By Andrew Chandler
Copyright 2010
A tall figure in a long black cloak appeared out of thin air, along with a smaller figure at his side, clothed in a similar fashion. Death swept his long black cloak across the horizon bringing dark gray clouds in its wake. Lighting struck and it began to rain hard. The remaining residents of the poor town shut their curtains and locked the shutters. Mothers snuggled their crying children and willed the day to pass.
The master smiled at his apprentice as he always did and gestured around him at the corps laden battle field.
“Humans are a strange and curious race, but very much like any other,” the figure paused, arms still extended wide. “They will fall into temptation and greed or get angry, sad, hateful, jealous or just not in their right mind.” He lowered his hands and gave a great and mournful sigh, “The resulting wars and battles that tremble the earth, kill many.”
“And giving us more work to do,” the apprentice said grumpily.
“Exactly!” the master said smiling, and withdrew a small scythe from under his robe and handed it to the younger figure, then pulled out his own and began their harvest of mourning souls.
3 comments:
Death sure seems to enjoy his job. Creepy!
A delightful little tale of death and mayhem. Thanks for sharing it with us Drew. Good stuff!
very nice. i like Death. i always have. this is well written, Drew.
It's corpse, not corps.
Thanks for your comments!
-Drew
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