A Story of Human Conquest

   "The last enemy to be destroyed is death"
(Corinthians 15:26).

~•~

It was a peaceful Saturday afternoon. The sun was high in the sky with dark clouds trailing behind. A small car came to a slow stop at an intersection. Once clear, the car pulled forward and continue to its destination. The vehicle held a young woman, no older than 25.

Her facial features were soft and worn. Her eyes, a stunning dark blue. Her hair, a luscious chocolate brown, cascaded over her shoulders in magnificent curls. Her lips bore a caring smile that could make anyone happy, and they parted with every word she spoke as she chatted with her seven-year-old child through the Bluetooth in her ear.

"So, how was school yesterday, dear?" She asked her 7-year-old child, who had just woken up. "Are the bullies still bothering you?"

"No, mommy, the bullies didn't bother me at all yesterday! Oh, and guess what mommy!" The child exclaimed excitedly. "What sweetie?" She asked, with a smirk dancing on her lips.

Her smirk brightened into a smile as her child enthusiastically told her about the upcoming field trip to the local Police Station.

"Mrs. Ross said that we need to have our sheet signed and turned in, along with five dollars, by Friday the twenty-first of October –two weeks from yesterday– if we want to go. So, can I mommy? Please?"

The woman chuckled lightly at the antics of the child, before drawing a shallow breath in to answer.

Her reply never reached the ears of the child. For, at that exact moment, the sharp bang of a gunshot rang through the air –cutting her off.

The scream of her child resonated through the small earpiece –only just heard over the violent crashing and crunching of metal as the car vaulted off the road. But, the cries of the child only reached the now deaf ears of their silenced mother, whose once kind features were now grey and hollow.

Once shining blue eyes were now milky and dull –bare of the spark of life they normally held. A thick crimson liquid dripped from her now shattered skull, splattering onto the ceiling of the once nice vehicle –now, nothing more than scrap metal in a ditch.

–The final resting place of the woman who just wanted to get the ingredients for her child's birthday cake.

~•~

Death.

Death has always a part of human culture. All of it. And, in each culture, he takes a different form.

To the Greeks, he was known as Thanatos –the spirit of death.

To the Romans, he was known as Mors –the personification of death, or Mania –the goddess of death.

To the Egyptians, he was known as Anubis –the guardian of the dead.

To the Vikings, death took form in their goddess, Hel –goddess of the dead and queen of Helheim.

To Sikhs, death takes form in the Archangel Azrael –the Archangel of death.

To the Europeans he was known as the Grim Reaper –the personification of death. The list goes on.

~•~

"No, mommy, the bullies didn't bother me at all yesterday! Oh, and guess what mommy!" I had exclaimed excitedly. "What sweetie?" She asked.

I could almost hear the smile she always wore brightening on her lips as I enthusiastically told her about the upcoming field trip to the local Police Station.