A picture says a
thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a
metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about
this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your
block!
http://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/94527198269/writers-block-a-picture-says-a-thousand-words
“H-hello,” she said nervously. She
had been so tired; so very tired. Days of a fever that was too high. Her body
could not fight the illness any more and her fevered dreams kept her from
restoring her strength. Her strength was less to begin with; she gave too much
of her own meals to her younger brothers and sisters.
She had felt better when her
spirit had passed out of her exhausted body. The last thing she had expected to
meet was death himself but, remembering her manners, she greeted the dark
spirit. She assumed that Death was male.
“You are Death?” she
checked. He wore the black hooded cloak, the scythe to harvest souls and had an
hourglass hung around his neck.
“Yes.” The voice was sibilant.
“I feel better now.”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible to go back?”
“Why would you want to? Your life
was not easy.”
She wondered how Death knew that.
She wondered also what her life would be now; such as it was. “When I have
rested, I would like to go back and look after my siblings.”
“So young,” Death hissed.
She wasn’t sure whether Death
meant her or her siblings. “They need me. The youngest is not yet one. They
have no-one else.” The thought occurred to her that if there was no-one to look
after them, they would soon be joining her on this side of the black curtain.
Death’s head shook. “I cannot.” A
pause. “I harvest the marked souls. I do not mark them.”
“Oh.” Not that she was sure what
she could offer Death. She had nothing to bargain with. “I understand.” She
held her hand out to shake. “Thank you, for explaining.”
The hood jerked back a little as
if Death was surprised that she would want to touch him. Tentatively a hand
slipped from under the robe sleeve to shake hers. She gripped the
skeletal offering firmly. “I am ready to go, now,” she said with dignity.
“No-one touches me,” Death said.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She nearly patted
him with her other hand to apologise before hastily drawing it back. The hood
followed the movement.
“Close your eyes,” Death whispered
to her.
When she opened them she found
herself back in her sickbed with the eager faces of her siblings gathered
around her.
Marked for death but not
collected, she knew she was living on borrowed time. Nothing could stop her
now; her entire life was devoted to watching the children in her care grow to
adulthood.
The day after her last sibling
reached legal age, she lay in her bed. “I’m ready to go now,” she announced to
the empty room; purposefully echoing the words she had said to him years ago.
She closed her eyes and knew that
he would take her this time, if only to feel her hold his hand again. Fifteen
years was all the time she needed and it was nothing to Death.
But Death was not quite prepared
to be hugged.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment