𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

I am Death. The secret of life nobody wants to learn.

But I am also fair.

I have seen you, and everyone else that inhabits a space on Earth. That little space wouldn't make a single dent in what Earth is as a whole. I watch people all the time, even if they aren't on the verge of eternal sleep. That's when I come in to play.

Let me set the scene.

A boy is running. There is a crowd of hatred on his heels, wielding sharp weapons and scowls meant to kill. A virescent mosaic swirls up above in the sky as heat hugs his skin tighter. Unfettered light illuminates the scorched up ground, being his only guidance on this chase. The crowd is gaining on him rapidly, yet he still runs.

Turning his head over his shoulder, he can see the familiar faces of people that once were his friends. People he bled with that now betrayed him. He has nothing, yet he persists.

I love how some can face no restraint after falling to their knees, blood oozing from their mind. With this bunch, I see many boys with similar backgrounds. They came into this world with something to prove. Each like the other before them. Picking through this handful of interesting people, I see a dead girl walking. She's one of the lucky ones I've taken note of. Eyes of coffee stains, hair of the richest grounds.

She has faced Death. She has dodged me, bitten back, fought me, but never cheated me. She has fought me blindly with her only motive being life. Who am I to step in the way of her quick thinking? I wonder why she still chooses to persist when everything has gone to shit around her. Her fire hasn't burned out, I suppose.

The obstacles she has faced have caught my eye. I watch her through her life, always close, close, close! Just an ignorant, silly little girl.

I must say, it's impressive. Everytime my grasp is on the brink of taking her and whisking her into an eternity of sleep, she manages to take a step forward. Every. Damn. Time. How can people be so naïve and so lucky at once?

Who am I to be frustrated? She is simply surviving in a world of evil. I can applaud her for being a step ahead. Earth -- A place where demented creatures lurk under their noses. They're too oblivious to even bat an eye at the red flags screaming in their faces. Too stupid to pay attention to the signs. In fact, humanity is known for brushing things under the rug like they don't exist instead of facing it head on. Cowardly, if you ask me.

I guess the lines between good and evil become blurred when tears fall on them.

It hasn't been her time yet, but it will be. Someday, somehow, some way. Maybe this can lighten the blow for later. I'm always the breath brushing her shoulder. The car speeding across her path at the last second. I'm the patter of rain clicking her window in the background. She's a dead girl walking, and I am the road leading to no return.

The road is a path through the sky that splits, and sends its passengers plummeting into a vegetated world of hell, otherwise known as paradise if people treat their surroundings kindly.

What was I saying again? Oh, yes. Seeing humans freak over tales of the supernatural is ironic. We really aren't going to cause the same amount of harm that you cause yourselves. The supernatural has found a certain joy in spectating and observing. I mean no intentional harm. I'll just be the one to carry you away when your clock runs out, and your lungs deflate. That's the purpose of Death. You all act like I'm some malicious bastard, itching to whisk you away.

Humans are their own monsters. Humans alone keep the evil packed away in the closets of their hearts. Any of you can be a killer. It just takes a few pushes to awaken it. How many pushes do you have left? After all, you're all inherently evil. It's intertwined in your DNA. Do you really think that evil was magically released from a jar like a firefly? No, it's walked the Earth for millennium. Try to debate it, I dare you. Plenty of instances will prove you wrong.

It's a beast. It's a bitch.

Festering as the decrepit insanity blooms over like a waltz through a labyrinth. It's a macabre dance of thoughts that twirl in a maddening rhythm. It's a realm where shadows writhe like a living entity of darkness where one's screams are their only companion in the desolate void of their soul.

In this eerie domain, man's sense of reasoning is a flickering candle; vulnerable to whipping winds of mania, threatening to extinguish their fragile light. The palace walls of reality crumble to reveal the ugly abyss of chaos birthed by mankind.

Humans are the beasts and bitches of your imaginations, even though you don't come to give the idea a second thought. Take away the rules, and you all break- No, you shatter. Shattering like glass dolls into a million shards, each with its own unique precision and cut, reflecting distorted images of a shattered mind. You fill your mind's bellies to the brim with these unrealistic standards. To what? To prove yourselves? Please.

I wish I could further understand why you all do so. I've never seen something so imperfect, yet you all carry such a drive to be what you're not; perfect.

Memories of mistakes lead back to humanity as a whole. From the time Earth was created, nothing's improved. I can't see a change, and I've been here since the beginning.

I have never seen such beings that need more exterior control over them. Humans are all ticking bombs just waiting to blow, and it's like watching paint dry until a chemical reaction makes a shift.

The girl with coffee stained eyes has faced this, just as every other normal human ever. She's seen how men can be demented, and how the most proper teenagers can go feral. She has witnessed death first hand. The shame rises in her, yet even now she pursues forward.

How does one heal from witnessing something so traumatic? Something so mortifying, that even allowing your mind to rest on the case would send you into a violent whirlpool of voices and recollections of inflicting such fatal wounds onto another being. The variety of humans and their will is so unique.

The days where the girl with coffee stained eyes had to watch a group of boys go savage is one of my most thrilling encounters to mark down.

The visuals are unmistakable-- Streaks of harshly applied red and black paint being smeared down cheeks, hiding all purity after being dropped off in a hellish world. It gets better!

Crickety tall trees shoot out of the charred ground to juxtapose the outskirts of the island. Hardly any leaves or vegetation adorned the skeletal branches that twisted up towards the smoky sky. The jungle was cloaked in vivid flailing light. Subtle reds, scorching yellows, and faded oranges.

I'll let you decide whether those colors represent a cool autumn's day, or the rampage of a burning fire.

The girl lays against a tree for a breath. She is silent, the only sounds being her heaving chest. Her hand gripped itself into a tighter fist - nails like rose thorns that dug into the damaged flesh of her palm. A visible curtain of sorrow and anguish painted her ash-toned face as her gaze swept over the contours of the terrain that might as well be considered a graveyard. A sensation of her throat closing swelled up, whether the cause be from ever-developing smoke, or the anxiety which plagued her.

The renewed gash in her temple began to weep inky drops of crimson, throbbing in waves to parody the thumping in her chest. It made her wince. With trembling hands, she maneuvered herself away from the tree and navigated through the crawling smoke.

The air is heavy with the acrid scent of burning wood and the musky aroma of charred earth, a noxious perfume that clings to the skin like a tattoo. The roar of the fire is a deafening crescendo, a symphony of crackling timber and the howls of a chorus of restless spirits that will never go beyond the island's borders.

Yet, amidst the devastation, a strange beauty reigns down with the fleeting ashes. The flames cast an ethereal glow, illuminating the smoke-shrouded trees like sentinels of a burning cathedral. The fire's ferocity is tempered by an otherworldly elegance, as if the very essence of the forest has been distilled into a fleeting, fiery spectacle.

In this haunting scene, golden light, the forest floor is transformed into a surreal landscape of burning January embers along the smoldering ruins

Through the midst of it all is a devilish grin hitched up on a pole to stalk them down. A gift for darkness. Convulated, bony arms of burned ivy and vines snaked around the pole, reaching for the grin. While this set of scenery is exciting, it's not occuring until later in the story. Their own actions ruined their own life.

Let's observe, shall we?