Death's Gift

I walked the cobbled streets at midnight,

Accompanied only by the lamplight.

I, still in tears about years before,

Wandered about in absinthe rage

As I’ve done in nights and nights before.

I became more and more sore as my drunkenness wore

And my resentments began to well up as they have before.

The world and life I so hated, hated me too, I thought…

Oh! What hath God wrought?

Why all the torture?

When will it all end?

What judgments shall be sent?

I cried, “Why?!”

“Why me?”

I stumbled down the street,

The only sound being my feet.

My tears clouded my eyes

And I leaned against a lamp-post

In my hopelessness, feeling as a ghost,

Caught somewhere between living and dead –

Empty.

I stared at the ground in my dizzying loneliness.

As the earth slowly stopped spinning,

I heard footsteps close behind

And looked about to see an opaque fog.

The fog of darkened night filled me full of fright,

For I had not noticed it until I had been consumed by the night.

The fog seemed to draw out my life and gnaw at my soul;

My flesh chilled – clammy and icy – and my body shivered

As sweat dripped down my brow, I spun my head about.

I felt someone there, I thought, as my soul burned,

But I could see no one as my face turned.

“Is someone there?”, I cried out as I felt the eyes upon me,

To which I garnered no reply,

But I could only feel the eyes burn deeper in my fright

Like embers set ablaze on a wooden floor.

“There must be no one there,” I tried to myself,

But I couldn’t shake the feeling as my pulse raised and my body quaked

The tremors filled me as my heart hopelessly fluttered,

My blood thickened, and my lungs shriveled and collapsed.

As I stumbled about in a dizzy stupor,

I saw a man here, a shadow there;

I heard a sound here, a footstep there.

“He must’ve followed the fog and found me here,”

I thought as I filled myself with fear.

There was a park near and a dock not far from here,

He could rid the world of me easily, and none would shed a tear.

“Footsteps! I heard footsteps!”

“They approach! Oh! I am gone!”

“I am lost! Dead!” My mind rushed.

But the footstep passed and faded with no body to follow.

I looked about, and saw only fog in the street lamp.

I found the garden wall, and sat to prevent my fall.

“Look up. Look up.” I heard a compelling whisper,

As though it were but inches from my face.

I slowly, involuntarily raised my head,

As if I were a puppet being pulled by strings.

I saw the street corner across the way,

For it seemed as though the fog had been parted between us.

A silhouette appeared,

As if from the fog or the ground beneath.

I stood up with a jerk.

My neck stiff.

My hair on end.

My hands were ready, but my body was weak.

“What? Who?” I whispered breathlessly to myself and the hooded figure,

The blood drained from my head and neck,

As though my throat had been slit—

My head severed.

The shadow raised a pale left hand from beneath Its cloak,

For It gripped a bladed staff with the other.

Suddenly I could not swallow,

Nor could I speak or turn away,

Until I heard a carriage but a few feet to my left.

I leapt back to avoid being run over.

The carriage splashed mud on me and passed.

I looked about and saw nothing.

The figure was gone, as was the chariot.

I sat back where I had fallen, and wiped the mud off with a sigh.

“You seem to have wandered into the street,” I heard a man say, almost laughing.

I jerked my head up with a start,

Surprised to see a great, black stagecoach there.

“You should really be more careful,” said the man with a grin—

A sly, charming, grim, almost…

Sinister grin.

The man in the carriage was well dressed,

Looking as though he had just come from a party.

He was adorned in all black,

With little disturbing the powerful theme:

He had on dancing boots;

A great cloak, fastened at the neck by glowing emblem and a chain;

And a flat, wide-brimmed hat that shaded his pale, but somehow tan face

But allowed his big, white teeth and fiery eyes to show.

I looked about, barely noticing the thickening fog surround us.

The horse was pale and chained to the carriage.

And the driver sat like a statue — cloaked and white —

His face was not visible, his appearance — ghastly.

The carriage that passed before…

Wasn’t it drawn by a black horse?

“No matter.”

The man spoke as I thought.

I looked at him suddenly and stuttered, “Wh- what?”

“I said nothing, my dear boy…”

“Do you need a ride?”

He held out his hand,

“Some call me Azrael.”

That name… it was vaguely, strangely, familiar.

The air was suddenly thin and cold outside…

Wasn’t it warm before?

The light around the carriage was somehow grim and eerie,

As though it sucked life from the world.

The aura about the vehicle was of a graveyard.

And, within, it resembled a coffin.

I, nevertheless, sat on the red velvet cushion across from Him.

It was warm inside.

And the lantern burned a welcoming glow,

Yet it was as still as death within, and death without.

The space within, and the being before, both seemed to present simultaneously opposing presences—

Ghastly and comforting,

Pale and tan,

Gaunt and healthy,

Ethereal and human,

Terrifying and calming,

Seductive and disturbing,

Demonic and godlike;

He was all of these contradictions and more,

But, above all else, he was a beautiful and interesting…

Creature?

As soon as I sat, the door closed and the hearse began to silently move,

As though my previous destination no longer mattered.

Or as though the hooded driver already knew.

There was a red devilish masque on the cushion beside Him.

He placed his hand on it,

Saying, “‘twas a masquerade.”

He leaned forward,

And his eyes saw straight through.

I retreated and quivered,

As I felt my soul burn at his gaze.

I was reduced to ashes.

No more.

“Now, where are you going?”

“Where do you come from?”

I gasped and returned to life as he spoke,

Albeit, in agony and misery.

His emblem became a skull with a garnet in its mouth.

Glowing, as a heartbeat would:

Brighter, softer;

Brighter, softer.

I could no longer remember.

Where I was,

Where I was going,

How I got there,

Or Why?

As though it all no longer mattered.

Because it didn’t.

None of it did.

Everything, my whole life…

Devoid of value.

Empty.

Where once there was bliss,

I now discovered only pain.

Oh! The waste!

What a waste I have been!

I had lived all these years,

And for what?

Nothing.

No good.

I have been useless.

But He already knew that…

Just another lost soul.

I could feel his gaze cutting deep.

Running me through like a broadsword.

His stare burned into my very soul,

Digging it out from within.

My eyes burned and watered,

My heart sputtered,

Struggled,

Throbbed…

Raced.

The blood drained from my hands and neck.

My throat dried, but I couldn’t swallow.

My face flushed,

My tongue went numb,

My skin crawled,

And my hair stood on end.

It was simultaneously hot and cold.

As though I had been both set on fire and frozen solid.

My body felt heavy and my limbs felt weak.

And the pain!

Oh, the pain!

All I could feel was pain!

It consumed me, and only grew worse.

The Darkness closed in as my sight failed.

Then, the air was sucked from my lungs.

And became both too thin to breathe and chokingly thick.

A pain in my chest grew, as though my heart were about to explode.

I was melting…

Being crushed…

Exploding…

Suffocating…

Drowning…

Dying...

Rotting…

Disintegrating…

My soul…

My worthless soul!

What was left of it, anyways…

Was being ripped out.

Torn from me.

Devoured.

But, as I shriveled up and died,

I clutched onto whatever I could.

To no avail.

In a final act of desperation, gasping for air,

I yanked off his symbol, and his cloak collapsed.

Wrapping all around me.

All was Darkness…

Until I awoke to a stately Raven

Tapping on my head.

‘Twas early morning, and I was lying on the walkway—

On the street I had wandered, teary eyed, the night before.

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

The voice of the Raven gave me a jolt

Like the sudden shock of a lightning bolt.

I’d never heard a bird speak.

Never knew words could leave its beak.

I shook my head and came to

And saw the world with eyes new.

I looked down to see

That mud and blood covered me.

I still clutched the emblem,

And ‘round my neck was wrapped a noose.

As I removed it from my head,

I saw a letter at one end.

The seal was a skull with the All-Seeing Eye in its mouth.

The same as the one I held in my hand.

I opened it cautiously, only to see

A letter addressed directly to me.

With ink, it said, that only I could see.

At the end it commanded, “This life is a gift, don’t waste it.”

It was signed in a language ancient

That I didn’t understand.

The letter dissolved in my hands as I finished it.

The amulet glowed as I recited the letter,

The ending punctuated by the raven,

“This life is a gift, don’t waste it.”

The Raven spoke, “Anymore.”