Home is not a place - A story narrated by Death

1. End

Let's start from the end.

I believe that it is human custom to start at the beginning of the story, to intrigue the readers. However, I don't care for human customs, and I don't care for the end. I am a result, and I see what happens at the end. The thing that intrigues me is the process. The 'how they got there' if you will. The end often leaves people disappointed - and so why wait with bated breath to find what happens next. 

I must warn you, as my previous statement might have made you doubt my abilities as a narrator, that this is not going to be told in the usual way. We will not start from the beginning, we will not finish at the end. So, if you don't care for those types of stories, the ones that aren't about beginning nor end, but the process, then I suggest that you turn away. You've heard right - Death is giving you warning. Some advice.

I would follow it if I were you.

So - if there are no more objections - let us begin.

I remember this as if it were happening to me. If I had drifted away and possessed one of them. I remember every little detail.

A boy, sobbing over the girl's broken body. Tears spilling, splatting on her face. If this were a fairytale, she would've woken up, the power of true love working its fairytale magic. But, I believe we must establish that this no fairytale. 

I loosened her soul, and slowly, gently, I lifted it from her body. She smelled of the ocean. Of old, dusty books and broken promises. The wilderness and strawberries. Of power and love. She left without a fight, and I could feel the years-old weariness, that was etched permanently. It seemed she embraced me, something that people haven't done for so, so long. She echoed one name, repeating it like a mantra, and I knew in that moment that not even I could break this bond. I might've taken her out of this world, holding her in my arms, but the bond would remain.

Percy, she whispered to me, as if I were a therapist, Percy.

Yes, that was the moment that I decided to dig a little deeper into human desire. Into love, and all those other fickle things that you seem determined to have. I broke my own promise myself at that point. To never ask questions, to get the job done. Because I knew, if I looked into your lives, I would see things that I wouldn't want to see. I would question my morals. 

But that isn't the only thing. The leftover humans, is what scares me the most. The ones with blank stares and shattered hearts, staring at me, as if waiting for me to fix it. Waiting for me to take them so that they could be reunited. I make it a point to avoid those, and I do it well, because when I go into that house, and they beg me, I can say, that it's not your time. However, the look on their faces when I whisper that to them, a voice in the wind, is what breaks me. 

This is a story of one suck leftover human, but the at the time, they weren't. This is about a boy with jet-black hair and sea-green eyes that believed in the world, believed in you and I. What a dangerous thing - but he did it so well.

Now, for the next order of business - the girl. The one that I took away. I guess it was a kind of relief for her, because as I look into her life, I see the pain. The pain that came when the girl with jet-black hair and electric blue eyes was taken away from her.( I remember this girl. I outstretched my hands and tried to push into her body, but some force stopped me. I left, because I had so much to do, but she was there, showing all signs of being dead, but inside her. ) The pain when she find out the man with sandy blonde hair and pale blue eyes had turned to the other side.

But I believe that she had things to fight for as well. I don't know what, but I know who, and after chronicling his life for so long, I would fight for him too. 

So, this is not just a story about a leftover human, it is also a story about the one that left him behind. This is also a story about a girl with golden-blonde hair and stormy grey eyes that didn't believe in the world, didn't love in the world, but still managed to find some anyway.

Come, and let me tell you a story.

Let me show you something.