A Series of Short Stories

Life And Death

The Concept of Death (⅓)

Death is actually quite beautiful when you see her. Those that have met her and lived will often speak of how enticing and magnificent the experience was. You see, death is a dancer. She waits for people who leave an outstretched hand to join her in her dance.

Her uniform is that of a ballerina. Her dress and shoes can range from a pure ivory to as dark as the night. The dress accents her fair skin and her jet black hair. Her red lips and empty eyes are noteworthy features of her face, along with the sharp edges of her cheekbones and jawline.

Death’s graceful moves can put put even the most hot headed person to remain calm, the mightiest warrior to become soft, and the quickest of tongues to become silent. Her spins and Pliés takes away mortal breathes. She’s easily the most beautiful thing anyone has ever seen. Resisting her outstretched hand seems almost impossible.

She can appear anywhere, quickly making any place her stage. Ill children believe she’s a fairy; taking her hand joyfully and dancing with her into another life. The elderly smile at her fondly, remembering their lives and joyful moments before finally taking her hand and sway slowly with her. Those who’ve battled with mental illness and stress stand before her in awe. Some join her dance without an ounce of regret. Some may miss her hand and wake up with a her face as an unclear image. Those who manage to live from her encounter will have some kind of scar to remember her by. The ticket to her next performance.

Death takes no breaks, and takes no pleasure from her dance. Once her performance has been completed, she simply moves on her next audience.

The Concept of Life (⅔)

Life lives a secluded life, far from civilization. He’s a farmer. He tends to his plants and livestock; having a preference to take care of the simple lives on his farm than the complex life of a human.

Like Death, he takes no real joy in his job. But unlike his counterpart, however, he doesn’t need to come into contact to have an impact on mortals. He simply has to be. But that doesn’t stop mortals from bothering him.

After dealing with humans for centuries, he’s heard of nearly every single complaint to ever drop from their mouth. He has an extremely low patience level for those who succeed in finding him. His piercing eyes stare into the skull of the individual, making it very clear that he or she is not welcome. The human may whine, complain, or even plead Life to change their situation. Life will quickly denounce their begging and goes back to tending his farm.

He has neglected many people over the years, even failing to help those who actually needed help. He can't actually help people, he is simply life. Even if he wanted to, he has no ability to heal or to resurrect. He has no ability to change the path of one's life or to change the minds of the world. Those facts alone makes him feel guilt to those who travel miles all over the world to confront him. Most matters being of utmost importance in the eyes of the being. But the fact of the matter is, he just can’t do anything except be.  

A Tragic Encounter With Life (3/3)

I managed to make it over the large hill to look down upon a field of wheat with a single red barn. I left home five days ago with the a legend saying that Life could fix anything if sought out.

“He lives on a farm somewhere in the Midwest,” my grandfather had told me when I was a child. “The day is always a constant sunset there; the sky always a beautiful mix of purples, reds, and gold.”

I checked my watch. It was 7:00 in August, so of course there’d be a sunset at this time. I sighed, this was the seventh or eighth barn I’d come across. Maybe I’d just ask for directions from this house.