roman-ticist

°~○~°  Jackie  °~○~°  15  °~○~°  🇵🇱  °~○~°

- Who are you? - Death, standing right behind the back of my armchair, asks in sophisticated manner as I drink my daily cup of tea. - I haven't met anyone like you. You aren't scared like them? 

- What should I be scared of? - I answer languorously with another question. 

- Of me, Death. 

- Death? What is death for me? Just a confirmation of what I have known for a long time. I'm already dead. 

- How so? 

- Come with me. - I give Death an intimidating smile. We go upon the stairs only to step into complete darkness. I bring Death to the wall and light a candle. A vision of a dry, rotting heart appears before our eyes. - See, it doesn't beat anymore. 

Death nods, confused. 

- How are you able to talk with me, then? - She inquires. 

- Oh, there is a few things that keep me "alive". Look right here. - On the bed there is a pile of cd boxes and books. Death starts to examine them, highly interested. 

- What are them? - Death wants to know, holding an album of Nirvana. - Are they magical? 

- Oh, yes. - I laugh. - Metallica, Megadeth, Guns N' Roses, Queen, Sex Pistols, My Chemical Romance... It's pure magic. 

- And those? - Now she picks up a novel. I glance at the cover, already sunk in memories. 

- Everyone needs some form of escapism sometimes, don't they? My favourite is reading. "Percy Jackson", "Harry Potter", "The Bell Jar", the works of Shakespeare, of romanticism - they give me an ounce of my old life. 

- Aren't you tired of it? Being constantly hang between life and death? Do you want me to take you with me? - She whispers unexpectedly. 

- Of course I am. - A smirk contorts my face. - Try. 

Death closes her eyes, it's visible that she uses all her strength but nothing happens. 

- Wierd... I can't kill you. 

I smile again. 

- I know. 

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