Born Dead

Born Dead

Once.

Not upon a time, that would imply that our story is a fairy tale. Fictitious as it may be, there is no hero that will save anyone, because there is no one to save; nor will you find a happy ending, for Death, is no happy occasion.

Once…

There was a man & a woman, they loved each other & wanted to have children; however, this in & of itself, was a herculean task. Death has his own plan for everyone, & there was no hourglass for a child born of their wedlock. For every child that they tried to have, Death would snatch its unborn soul. Each baby that they had, never cried a tear, never inhaled a breath, never felt the warmth & comfort of its mother. Yet this did not stop them, in their quest to bear a living child.

The reaper, having returned from its 7th reaping of the same child from the same mother, stared at the infant's motionless soul "Such insolence!" Death told itself, "Why have they not yet abandoned this hope? The family line ends with that woman. This child has no hourglass!" He said as he threw the infant in a river of souls. Having reaped another life, he retired to his occupation.

This day, however, Death brought along something with itself: emotion. It couldn't help but think about the couple, whose family line was to go no further. It troubled Death, like a cat might trouble a mouse: it did not catch, simply teased, waiting for exhaustion. One day, while bringing a soul to Tartarus, Death found itself conversing with an old man about his life & what he done therein.

He snapped. A reaper is without emotion; an unfeeling being that is indifferent to all. Death is Death is death, & must do his job, yet he has let this one problem sink into his cranium like a parasite, eating away at all that he had ever known.

He screamed in agony.

"Why me‽ Why have I been cursed with this‽" His head spun, he could not understand why he had let himself be changed into this—HIM! He was now referring to himself as if he had gender, as if somewhere, there was another Death, as if he was not the only one of his kind. But he was the only of his kind, because he, IT, has
no kind. Death is death is DEATH! THERE WAS NO DOUBT! THE CHILD HAS NO HOURGLASS‼‥but…could there be?

Death is Death is death, & controls the end of man, but, could it control the beginning life?

Death decided to take matters into its—into HIS own hands, but for this, he would need time. He went to the hourglasses of whose sand had almost all fallen, gave them more time & moved them up a few shelves, then with the bones that scattered the ground from past reapers, did make the hourglass for the child, & gave it the purest sand that he could find. "This child," he told himself, "Will not only have life, but the fullest thereof."

As a stealer of life, one cannot have emotion, but now as a giver of life, he found himself…happy. The feeling of a real emotion excited him, excitement, that one made him feel good—Good! He knew what good was! Life seemed so amazing, & then, suddenly, knew sadness as he would never know life. All this rushed through him at once, & he knew that what he was about to do, under the circumstances was wrong, & yet, in every other way, was also RIGHT!

The time had come, the baby was about to be born. Death held hourglass in his bony hands, waiting eagerly for the process to reach its starting point. He flipped the hourglass. The child was birthed; it was a girl. She cried a tear, she felt air being pulled into her lugs, she felt the warmth of her mother.

Death, had given life.

He felt a feeling of euphoria, it consumed him as he watched the baby cry & pull in her first breaths in. As she was placed into her mother's arms, Death saw the baby girl, & decided that he would personally watch over this child until her dying day, & on that day, would have the child for himself.

Suddenly, the baby became pale, her face lost its luster, she stopped smiling, stopped breathing, stopped—living!

"How is this possible‽ The sand in that hourglass was pure!" He looked down to see if maybe the hourglass had leaked, only to find that he was no longer holding it! He looked around himself frantically, & found the hourglass behind him, broken; hovering above it, was his employer: Time.

«Death, you have been charged with the creation of life, a task you were never meant to inherit. By doing so, you have broken the contract that keeps you employed, & are hereby released from your duties».

"What about her?" he asked, "I gave her life! You cannot simply take what is rightfully hers‼ I demand that-"

«INGREAT‼ YOU KNOW NOT THE CONCEQUENCES THAT YOUR ACTIONS MAY HAVE CAUSED! BY THE MERE FACT THAT SHE WAS BIRTHED HAS UPSET WHAT WAS PUT IN MOTION LONG AGO! YOUR FAILURE TO RECOGNIZE THAT HAS COSTED YOU YOUR JOB, BE GLAD THAT IS ALL YOU ARE ASKED OF»!

"But they were happy, she has an hourglass, you see it before you,"

«The child has no hourglass», Time said, & with that, Time vanished.

Death, now without immortality, felt his bones age, yet, did not die. Doomed eternally to this plane between life & death, watched as the lives of the family he only wanted happiness for, wither away after the tragic death of their only born child.

Now, his creation, would never know life, would never know him, would never be. His plans to have her as a daughter, to be raised as the next generation, his hopes & dreams to know what was to be a father, all disappeared with the shattering of an hourglass; & as he watch the lineage of the family, without hope, happiness, or care, finally die away, an eyeless chasm shed a tear.

⁂

Once.

Not upon a time, that would imply that our story is a fairy tale. Fictitious as it may be, there is no hero that will save anyone, because there is no one to save; nor will you find a happy ending, for Death, is no happy occasion.

Once…