Paper Stars Club entry for Challenge 01!
Title: A Day in the Life of Death
Rating/warnings: PG-13 for violence, death, and suicide
Summary: Just as the title says.
The city lights were bright, lighting up the underside of the clouds like fallen stars. The sick, orange hue cast every shadow in sharp relief, especially the ones caught in the hollows of her cheeks.
Death sighed as she looked at her. Once such a bright, vibrant young thing, now weathered and sallow, aged beyond her years.
Death shifted on the ledge, feeling that she'd be there for a while. The other girl hadn't moved in fifteen minutes, not to blink, not to acknowledge Death sitting next to her. Death shoved a piece of crumbled cement over the side; it had been digging into her foot. The girl's eyes followed it down.
"You could always, not, you know," Death said. Sometimes she wished she could smoke so she would have something to fill the silence with.
"Don't tell me what I should do," The girl said, voice hoarse and broken. The wind blew, pushing her red hair back from her shoulders. It used to be so much longer, shiny and soft. “You don't know anything.” Her eyes stayed on the ground.
"I'm not saying you should or shouldn't do anything. Just mentioning what you can." Death's own hair brushed her forehead with the breeze, black strands poking her in the eyes every now and again. Her legs were cold, but that's what happens when you're fifty floors up in the middle of autumn. She idly wondered if a dress was a bad idea that day.
"If I could go back, I wouldn't be seeing you right now, would I?" She inched toward the edge, subtly, but Death didn't miss it.
"Well, cases like yours are a little different. Since its not your time yet, you could get to meet me more than once,” Death said, moving so she could dangle her legs over the edge, swinging them a bit. Even though her job was a serious one, she still liked to enjoy the simple things. “If you change your mind, anyway.”
The girl moved closer to the edge again, this time with conviction. Her muscles tensed, arms braced behind her, ready to push off. She turned and met Death's eyes, resolute and without fear. "I can't go back."
She pushed off.
Death sighed and picked her planner up from beside her: ANN MARIE THOMPSON, AGE 25, OCTOBER 3, 9:37 PM, SUICIDE/DEATH BY FALLING. She checked it off as people below started screaming.
The sun was shining, uninhibited by the lazy clouds that drifted by. It bathed the battlefield in bright afternoon light, over-saturating the colors. None of the soldiers noticed it, but Death took a moment to turn her face up to it and let it warm her cheeks. It's not like she had to hurry, Death was outside of time anyway.
Jean-Patrick Guilliere fell before her, gasping for air through a trachea that wasn't there anymore. She walked toward him, her bare toes brushing against dandelions as she went. He caught sight of her, a black bruise against a world of blue, green and crimson, and a tear slid down his cheek. He couldn't draw air to sob with, but she knew he would beg for his life if he could. His eyes screamed his regrets to her.
Death settled on her legs beside him, knees digging into the ground and dress just kissing the blades of grass. She put her hand on his chest, his armor cold to the touch. "It'll be ok. Remember, you married a strong woman, and you've taught your children well," she said and smiled down at him. His tears quickened as his chest heaved harder. He shook his head as best he could, the arrow in his neck moving with the motion. Her smile widened. "It'll be ok." She repeated, as his eyes began to roll.
The war raged on around her, swords clanging and shields crashing as the Guilliere family armor warmed under her touch. She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her back. A hand grabbed hers, iron biting into her flesh. She looked down to him, his eyes closed, lips pursed, blood bubbling from his neck. He squeezed her hand, barely a twitch, and tried to nod his head. It was alright, she knew what he wanted to say.
As his grip faded and his blood coagulated, Death took out her notebook and wrote down yet another check.
"Is there an afterlife?" A boy with short blonde hair asked, rather calmly. He sat in the passenger seat, watching the blood pool under him. A chunk of wood jutted out of his right thigh.
She sat on the crumpled hood of the car, glass crunching and bits of trees snapping under her weight. She didn't answer him. It was overcast, her least favorite weather. It was like the sky just couldn't make up its mind about what it wanted to do. The pale light made the boy's sun-kissed skin look sick and papery.
He looked up to her through the empty space where the windshield used to be, a shaky smile trying to reach across his face. "If you're here, then that means there must be something afterlife, right?" His eyes looked a little manic, and a lot desperate, she thought.
"I couldn't tell you. I've never died, so I don't know," she said, drawing her legs up to sit Indian style. She felt the glass cut into her thighs, but paid it no mind; it'd be gone when she moved on to the next entry. "I'm just the ferryman."
He nodded in a way that made her think that he wasn't really expecting an answer. "What about my brother?" he asked, his gaze shifting to a place far off in the grass in front of him. Death didn't need to look.
"I've already sent him along."
He bit his lips as he nodded, his eyes starting to water. These kind of people were hard for her to deal with, the ones who still cried for others on their own deathbeds. “How could this have happened?”
She shrugged and replied, “Life can be cruel, just because she can be.” She looked down at her scraped ankles, a nostalgic smile on her face. “We don't get along very well.”
“We were just going to school,” He paused to press the heel of his palm into his eyes. There was blood caked under his nails and she didn't think he was listening to her anymore. “We had finals today! I was proud of him for getting exempt from most of them!” He sobbed against his hands, chest heaving and blood flowing faster from his leg.
"Will I see him again?" He asked, lips quivering, words thick and interrupted by hiccups.
Death remained silent.
As she checked his name off of her list, she thought of how admirable he'd been in the end. He'd nodded his head, over and over, staring out at his brother's body. He'd forced himself to not look away, to keep his eyes open, as if he was trying to anchor them together. He died that way, eyes open and all.
Death took a sip of her tea. She couldn't remember where or when it was from, but it was her favorite, and saved it for nice days. It had a robust, yet classic kind of taste, so she figured it was probably from somewhere in Europe. She breathed in the scent of her garden's roses and sighed, content. They never died, because they were hers. It put her at ease, knowing that she'd never have to comfort them in their final moments. She hoped they were happy with her company as well.
She smiled to herself as she looked to the sky. Her realm was a beautiful, yet solitary one. She liked that. It was nice to not be around too many people for too long. Their words got to her sometimes; it was good to take a break every now and again.
She stirred her tea, listened to its charming clinking, and hummed to herself.
Rating/warnings: PG-13 for violence, death, and suicide
Summary: Just as the title says.
The city lights were bright, lighting up the underside of the clouds like fallen stars. The sick, orange hue cast every shadow in sharp relief, especially the ones caught in the hollows of her cheeks.
Death sighed as she looked at her. Once such a bright, vibrant young thing, now weathered and sallow, aged beyond her years.
Death shifted on the ledge, feeling that she'd be there for a while. The other girl hadn't moved in fifteen minutes, not to blink, not to acknowledge Death sitting next to her. Death shoved a piece of crumbled cement over the side; it had been digging into her foot. The girl's eyes followed it down.
"You could always, not, you know," Death said. Sometimes she wished she could smoke so she would have something to fill the silence with.
"Don't tell me what I should do," The girl said, voice hoarse and broken. The wind blew, pushing her red hair back from her shoulders. It used to be so much longer, shiny and soft. “You don't know anything.” Her eyes stayed on the ground.
"I'm not saying you should or shouldn't do anything. Just mentioning what you can." Death's own hair brushed her forehead with the breeze, black strands poking her in the eyes every now and again. Her legs were cold, but that's what happens when you're fifty floors up in the middle of autumn. She idly wondered if a dress was a bad idea that day.
"If I could go back, I wouldn't be seeing you right now, would I?" She inched toward the edge, subtly, but Death didn't miss it.
"Well, cases like yours are a little different. Since its not your time yet, you could get to meet me more than once,” Death said, moving so she could dangle her legs over the edge, swinging them a bit. Even though her job was a serious one, she still liked to enjoy the simple things. “If you change your mind, anyway.”
The girl moved closer to the edge again, this time with conviction. Her muscles tensed, arms braced behind her, ready to push off. She turned and met Death's eyes, resolute and without fear. "I can't go back."
She pushed off.
Death sighed and picked her planner up from beside her: ANN MARIE THOMPSON, AGE 25, OCTOBER 3, 9:37 PM, SUICIDE/DEATH BY FALLING. She checked it off as people below started screaming.
The sun was shining, uninhibited by the lazy clouds that drifted by. It bathed the battlefield in bright afternoon light, over-saturating the colors. None of the soldiers noticed it, but Death took a moment to turn her face up to it and let it warm her cheeks. It's not like she had to hurry, Death was outside of time anyway.
Jean-Patrick Guilliere fell before her, gasping for air through a trachea that wasn't there anymore. She walked toward him, her bare toes brushing against dandelions as she went. He caught sight of her, a black bruise against a world of blue, green and crimson, and a tear slid down his cheek. He couldn't draw air to sob with, but she knew he would beg for his life if he could. His eyes screamed his regrets to her.
Death settled on her legs beside him, knees digging into the ground and dress just kissing the blades of grass. She put her hand on his chest, his armor cold to the touch. "It'll be ok. Remember, you married a strong woman, and you've taught your children well," she said and smiled down at him. His tears quickened as his chest heaved harder. He shook his head as best he could, the arrow in his neck moving with the motion. Her smile widened. "It'll be ok." She repeated, as his eyes began to roll.
The war raged on around her, swords clanging and shields crashing as the Guilliere family armor warmed under her touch. She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her back. A hand grabbed hers, iron biting into her flesh. She looked down to him, his eyes closed, lips pursed, blood bubbling from his neck. He squeezed her hand, barely a twitch, and tried to nod his head. It was alright, she knew what he wanted to say.
As his grip faded and his blood coagulated, Death took out her notebook and wrote down yet another check.
"Is there an afterlife?" A boy with short blonde hair asked, rather calmly. He sat in the passenger seat, watching the blood pool under him. A chunk of wood jutted out of his right thigh.
She sat on the crumpled hood of the car, glass crunching and bits of trees snapping under her weight. She didn't answer him. It was overcast, her least favorite weather. It was like the sky just couldn't make up its mind about what it wanted to do. The pale light made the boy's sun-kissed skin look sick and papery.
He looked up to her through the empty space where the windshield used to be, a shaky smile trying to reach across his face. "If you're here, then that means there must be something afterlife, right?" His eyes looked a little manic, and a lot desperate, she thought.
"I couldn't tell you. I've never died, so I don't know," she said, drawing her legs up to sit Indian style. She felt the glass cut into her thighs, but paid it no mind; it'd be gone when she moved on to the next entry. "I'm just the ferryman."
He nodded in a way that made her think that he wasn't really expecting an answer. "What about my brother?" he asked, his gaze shifting to a place far off in the grass in front of him. Death didn't need to look.
"I've already sent him along."
He bit his lips as he nodded, his eyes starting to water. These kind of people were hard for her to deal with, the ones who still cried for others on their own deathbeds. “How could this have happened?”
She shrugged and replied, “Life can be cruel, just because she can be.” She looked down at her scraped ankles, a nostalgic smile on her face. “We don't get along very well.”
“We were just going to school,” He paused to press the heel of his palm into his eyes. There was blood caked under his nails and she didn't think he was listening to her anymore. “We had finals today! I was proud of him for getting exempt from most of them!” He sobbed against his hands, chest heaving and blood flowing faster from his leg.
"Will I see him again?" He asked, lips quivering, words thick and interrupted by hiccups.
Death remained silent.
As she checked his name off of her list, she thought of how admirable he'd been in the end. He'd nodded his head, over and over, staring out at his brother's body. He'd forced himself to not look away, to keep his eyes open, as if he was trying to anchor them together. He died that way, eyes open and all.
Death took a sip of her tea. She couldn't remember where or when it was from, but it was her favorite, and saved it for nice days. It had a robust, yet classic kind of taste, so she figured it was probably from somewhere in Europe. She breathed in the scent of her garden's roses and sighed, content. They never died, because they were hers. It put her at ease, knowing that she'd never have to comfort them in their final moments. She hoped they were happy with her company as well.
She smiled to herself as she looked to the sky. Her realm was a beautiful, yet solitary one. She liked that. It was nice to not be around too many people for too long. Their words got to her sometimes; it was good to take a break every now and again.
She stirred her tea, listened to its charming clinking, and hummed to herself.