"Just how many times do I have to die before you're satisfied?!" The crying girl demanded.
An onyx scythe swung down, landing within an inch of her head. A broad smile split the face of the scythe's owner before breaking out into a chuckle. It was disturbingly light-hearted, like they were making fun of a poorly made joke. Wiping imaginary tears from the corners of swirling grey orbs they schooled their features to an amused grin.
"My child," it began. "You can only ever have one death."
Just as the girl opened her mouth to protest, it continued. "You have simply been living too much. Life is a time of feeling, knowing, existing. Death is the release, which makes it coveted"
The girl fell to her knees. She wrapped trembling arms around a skinny torso and took on a resigned expression. "You're right. Dammit! You're right. Of course you're right! This entire- all- all this time.. I thought I'd been dying. Now, I wish I really had."
The Reaper reached a hand to grasp the handle of its scythe. It swiftly pulled it out of where it was lodged. It wished to do something for the miserable girl. Don't get it wrong, it felt no pity for her, merely obligation. It had met many people just like her. Misinterpreting death, then begging for it. They had all gotten their wish, why shouldn't the girl?
The Reaper hefted the large scythe from one hand to another, giving a few experimental swings. With a satisfactory nod, it raised it above its head. When it looked down towards its target, it found her curled up on her side; sleeping. She looked tranquil and free. It swung down.
\\\~<o>~///
The Reaper floated away. Leaving the unblemished scythe, beside the forever dreaming girl, to reflect golden lights.
YOU ARE READING
A Writer's Time Capsule
Historia CortaThis is a collection of drabbles and short stories (or one-shots) that I have written over several years. WARNING! Very slow, sporadic updates. I also have another book with stories I had written for school, I might move them to this book at some p...
