The Valley

The Journey of Death

He was back here again. The cool wind tickled his skin and sound of the birds was not a thing he wanted to experience now. He wanted to be old; he wanted to fulfill the life he had all planned out. He let out a heavy breath and turned.
There he was faced with his old friend; he was still in his grey garb with a rope tied around his waist. The friend's face was neutral as he remembered.
"It's time your walk the path," his friend told him. He shook his head. No. This was not how this was supposed to go.
"I need to go back," he pleaded and his friend shook his head. "I have too much to live for."
"You've been called." His friend's tone was flat and final. The man in the garb turned away from him with his palm up toward flower-filled field. He let out a whimper of defeat. It was really final for him. And so he walked as did his friend.
"I can only go with you so far, then you must walk by the waters yourself," the friend explained and he nodded.
"How come I had a choice those last two times," he asked the man.
A breathe escaped the friend of wisdom.
"It wasn't your time. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time," the friend paused. "You had a choice then, but not now."
His eyes had been looking down the entire walk—he was focusing on his feet. He needed to keep going until...well, until, the walk was over for him. He didn't even notice that he was now alone walking along the waters. The sound of the gentle water trickle that pulled him out of his focus. His eyes shifted from his feet to blue lapping waves.
As he continued to walk, he notice the subtle images in it—flowing as on the further he went. They happened to flowing away from him. He thought it was his life--the things he did; the things he let slip past him, even his most inner secrets. He really did die with them. He almost laughed until he realized the people he left behind.
And sadness hit him like a brick. This is why he didn't want to go. There was too much to do. Tears prickled his eyes as he followed the river all the way to dining table.
Odd, he thought. Where the grass and river stopped a wood floor began. There was even a table set up. When he walked closer he could see that it was just a cup. He looked around once more for his friend and there was no one.
But there was a part of him that he didn't feel alone. He picked up the cup  and a rush of wine overflowed, onto his hand spread out over the table.
And the wind tickled his ears, whispering to him.
You will see them again.