Day 97 - Death Story

Death Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Tiny red specks in the pristine white snow. Innocence spoiled; raptured delight. The contrast was supposed to aid the spell. The spell was supposed to honor the duality; the line was between life and death, cleanliness and dirt, light and dark, the soul and the sin. The blood was used as a transport connecting the death and the life with nature and the spirit with the rebirth of the world around. Some called it Gaia. Some called it Vida or Vita or Aeon. They all meant the same thing; they all worshiped the same thing – the balance between life and death. In that balance was existence. When the balance was thrown chaos resulted.

Death was the only certainty in a life of flesh and blood and blasphemy and unholy things. Death was a goddess that did not judge or hate or task or challenge. Death was indifferent and embracing at the same time – everyone gets to meet Death and be taken in, no matter what. Not all believers or deities can say the same. Death is the inevitability,

“Go ahead.  Scream.  No one will hear you.  No one can.  Not here.”

Sheanne had every intention of screaming as loud and as much as she possibly could, but she knew the priestess was right. No one was going to hear them. They were in the bottom of an old rock quarry. There was no one for miles around.

“Hers is the tale of incantation and reanimation,” began the priestess.

“I am the night,” chanted the crowd.

“I am the spirit,” chanted the priestess.

The crowd continued with their chanting and their prayers. They spoke to the goddess and called her name. They swore their allegiance and proclaimed their love for life and death and the spirit force that makes them one and the same.

“In blood there is life and in life there is the world and in the world there is the end and in the end there is death and death connects us all…”

The priestess leaned close to Sheanne.

“I can offer you nothing, but the briefest moment of love.”

“I don’t understand.”

The priestess buried a blade deep into Sheanne.

“Love me in return, and you will lose me. For Death is nothing except for the loss of life and in that common bond the spirit grows strong.”

The knife went deeper.

“And if you love me, I will love you and it will be the strongest most dedicated love you have ever felt.”

The hanged man appeared and pointed his finger at Sheanne. She had been called.  Sheanne felt nothing except bliss and happiness.