A Reasonable Portrayal of a Fleeting Reality
By Ezri Wyman
There was warmth spreading up from the soles of a dark figure’s feet. The figure crouched on a tree branch and smiled faintly. A smaller, brighter figure seated itself close beside the dark one on the same branch, that overlooked a cobblestone path. A storm was brewing above them, the kind of storm that destroyed everything in its path. The kind of storm the likes of which rarely make their way into the world of men.
“Hello,” spoke the small figure.
“Hello,” responded the dark one.
“Do you know what happened to Fate?”
“Dear Life,” said the dark figure, “I regret to inform you that I was hoping you would.” An even-toned mockery of formality was used as an attempt to calm the small figure.
The small figure tucked a curl of hair behind one delicate ear and sighed, “Do you think Fate’s going to be gone?” the small figure wondered aloud.
“I would have to say so, though I do hope not.”
The small figure now looked nearly ready to cry. “Will everything be okay?” came the question, childlike.
The dark figure pondered this for a moment before replying, “Yes, I promise that, whatever’s happened to Fate, everything will be okay.”
This was the answer that Life had been hoping for. A moment of silence then. “Death?” asked the small form.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” asked the small form, voice heavy with concern.
Death grinned, an honest gesture yet somehow veneer-thin, seeming apt to crack at any moment, “When haven’t I been?”
Life’s delicate features creased in confusion. “I’m not sure you ever are,” came the reply, “so I’m going to think you mean you’re not, although I don’t know how to fix that.”
Then, Life leaned over and initiated a hug, awkward with the height discrepancy. Death stiffened in surprise for a moment before returning the gesture of affection.
“We should begin the search for our dear sibling,” said Death finally and firmly, “It is, after all, why we came, is it not?”
Again, Life looked puzzled. “I would suppose so,” came the reply, “but these days I can never be quite sure.”
Death jumped from the branch, landing on the ground with a surprisingly light, but graceless thud.
Life seemed in no hurry, stepping lightly from the high branch to the ground in a single step that seemed to bend space.
Then, there were two figures standing on the wide and crumbling stone path: one small and light as dawn, the other tall and dark as the hours before. Before them lay a dying garden and a small house. The garden had once been brilliantly green, and scented with flowers lovingly grown to fill the space with light and hope. Now it lay derelict, lonely and cold, the leaves of plants withered and grey, the petals of flowers decaying and crumbling to dust. Trees, once full and leafy, now grey-black and bare, lined the path. A wind that carried a hint of frigidity and of a brewing storm blew and rattled among the skeletal branches. The house had once been a pretty, quaint little thing, and the remains of brightly coloured floral drapes hung limply in the windows. Now it was falling apart: the brick falling back to clay, the wood and cloth of the porch and drapes disintegrating.
“Shall we enter?” asked Death, extending a hand towards the bright figure, a sharp contrast to the grim appearance of the place in which they stood.
“Must we?” asked Life, knowing full well the answer, and taking a step towards Death, grasping the extended hand like a frightened child. Death nodded and smiled, but only with a grim sort of resolve instead of the intended reassurance.
The small figure of Life gave a small nod, took a deep breath, trying to be brave, and stepped forward with the dark figure of Death.
Together, the two figures - small and tall, light and dark, Life and Death - walked into the house, stepping lightly on the disintegrating porch.
They came into a small entryway through a door that crumbled to nothing instead of stopping on its hinges when Death pushed it open.
“Fate always lived so simply. This place was so nice,” Death commented, trying to keep the heavy air in the place alive with idle chatter, for the benefit of the smaller of the pair if nothing else.
Life only whimpered softly, a gesture of acknowledgement as much as of fear. A pale, thin attempt at a smile followed. “Yes, settling down would be nice, but there’s so much to do... so much to do.”
Here, Death decided that it wasn’t worth it to keep a conversation going and the two figures continued to move through the house in silence.
The room inside the house was a small, open space with a curtain separating a little area in a back corner. Life scampered off into the curtained corner while Death paced through the room at an even, measured pace. The chill wind had now become harsh and fierce and it blew through the place, blowing the curtains around and shattering a thin windowpane. A loud sob rang out from behind the curtain. Death crossed the room in two bounds and joined Life behind the curtain. The area was small, big enough only for a dresser and a bed, which was spattered with the rain coming through the broken window, leaving dark spots on the pale blue bedspread. Life was hunched over the bed and shaking with sobs, splattering tears on the bedspread that mingled with the rain. A faint glow emanated across the sheets from where Life touched the bed. Faint traces of warmth spread through the piercing cold of the room.
Rain drummed on the roof of the house and wind moaned through the trees. The storm grew only harder from there, beginning to ravage the bare trees.
“It’s not what Fate wants, you know that,” Death said, gently lifting the small form away from the bed and causing the tendrils of light to leach away into the surrounding air.
“No! I want to help, let me help!” Life sobbed, face splotchy from tears and desperation.
Under the thin sheets was a frail form, features drawn in pain. The eyes in the gaunt face, once bright, were now rapidly dimming and clouded with darkness.
“Fate,” said Death, eerily calmly.
“I’m sorry,” said the form under the sheets, “I didn’t know this was going to happen.” A tear traced its way down one cheek.
“Don’t be sorry, we’ll be fine,” Death reassured quietly, “It’s not your fault, we’ll be fine. Everything is going to be okay.”
The weak form of Fate cringed slightly as Life gave another loud sob.
“Death,” Fate said with as much authority as could have been mustered under the circumstances, “help me.” The statement had come in a tone that made it clear that this was not to be defied. This was a dying wish and to hell with you if you ignored it.
Broad, dark shoulders gave a shrug of defeat as their owner realized that no amount of dread for a thing would stop it from happening.
“Are you ready?” Death asked.
“Yes,” came the steady reply.
Death sighed and leaned forward, touching Fate’s forehead with a long finger. Fate gave a faint smile as the finger came away, pulling life force away with it in a flurry of silvery tendrils and threads of light that dispersed quickly into the darkness of the room. Fate’s sunken eyes closed gently, and the room began to fall apart faster; ripped apart into the now violent storm. The walls crumbled away leaving empty patches of void where the view to outside had once been. Life didn’t move from the spot on the floor where Death had let go.
“We have to go,” Death said, tugging at Life’s hand, but Life seemed not to hear or react in any way. “We have to go,” repeated Death and lifted Life’s sobbing form from the carpet as it unraveled into oblivion. The two forms - one small and bright and sobbing, one tall and dark and frighteningly calm - lurched forward into a swirling mess of colour and light. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the madness stopped.
They sat on the sparse, dry, grass of a park. Dogs barked in the distance. Benches and trees lined an asphalt path that stretched through the park’s center. The air was warm, dry, and heavy with the sounds of life. All around the oasis of green, a city buzzed with life, yet, unnoticed bugs were squashed, hospitals were filled with the dying, and the city itself had pushed out woodland and paved over once living space, a reasonable portrayal of a fleeting reality.
A small bright figure lying in the grass slowly stopped sobbing. A tall, dark figure sat up and buried its head in its cruelly delicate hands. No tears came.
Life sat up and looked around, seemingly calmed by the surroundings, then suddenly noticed the pain of Death.
“Fate had to go,” said Life, voice shaking with pain.
Death looked up, took a deep breath and agreed flatly, too tired to fake feeling. “The people stopped believing. People make their own fate now; the days of chance are up, as are the days of Fate. Without belief or trust Fate faded fast.”
“So it’s just us now,” said Life, neither wanting, nor expecting an answer. “Why don’t they like you?”
Death sighed and spoke quietly toward the ground; “Because,” came the reply darkly “while you are a beautiful, temporary lie, I’m a dark, ugly, constant truth.”
Life frowned deeply, and then crawled along the grass to sit next to the tall, dark form that now sat despairing nearby. Small arms wrapped around Death’s ribs in an attempt at a sideways hug, and Death held onto the bright form of Life.
“You’re so bitter,” Life sighed, “I love you but it’s not easy sometimes, you’re in so much pain and you try to convince yourself that you’re not.”
“Some of us… Some of us don’t have the luxury of grieving. Appreciate what you have little one,” said Death.
“I tell you this,” Life sniffled, then continued firmly, “and you’d do well to remember it; you exist the way you choose, you can’t move on until you let yourself hurt. Know that I am here, and we take care of each other.”
Now, only afterwards, did tears come to Death, heavy and harsh. There, in a park, so full of being in so many ways, they grieved together; light and dark, small and tall, Life and Death, becoming one, monolithic in their grief.
And soon they moved on. Life went on and Death went on, too. People went on: believing or not, living and dying, making their own fate.