where's Mother?"
Memory raised a hand. She was a tall, slender old woman with sharp cheekbones and a froth of white hair. Despite her wrinkles, her pale-blue eyes glittered with an unforgettable warmth.
"Mother," Death gasped, "Your eyes look exceptionally gorgeous tonight."
Memory chuckled.
"Maybe if you cried less, yours would, too."
"Mother!"
Waterfalls of laughter hit Death's shoulder, Life's running undercurrent. Rage ripping into her, Death whirled around and found the doll-beautiful, peach-plump specimen chuckling, each laugh as carving as a knife to meat. Death's eyes fastened like buttons onto Life's; everything about her was abundant except for her eyebrows. The voluptuous figure of a fertility goddess. A coarse, globe-sized bush of white-blonde hair. Blueberry eyes swollen in perpetual surprise. Life laughed, showing picket-fence teeth.
"Sister," Life spoke, "We have an offer."
"What sort of offer?"
Life glanced at Time.
"Well...Father says that since most mortals are dead, he would like you to take over."
Death grinned, nearly splitting her bony face in two.
"Really, Father? Oh, thank you, thank you...!"
"Oh, please," Life groaned, "The princess always gets her way!"
"How about you roll in this mud? Oink-oink-oink...!"
"I'm not hurting anyone," Life snapped.
"My eyes."
"Daughter!" Time cried.
Death's mouth twitched.
YOU ARE READING
The Righteous Perish
FantasyThis isn't my first full-length work (longer than short-story), yet the only one I find decent. I began writing it in 2019. As always, the characters' biases do not reflect my own. That being said, I'm still young. (Try to) enjoy!
