Writing Prompt #117 — Death’s Remembrance

Prompt: You’re glad to see that Death still remembers who you are

He appears from the settling dusk, standing over me. The faint light from the dying sun runs across his curved blade. I would greet him like I had many, many times before, but it hurts far too much to breathe, let alone move. I cough, spit up blood.

“Hey,” I say, lowly. “How’ve you been?”

He kneels, setting his blade on the blood-soaked sand. “Better than you, it seems.” His words like winter winds. No matter how hot the desert is, a chill wafts over me.

I try to nod, but a sharp pain shoots down my back. I wince instead, grin. “Yeah, I’ve been better.”

“Not by much.”

Tears sting my eyes. I want to laugh but I know it’ll only cause my broken ribs to feel like they’re on fire. “Hate to admit it, but you’re right.”

Silence nestles over us as night does the same over the world. In the absolute darkness, where crystal blue eyes once were, deep blue fiery flames flicker, dancing within the holes in his polished skull.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “that this happened.”

I cough up more blood, dribbles down my chin. “Happens to the best of us.”

“I didn’t expect to see you this soon.”

“No one does, really.”

More silence. Blue flames seep down his skull, dimly illuminating where his dainty nose once was, the cracked maw that once housed a smile that could stop any man in its tracks.

“To think,” he says, “I always looked forward to seeing you. After ever kill, I hoped you would be the one who completed the act, prayed to the Old that you may be the one passing on, so we could be one, together. Yet, now… Now…”

“It’s not what you wanted,” I say. “You’re afraid.” I grin, want to laugh. “Death, afraid, that’s sort of funny. But, hey…” I hack up blood. “No one thought Death could fall in love either, especially with a man.”

“It’s not that,” he says, almost whispering, “it’s that—”

“You think death will change me; change who I am. You’ve seen millions of deaths, brought over too many souls to count, and experienced their change, their transformation…” I stop, sharply inhale. “But, I don’t think that’ll happen with me. I’ve been around Death for decades and it hasn’t changed me yet.”

Our eyes lock. I feel the frigidness of his bones on my hand. “Are you certain?”

I nod. “Positive.”

I hear the blade run across the sand, feel its edge rest on my throat. Bottomless blue symbols and runes come alight, spanning the arching scythe. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“For you? Always,” I say, then brutal cold consumes me.

Read my previous prompt, “Weaponized Instruments

Read more of my writing prompts here.

Check out my bibliography for more of my work.

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