An Honest View of Death / firstname.lastname@example.org
Now, in Present Time, and
for many years, I have lived my life in a careful fashion. Too careful at times when I should have jumped from a danger-filled valley, but instead, I kept back in the shadows where I wouldn’t suffer. But . . .by not moving to a cause, seizing a newness of a new bridge to cross, I did suffer. Depression, sadness, and delusional images that crept behind every rock and tree laughed. Maybe not at me, but by laughing, they gloated at how they had won yet another quest and me quivering—inside begging to not be eaten by the monsters with huge scales, this could be my first encounter with Death.
By: Kenneth Avery
Regardless of what the minstrel sings in tones so loving and pure throughout the foggy village, it is just a camouflaged-attempt to divert me and those like me, from facing the dark, heartless spirit that is always lurking, loathing, and waiting to slice his sickle deep inside of a heart of fear causing my cold blood to spill without his growling of remorse at the small sight of the death of one, myopic soul. So Death grins and begins to track his next victim and this victim, I pray will at least fight his advances and smooth motions of his silver sickle—Death is no amateur. He has been in this ring forever.
Images manufactured by the sweet angels of music from distant realms, are able to lie with their moist lips of few promises, but to a fearful mortal such as I, I am oh, so gullible when the beauty of their wings bash the human atmosphere and suck it clean to leave a choking soul on face-first in a stagnant puddle of water squirming with tongue frozen so I could not summon for help. “These” are not Heavenly angels, but Legions of Black Spirits who belong to Death. They are the front-runners who pave Death’s way giving him a sure way in how he can easily-devour an innocent girl or boy’s young soul without as much as a moment of sorrow.
What really is Death? To every living soul, it is something different. As the Infinite God created the raindrops different to the other and like the rose petals and snow flakes—no two are ever alike, but each soul when they end their appointed race, then faces the cold, lifeless Death with mouth agape salivating like a hungry milk cow in the stall, he points at that soul for he knows surely that only one Entity can change the horrible moment. Only the Infinite Creator can revive the clutches of the bony fingers of death and God is warm in his non-religious love toward the souls that He owns (Ezekiel 18:3) and Death only shivers as his darkened-eyes look upon the righteousness of God Jehovah.
Death is the slow-sucking-out of a fleshly-body—silently, but yet letting out a horrible scream inside a stilled-heart, but Death, who has just been disappointed by The Creator, digs his sickle deep into the heart and body of one more soul, one more death. His work is limited, but so wide in depth compared to Humanity.
His steps are slow, precise, and sure. Death is found not everywhere, but in hidden places where innocent animals fall prey to the Machinery of Mankind—traps, whaling harpoons, and other deathly-creations that take, not give life. Death does have an ambition, I know this because years ago, I found that he was trailing me by the things that I loved to do (back then.) Then in the years to come, Death, who I think ages like we do, became slow, out-of-step, still a worthy adversary.
Speed, smoke, and sound are how Death materializes. When bravery mixes with slow-judgment, speaking of Mankind, Death loves to materialize in a second’s time. Holding up his sharp, bloody sickle while he licks the sharp blade and leaves the dead body on the ground for the ravens to devour.
Death is part of life. Mortal man can or never will understand everything about life, the gift of The Infinite God, who gave His sinless love for the wretch that I am, and suffered in my place. Death was defeated by His son’s death—and on the third day, He was resurrected. Death trembled. Michael and his angels were praising God over His son as He does you and I . . .but us never forget that The Dark One is always trying to find access to our lives.
I choose not to comply with his wishes.
© 2019 Kenneth Avery