Chapter Text
What Am I?
The question lingers, yet unsaid, no long-sought answer to be read. Death? Decay? Or could it be that life itself is haunting me?
Hands, once warm and soft, now lie upon the ground—cold and hard, and nothing in their frozen state recalls the past they once portrayed.
"Have mercy," someone cries. He looks at me with hollow eyes, a dull gaze, a duller stare, so I step toward him, careful, slow— Step by step, through heavy air.
The paths we walk are bare, confined, two souls alone, yet intertwined, like all that lives—just passing by. "What say you?"
"Have mercy," the man repeats. "Why the haste? Why move so fast? Strictest rules? A heavy past?" His face is pale, touched only by the darkness vast and lonely. "I know not what awaits at last."
He sighs, his chin in hands enclosed. "A man like me, worn and disposed. I've done so little, dreamed still less. What shall I do in nothingness? What waits beyond? What is to be? Oh, tell me now—enlighten me! Is Hell as cruel as stories say? Flooded deep in blood’s decay? Do all the souls still scream for peace, and will their cries yet find release? Do they still taste the air of earth, or does regret outweigh their worth? Does what they lost still haunt their sight, a dream that taunts them every night— The dearest gift once held so tight?"
I look at him, a child grown tall, with loosened tongue, with none to stall. So speaks he now, unchecked, untamed, no fear, no care, no guilt, no shame. And in the shadows ‘round his eye, he seems at peace—at least nearby.
"You foolish child, ask not these things. This and that—no joy it brings. Soon enough, you’ll learn and see— Sin and death sail different seas. Naïve to think that one must sin— Be you man, beast, ox, or hound. You said it yourself, you risked nothing in life! So do not chase a riddle’s end, for you have done nothing. Deserve? Your fate is judged by other men."
"Are you not Death? The keeper grim?"
“Keeper, Ferryman, start and end."
He looks at me, his brows drawn tight, as though their weight might break in plight. "Yet still, you grant no answers true?"
"Your words mean little—none will do. For men like you, all grand and proud, are but a whisper in the crowd. No rage nor mercy shall you find, no truth nor solace for your kind."
"Yet still, you speak to me?"
"A fault of mine, a vice, a greed." I think of days I used to know— A lover’s touch, a child’s glow… But all dissolves, all fades in mist. What once was bright does not exist.
The man shakes his head, resigned. "What worth are words when truth won’t shine?"
My fingers snap—the world turns blind, as if the moon itself confined the sun, consumed it, pulled it near— And left no trace of warmth or cheer.
"Companionship is rare to me, a gift so brief in what I see. But men are selfish, men are vain, and gratitude is lost to gain. Be thankful for the time you had— Your greed has sealed your fate, poor lad."
"Forgive me," whispers he in prayer, hands entwined in hope and care. But mercy’s light is far too late, for now has come his final fate.
"It is your time.” My fingers snap— And he is gone, erased, entrapped. The light once bound within my palm now drifts beyond, so free, so calm.
"Farewell, young soul of endless greed," I whisper softly to the breeze. He reminds me of my child once bright— Too bold, too wild, too full of fight. From town to town, from year to year, wherever bloom the lindens near. I send him forth—he means no more, a speck upon the world’s grand lore.
Yet still, beneath the endless dome, he was a child, a piece of home.
"Find your rest, embrace release," I say, as night sways soft with ease. "I am Death, but in some tongues… peace."