Death Is A Phenomenal Dancer

Day Five

The last day, Death showed up perfectly on time, and took Jonathan into the garden, laying him down by the side of the lake to watch the sunset. He put the boy down so carefully as if he were made of porcelain – these delicate movements, looked and felt so alien on Death, it was almost bizarre, in a sense.

"Oh, how beautiful! Sinclair, you must let me thank you for this! I haven't seen this garden in so long!" Jonathan cried, but Sin didn't reply, he just smiled at the boy without an inch of happiness tracing his features – he was devastated, and one didn't have to watch him for long, to notice that.

"It looks good" Death gave the most half-hearted compliment of his life, glancing over to the lake.

Now, the garden was, indeed, wonderful, but Sinclair couldn't pay attention to small details like that. All he felt, was the soft, warm breeze that usually characterised May, and the burning red sunlight, that drowned every other colour into this violent picture of an ending; the ending of a day, and the ending of the day. The last day, he would get to spend with Jonathan, and the last day, that mattered at all.

"You don't have your scythe with you."

"I won't need it." Sin replied quietly, then with a bittersweet, but nonetheless, charming smile, he turned to the boy, and took his gloves off, offering his hand to the other.

"May I have this dance?"

Not at all fazed by the uncovered, fleshless bones, Jonathan stared at Sinclair's arm with surprise.

"I- oh, Sin, I really can't dance any more"

"I'll hold you up." he reassured, and after a bit of hesitation, Jonathan took his hand. They both stood up straight, and Sin held the boy, just like he promised – Jonathan barely had to move a muscle, to stay up.

The sun had already gone down almost completely, so now everything bathed in orange and red, whilst the sky already fell into the ominous, grieving tones of purple and blue – The moment of true diversity, when Night and Day lock eyes for a few minutes, before leaving each other again for long hours. It sounds tragic, but if you'd ask them, they'd say it's worth it.

All the while, Death led the dance with perfect rhythm, however, each step they took, the pace seemed to grow slower, and slower, until' Jonathan's lips trembled open:

"You really do dance like you hear the music."

"That's because I do." Death replied, hugging the boy closer, and they continued to waltz to Jonathan's slowing heartbeat, until' there was nothing left to dance for.

Sinclair never told anyone, what exactly happened that day. He doesn't remember most details, that he wants to, and he usually mixes up the date, when trying to recall, these five days... but Jonathan – he remembers him so vividly, he can barely live with it. He remembers him smiling, tucked in under the covers, reading him poetry, sitting in the garden, dancing, and he remembers him lying in his arms, lifeless and cold. He remembers crying for the first time in his life, but he doesn't remember, how he got himself to leave or who dragged him away from the corpse. He just remembers lying there, hugging the only thing that ever mattered to him, and the only thing, that ever will – and life was simple because it was empty. The sun had set for the last time, and it would never rise again; the roses all died of grief, and the lake dried out from sorrow.

At last, there was nothing beautiful left in the world.