THE FIELDS OF DEATH

DEACAY AND ANTITHESIS

Death walked among the fields of chaos and it wore the shapes of Grim Reaper. Its long pale white eyeless face, covered by a black pointed hood. All around him laid dead, as he floated from one corpse to another sucking their life and taking them to its lands.
It was plague here, war too and these two brought many deaths. Humans and animals alike.

Everywhere Death could see it found dead bodies lying in heaps, some shattered, others burning. The battle was over but its essence remained. It was rare in the history of humans when battles like this were fought. Every soldier dead. The battlefield was now completely scorched. The yellow autumn grass that glimmered in the autumn sun this very morning was like black ash now. The men that were breathing life were dead now. The horses that talked with the wind, now lifeless. It was truly a strange battle with everything dead after its commencement.

Death had a lot of lives to end today, but it decided to wait till it was sundown. Why? It also could not answer that. Afterall Death was Death. It didn't think. It walked under the overhead sun, ending his levitation, towards the village that was east of the battlefield. He would find death there too. There it will be more dreadful. Plague killed worse than war.

When Death finally reached the village, he found that the fortifications of the village were torn out. The small wooden rampart that the villagers had created a few days ago in their fear that the battle would be raging towards them, was now in complete shambles. Obliterated. The small meadow with the large oak tree that stood outside the village was also chopped down. There were also scorch marks inside the village as if the people had faced a large wildfire. It didn't seem like earth here. It was pure hell in the village.

The houses were all empty in the village, the streets devoid of life, the tiny shops silent. A strong putrid rancid smell hung in the air, and a strange faint aura can be seen rippling around the houses. Death was unsure whether he had seen anything like this before. It had seen the Fall of Troy, The Trenches of Verdun, The Massacre of Chios, The Black Death, The Scourging of Earth,  but it had never seen a village as twisted as this one. It made Death feel nauseous and sick. This village was corrupted, Death felt to it.

Slowly as the noon passed Death swayed from one dead corpse to another, taking them. The dead were all bilous, drenched in filth and sweat. Some had stabbed themselves. Children had died in cradles with hot mucus gushing out of their small mouths, women had strangled themselves in their cotton tie ropes, men had died in their sleep, coughing and coughing. Chaos flooded this village. From every person Death took Life, it felt mercy for them. Such ruin has the plague brought upon them.

As Death passed through the silent streets he could feel a reeking growth pulsating at the heart of the village. It was ruinous, twisted, centred at destruction.

When Death finally reached the old cemetery, it found that there were no newly dug graves. All graves were empty of life. He had taken them all. The whole village had died there within those walls. No one has buried a single soul that died from the plague.

Death strolled around the graveyard for sometime. It loved graveyards. The ominous silence, the queer winds, the grey trees without leaves, the dull shades of the soil and the dead decaying in their closed caskets. Decay was in the essence of graveyards and Death was preacher of decay.

As Death turned to move out from the graveyard, it saw a red cloaked figure standing at the arched gateway. It was a man but something around it seemed unusual. As if the reality itself wrapped around him. He soon sat on a  boulder nearby and gazed straight into the void filled eyes of Death. He whistled as he waited for Death to approach him.

"I have been searching for you. My friend. " The man said. He had a thick voice and continued to whistle.
Death was spotted again. It occurred rarely. Death would soon erase the memories of this man of meeting Death after they have talked, but Death could feel something was strange about the red figure.
"Thee search for me?' Death spoke with his small hissing voice, that some would call was like the screeching of a snake. Dreadful and Grieving. 'Thee wish to speak to me?"
"Oh yes indeed, but you know, you are hard to find these days. Among all this chaos." The stranger said.
Death felt a need to speak to this man, his words were warm. No mortal had ever spoken to Death so. So Death also sat beside the stranger too. To have a conversation.
"How many did you take today?" The man questioned.
"Many."
"I see,' the man said with a smile,' you are coming from that battlefield. "
"No. The village had I visited last"
"The pestilence there. Hmm. It is…………… deadly. "
Death nodded."Deadlier than all, I have seen. It is much more merciless."
"Ohh. Have you not been to the battlefield yet, then?"
"I have.'Death replied.' But left them have I to suffer longer. I will take thoust this evening." Death's hissing, screeching voice was calm.
"You are late then on your workday, I guess." The man asked.
Death was silent for a moment then spoke." I should have no rest. Still, dost thou think not that I should rest for some time. For all the Death I see and take."
"The village must be painful, I wonder?"
"It is…… … . grieving. The place seems to weep. There are none who breathe. The battlefield. Decay rules there for as long as I sit here. It's tragic that no one should survive a battle that knights would sing for many ages.'Death continued. 'At least some could have been spared but destiny wished otherwise. Men. Brave men are dead. Worse, innocents are dead too in their own houses with no one to bury them."
"The plague was not kind. Although I wanted it much worse.' The stranger said, thinking.' I should have given them more pain……...more disgust."
"What dost thee mean? Thou wanted it"?
"Ohh! You fool! Can't you see?' He whispered,' Everyone here is perished. Dead. Dying in their own filth and sweat and blood. Expect me. I created the plague. It was me who served them this hell."
Death sat in silence. It's long, black sickle shaped saw appearing in his floating hands.
"You wish to kill me?" The man questioned.
"I don't…….. thee be…... extraordinary. Thou has an aura around you." Death replied.
"I have.' The man nodded.'Wish you had not felt it.'
"What do thy wish? Why has thee scorched them mortals, with such a pestilence?"
"I wished to met you,' The stranger replied, his eyes gleaming,' and I want you to take a vow."
Death laughed. It's laugh like the screeches of infinite decaying worms."Thee want Death to make a vow? Intriguing. Yet pointless. And what gives thou that authority? Mortal? To demand from Death itself?"

The stranger chuckled and the earth heaved. Blue lighting hurled down from the sky and the lifeless grass groaned in agony. The graves began to shudder as the dead rose from their graves. Worms slithered across the dead hands that had began to protrude out of the graves. With decaying bones and limp skeletons the dead woke. The sky darkened as black as charcoal and the sun veiled behind them dampening the earth into pitch darkness.
For no mortals could see what happened in the cemetery, Death saw in the flashes of mad lighting that the dead were indeed alive. Their skeletons, a loose frame of decayed bones, and their strides leading them towards Death. And in their hollow eyes Death could see despair and hatred and pain.
As Death hurled his reaping sow and the clouds parted and the dead retreated. Their graves sucking them back into the void, their hollow eyes that were filled with hatred and pain sinking into nothingness, their limp forms cascading into rotten bones. The dead were driven back into their graves and the sun shined brightly again.
Death stood silently for a long time for no one has ever risen the dead before. The man had somehow altered the balance of life.
"What dost thee?" Death spoke firmly.
The stranger chuckled again. He had been sitting on the rock still when Death had battled the dead.
"I wish to make a demand, Death!" The man cried out loud, his voice stern.
Death nodded.
"On the third week of the year that lies 616 years from now in the month of November when the clock strikes noonday, a single man will die. No other man will die at that moment. Only one. And I want you to spare him!"
Death looked grim if it could look like grim. It was silent too.
"Speak? Do you vow, Death? Do you vow not to kill the man that dies on the moment I told you about? Speak!" The man roared.
At last Death spoke." What thee wish is neigh in my will. For I take only. I can't spare a life."
"Oh yes you can!' The man trembled,' and you will!'
"I can't." Death said.'It defies the nature of balance in this universe.''
The stranger mumbled, his anger boiling, his nerves pulsing with fierce hatred. "If you don't, then I shall slay you! For you have seen I am worthy of that. Promise me! Death that thou shall spare the man's life! Promise!"
"I can't." Death whispered, it's almighty grimm voice an chalant speck of tones.
"Then so be it! We wait for 616 years and I shall see that thou spare the life of the man I speak of or else be ready to die!" The stranger's voice faded away as he vanished from the graveyard.

As the graveyard fell silent, a hot breeze sped across. The sun shone brightly and insects chipred in the warm air. But Death felt a chilling cold. Infact Death trembled because for the first time since the Creation Death had witnessed a miracle.