Raised By Death

"I don't want to die." The man's throat croaked like a frog.

"That has never been your choice. Your breath, your sight, your blood, your blight, every idea and thought, even your voice, were given. And now they are taken. But I shall give you one last thing."

Slowly the man's white globs of flesh popped from their sockets. His teeth cracked and snapped. A deep howl bellowed from the pits of the man's esophagus. The man's skin grew a purplish hue as it buckled left and right. It sank deep within, past the bones, exposing the skeleton that had once supported its weight. With a snap, then splat, it sunk to the floor and sat still.

"I am what I give."

His head creaked to the left. His body followed. The familiar white of two small scleras peeked at him through a thin crack in the door. They disappeared at Death's approach. The wooden entrance creaked open. Vivi looked up and Death looked down. Her face was plain and her body still.

Vivi knew snooping was wrong but she wanted to know Death. To understand the pain she often saw in his soulless eyes. Even now she could see it, but there was also something else.

None had seen Death at play and those that did only had soulless others to tell. Yet this girl had. An irritating itch ached at his scythe. It craved her. It had been the first time Death had felt this urge, to see her face turn like the rest. To squish, pucker, and decompose. Vivi's innocent eyes that stared deep into his could easily be broken, torn, popped, or stained. An overwhelming intensity would zap through every nerve until each and every fiber would explode in the most horrible pain. His gaze traveled to the pink vibrant flesh that guarded the outside of her throat. His bones twitched at another thought. Would she squeal, squirm, or scream? There was a satisfaction to be had by this demise he knew. It was an instinct. A predisposition. The oddity grew a pit inside him. Despite its festering he could not, rather, would not let them prevail.

Vivi watched as Death's face slowly approached her. He smelled of mold, rotten fish and a metal she could not name. He lifted his skeletal hand, extending it towards her. Softly it patted her head. The cold hollow fingers that grazed against her skin brought a shiver to her toes.

"What you've seen is who I am. I damn the damned. I'm not you, I'm me. While I'm in this scene you must remain unseen." He gave her warning. For a reason he couldn't understand, he wanted to protect her. Perhaps compassion did exist. Yet it might have been the sheer curiosity of it all. Why did she not fear death?

Vivi scuttled past him into the room where the pile of bones and melted flesh lay puddled on the floor. She prodded at it, giggling as its viscous consistency wiggled back and forth. He could not pull his gaze from where she sat.

"You must protect her. Don't you understand? She is now yours. Heart pure, eyes straight, soul clean. Perhaps she can teach what you lack." Those were the words spoken to Death a day in his past. Those words from the shriveled stout woman seemed impractical then, but with time he had come to accept them. Many years had passed since the first they had met. Vivi had grown much since and despite knowing what he was, she remained by his side. It was a place he desired for her to stay.

"Will my power allow such protection? Or will death still come for a collection?