Death has icy hands. He's a gaunt fellow with a faint line for a mouth. Quiet on the most unexpected day. You can never hear him come in until his eyes are trained on you.
People say he comes in black robes fluttering behind him. A snarl ever present on his rotting features. Lengthy limbs pointing at you, choosing you.
No. He stands in glistening white, poised and firm. His look is enough to let you know why he was there. He waits, in the stinging cold, until acceptance dawns on your face. He gives you that luxury. Once the naked vulnerability is reached, a new journey is soon to commence.
One frozen touch from him is enough to make the world fall away. The brisk air becomes visible with every gasp. A puffy smoke that dissipates with the wind.
He leads the way, guiding you so you don't get lost in the frost. Snowy pathways that seem to go on forever stretch forward. And he walks through it like he knew every little crevice of it. A confident step as his feet sink into the snow.
Words never hang from his lips, for they are sealed shut. He continues on, beckoning with his fingers for you to keep up. The crisp chill runs up your spine as you move on. There is no other way to go but forward.
Half-way through the path you'll notice his steps don't make a sound. An absence that makes the loudest revelation. A ghost, you might think, a floating individual leading you away from life. But you won't turn around. No. You'll keep going in hopes of a better outcome, a reason for the long trek, answers to your curiosities.
After so much you'd think you'd pass out from the cold. But it doesn't seem to affect you no more. The longer you go, the more you become accustomed. The chilly air doesn't bother you. It has become a part of you.
He'll turn his head back to make sure you're still there. His mouth is still a straight line every time, highlighted by the gleaming white all around him.
You think you'd reach somewhere, but you're not sure when. It feels like forever. A never ending journey to the end. You question if it even is the end.
Wondering if this was what it all was dominates the mind. Perhaps other souls linger around the bare trees, peeking to see the newest one make their way down the pathway.
But it's dead silent. It's a constant nothingness.
You'll ask why you even bothered to follow him. But it's quite evident why anyone lets him lead them really.
His calm nature. His silent steps. His soft but undeniably enticing presence.
Death has icy hands, but you won't flinch at his touch, you'll welcome him like a warm embrace in the chill of the night.
