Meet my friend, Death

26 Jan 2009

·J. Maw

Death was standing next to me I knew not what to do. I could not answer, for no reply was quick enough to slew. His hair, pitch black, was silken residue of tar that curls with age. The tenor of his masculine form, his breath smelled sweet like sage. Was I vacuous enough to think that I could dawdle with this heir? His highness never thought as much so far as I could tell; he was content to stand just there. When Death was standing next to me, my thoughts were blessed things. He was very tall, yet light as he was able to play with me: avoodoo doll or wooden toy on strings. And when at last he spoke to me a peal that rang my ears, the clanging of eternity, voicing all my fears. He spoke with astute clarity, his steely lips never seemed to move. "Friend, will you follow me to my realm, and forego my solace that you should prove. Before tonight your life shall never claim more sanctity than what I offer now." I stood in shock and wonder, for I waited for him to tell me how. "I offer my shining kingdom," and I thought oh, the dark beacon under hills of thunder, "if you can answer me a riddle." And I wondered, all trickery will cast me sunder. "My question though, is not so much a riddle as it is a test of heart." I can say that I felt stronger, almost purer knowing he was giving me a head-start. "Answer true, and your soul will journey free. Answer false, and it will belong to me." So I knew that such a life at high cost, my life, by a coin toss, heads or tails what could it be? "Do you fear the abstinence of mercy lest your kindness be mistaken for weakness, your avarice for kingly sovereignty?" To this, I swiftly told should I digress. "No, I gladly walk with badgers when they bite the hand that feeds; and I must confess my willingness to spread this generosity. And when it comes to Death," I added, "I'll go happily." "Your answer is correct," he said, "but there is one more thing you must do. When my hidden empire becomes your domain, You must accept its rule, for every other misguided soul, is nowa solitary fool."

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J. Maw

I care not so much what I am to others as what I am to myself. Michel de Montaigne

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