The sun seems to spit white venom on the tenebrific land, where pearly white mist cloaks it, and a despondent semblance remains.

The glittering deity that graced the start of a new day only brought to memory the body of a young man who died. Of a mother pining. Of another house destroyed. Of another life with dreams, aspirations and hopes now amounting to nothing.

Not very far away, stygian black smoke tendrils claw at the acrid air, trying to grab something that was intangible, unable to be perceived by human eyes. It seemed to want to close its wispy fingers around the unperceivable entity and drain the breath of life from it.

The land had once throbbed with life. But not now. Probably not ever.


Time can make you, or break you. For now, it had contented itself with carnage.

Alarm bells over the radio. The drone of aircrafts. An explosion. Then nothing, after the last of the blazing infernos spat out. Only silence.

Silence so loud.

The wind carries the voices of the spirits. Faint, but there. Listen closely.

Laughter and giggles of children.

The babble of the crowd at the markets.

The timbre of a dog bark.

The crooning tribute of a bird to the blazing sun.

The rustle of tree leaves.

The darkness that now veiled the land was much more than the absence of light. It was thick and heavy, interlaced with the stench of death and broken by the screaming silence of sorrow.

The night also shrouded the mortal bodies of those who perished. One common shroud, for Death does not discriminate.

Look through the blackness. You might see him, under the blackthorn tree. Then again, you might not. He’s careful to disguise himself, that crafty rascal.

Sometimes in the form of illness. Or perhaps in the form of an accident. Or in the garbs of revenge. Or as war, where he runs rampant without inhibitions.

Oh no, he isn’t the kind of person people believe him to be. He is terribly misunderstood. I would know, because I am what completes him. We cannot exist without each other.

A trivial fact about this world: it’s full of opposites.

For the eternal sky, the ephemeral earth.

For a laborious day; a peaceful night.

To complete silence, there is sound.

To balance life, there is death.

For a human soul, there are infinite paths. He is charged with lighting the way for the departed souls. He appears human, as well he should, for he is one of those people who truly understand the pain of the departed souls as well as the living. He radiates love, warmth and comfort. He was the one no one would ever run from. Quite simply, he was the one to take them ‘home’.

As he went around loosening the souls from their bodies, I feel a gentle tugging sensation. Then it grew painful, and like a thread breaking loose as its constituent threads snap one by one, I felt them leave me.

Everything has it time. When one life leaves, another takes its place. This is my transient form.

This is Life.


Author's note:

Thank you so much for reading this story. I know, it's short, but I'm in the process of developing it... =) I haven't decided on a proper title yet...I hope you liked it. Do let me know what you think. 

Thanks again! 


The End

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