“I’m sorry.”
I whisper under my breath. My eyes are closed, and my head hangs low enough that it almost touches the ground. My hands are placed in front of me, rested atop a heap of gray fur. My senses barely register where I am, and I don’t feel the cold dew of the grass that wets the knees of my slacks and shines my black shoes. My focus is on one thing: the rabbit that lays under my hands.
It’s still. Even as I stroke its soft, gray pelt, it doesn’t stir. One of its hind legs is twisted the wrong way, mangled beyond recognition and slicking the fur around it with sticky red. I choose not to look at the leg, keeping my eyes towards the center of the rabbit, where I don’t have to look at its face, either.
I don’t want to see the eyes that I know will be open. I know what the gloss that coats them will look like, I don’t need to be reminded of it. I’d rather miss the nose that no longer twitches, the whiskers that won’t move. I want to avoid looking at the statuesque features that plague my everyday vision anyways.
I can do without.
But at least I no longer have to hear the whimpering.
“Are you done yet?”
A voice breaks me from my stupor, shaking me out of my own head. It’s a rough voice, one who accepts no room for disagreeing, as though the question he asked was more of a command than anything else. Hearing it makes me sigh, but I stand anyway, brushing at the stray strands of grass stuck to my knees.
“It’s just a rabbit.” He continues, going so far as to roll his eyes at me, as though he’s disappointed that I’m mourning.
I know that it’s a rabbit. Maybe not “just” a rabbit, though a rabbit nonetheless.
But he’ll never have to know the feeling of placing your hands over a living, breathing creature, and watching as their breathing just… Stops. To feel the rise and fall of its chest cease. To watch as the life drains from things that deserve it, and things that most certainly do not.
He’ll never know what it’s like to be me, to have my job.
And he has no right to judge the way I handle it.
“I’m done.” I say softly, choosing to ignore the way he so easily dismissed the rabbit. At least it isn’t suffering any longer.
“Well, it’s about time. I have much better things I could be doing with my day than sitting around with your sorry ass, watching you cry over some insolent bunny. Pick yourself up. Move on.” He tells me, and as he speaks, I tilt my head downwards to look him in the eyes. I notice the way his vibrant yellow eyes flash while he speaks of moving on, and the stance he keeps shifting his weight from obviously portrays impatience. He’s always been like that, though. Eager to move on, keep going, look to tomorrow instead of yesterday.
I’ve never been able to decide whether I admire that about him, or despise it.
“What is it that you have to be doing? Can’t you just leave me be anyways? I never asked you to tag around with me today.” I complain, my voice sounding weak and nasal. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Maybe it’s because he’s heard it sound that way too many other times in the past to even register it at this point.
“You already know the answer to that.” He retorts in a voice that sounds annoyed, forced, even. “Don’t play coy with me. I know you don’t want to go, but there’s no way the three of us are making an appearance without you. You’re supposed to be our leader. It’s about time you started acting like it, or I might be serious about that threat over replacing you.” His voice sounds stern, as much of a warning as his words are. “And besides,” he continues, “getting out would be good for you.”
“But I-” I start, but I’m instantly cut off.
“And before you try to tell me that you get out plenty, your job doesn’t count. This,” he gestures to the lifeless rabbit in front of us, “doesn’t count. Who knows.. Maybe you’ll finally see what you’ve been missing out on this whole time.” At this, he turns towards me, his fierce eyes narrowed and his stature tall, almost tall enough to make him rival my height.
As if.
I only shake my head in response, as I’ve heard what he’s saying before. That doesn’t mean I believe it. “You can keep dreaming.” I tell him softly, and he cracks me one of his classic smirks, a face I’ve seen more times than I can count.
“I will.” He says, then holds his hands out in front of him, eyes going wide like he’s seeing something extraordinary. “Just imagine it!” He says with mock excitement. “Death himself, enjoying something! Having a good time with the people who actually give a shit about him, and letting them convince him to go somewhere, to do something with himself! What a concept!” He laughs once he finishes, and for a moment, I’m tempted to punch his shoulder. I refrain, though.
After he finishes laughing, a deep sound that echoes through the forest of trees we’re currently standing in, his face and composure turn serious once more.
“Seriously though, Death.” He tells me. “I think you should come with us. If anyone can make sure you’ll have a good time, it’s the three of us.” He pauses, chin tilted high, pride coursing through his veins and flowing from his pores. “You know I’m right.”
For the second time in just a few minutes, I sigh. Not because I’m sick of hearing the same thing over and over again, but because I know he’s right.
War knows me better than anyone else.
“Fine, War.” I settle hopelessly, my voice once again dropping to its pathetic tone. “I’ll think about it.”
And he cheers.
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Vita et Mors || A TXT Fanfiction
Romance"He'll never have to know the feeling of placing your hands over a living, breathing creature, and watching as their breathing just... Stops. To feel the rise and fall of its chest cease. To watch as the life drains from things that deserve it, and...
