The Girl And Death
Mom and Dad had a nice little daughter. And one day was the day the girl had to die. Death came for her. Death was not at all scary, not the grim reaper or other nightmare. It was a young pale woman with long red hair and gray eyes. Seeing such simplicity, dressed in a tartan shirt and blue jeans, the girl was confused and let Death in. The time stopped.
"Who are you?" asked the girl, looking Death in the eyes.
"I'm your death," said Death. Then she took out a pack of cigarettes, coughed and lit one. Death was not afraid of dieing of cancer. And the girl was too small to understand such things. Death was Death.
"What is death like?"
"Just the way it is. I've come."
"But I'm not dead. And nobody is."
"Yes, because I am here."
"And where have you been before?"
"Everywhere. That is, in you. But I have come only when you've learned to understand me. you have been hosting me. Everybody hosts his or her death inside. Feeding it with each fear, each pain. Has mom frightened you by a car from round the corner? And at school they frighten you by imperialistic aggression. This is how I grow. And when my time comes, I come."
"And what are you going to do to me?" asked the girl.
"This," said Death and closed the girl's eyes with her hands. Then they sank into darkness, because there was a gas explosion in the house and everything became penetrated by the burning flesh of the dying house. While the girl and Death simply disappeared in someone else's dream.
Copyright by Natalia Makeeva (2002).