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LMS VI: Death

by WeepingWisteria


Let’s start at the end, shall we? The end of life, the beginning of rebirth, the continuation of existence. Let’s start with my friend Death.

Before there were humans, before there were plants and animals, before there was Earth, there was Death. He She They Death was born alongside the universe, for the start of existence already foreshadows its end, and the cosmos came to be in Death’s hands. You are a galaxy born of supernovas and genocides. Without Death, you would have no air to breathe, no ground to walk on, no planet to call home. And yet Death is in this book because you have the gall to call Death a monster.

No matter, I shall set the record straight for my friend. For you, simple mortals, for you bound by Death’s loving hands.

Today, Death visited a woman named Christine. She was mortal, like you reading this. She lived in a house she didn’t own, with a husband she didn’t love, and with children she didn’t want—an average woman in every respect, right down to her bitter, overwhelming fear of dying.

I mean, what is wrong with you mortals? You live your entire life knowing you will one day perish. Flowers wilt and decay in their vases, strewing your dinner table with their corpse. Grey hairs sprout from your scalp. Your skin peels in the aftermath of the sun’s wrath. You die every day a million times as your cells break down and are consumed by the next generation. Some of you eat dead animals. You wear dead plants. The promise that one day everything around you will die sustains you, and you have learned to use Death to your benefit. What happens to your cries of “you only live once” when your time comes? Why should Death be so kind to those who scorn Death so viciously that they’ve spun tales of never-ending as if escaping Death would prevent you from ending?

But I am not telling my story correctly. This story isn’t about your fear and eventual death but Christine’s. It is about Death.

Christine didn’t want to die, but Death came anyways, where Death was unwanted, early in the morning. Death never cared how they had died. What mattered was they were corpses where they stood, or sat, or sobbed, and it was Death’s job to separate the soul from the husk, leave the body to rot as the Earth declared, and take the soul somewhere out of the universe’s grasp. A dance as old as stardust, a story older than light.

Death never appeared to mortals as Death. You have spun stories of Death with a pearl skeleton and ancient robes, a heavy scythe in one hand, and a pale lantern in the other. But Death is immune to your stories and appears as Death wants, as something comforting, familiar, almost friendly. For Christine, Death appeared as her mother, still young and lively like she had been months before her death. Death had blonde hair now, a simple smile, a well-loved sweater. Absolutely nothing like Death is said to be, but Christine knew. She knew in the quiet way that we know that someone is lying to us despite what they say. A knowledge that went against what she had been taught, but she believed nonetheless.

“You are Death.” It was not a question, not a moment of pondering. Instead, it was a cold fact that left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted a glass of water to rinse it out.

Death didn’t speak, for the day Death utters a single word is the day the universe collapses back into nothing but absence and negatives, and sat beside her, holding out a single hand.

“I don’t want to die.”

Death was kind enough not to throw her across the room and drag her spirit, kicking and screaming. Death had always been better than me.

Christine stood up, sending her chair skittering across her scratched hardwood floors. “Did you hear me? I don’t want to die! You can’t make me!”

Death lowered the hand, making the edges of Christine’s mother’s smile kinder.

“Are you going to say anything?”

Death shook Christine’s mother’s head.

Christine's rage bubbled like a pot coming to a boil just beneath her skin. How dare Death come into her house wearing her mother’s skin like it was a simple overcoat? Did her mother agree to this? Was her mother okay, or did she have to be destroyed for this?

I was not there to defend Death’s honour, but I’ll do so here. Death was not wearing Christine’s mother. Honestly, the places your mortal thoughts go sometimes say more about you than any of us. The nerve. Christine’s mother was dead, which is the finest you mortals can be in a world like Earth. And Death could never destroy a spirit. Whether that was because Death was too kind or it was impossible, I still don’t know.

But Christine didn’t have me to yell at her, so she went on believing that Death was some sort of monster as most of you mortals do. And Death went on not minding a bit. I sometimes wonder if Death misses a time before mortals. Stars didn’t cry when they died. Meteors didn’t scream and yell as the atmosphere burned them to a crisp. Death didn’t seem to miss simpler times, and Death couldn’t operate with that same level of patience if there wasn’t some sort of love or appreciation behind those false eyes. So maybe not. Maybe Death cared for you mortals despite your scorn. Maybe remember that next time you curse Death’s name.

Christine slammed her hands on the table. “Get out of my house! I don’t want you here.”

Death didn’t flinch. Death didn’t even move.

“I have children! Do you want them to be without a mother?”

Death frowned at that. It happened more often than you would think. Millenia of putting beautiful things to rest didn’t ease the ache Death sometimes felt when mortals did nothing but point out how they would be missed.

“My boys. What will my boys do without me?”

Christine sobbed, laying her head on the wooden table. She never wanted to be a mother, but that didn’t stop her sons from wanting to be her children.

“People depend on me, Death. You should know that.”

Death laid Christine's mother's hand beside Christine’s head.

“How could you do this to me, Death? What will it take for you to realize you’re wrong? I’m not even dead. Look at me.”

Death was looking at her, but Death didn’t waver.

“Hello! Feel my pulse.” Christine lifted her head, shoving her wrist in her mother’s face. “Feel it.”

Death shook Christine’s mother’s head, gently pushing Christine’s wrist away.

Christine only sobbed harder. “Please. You made a mistake. You made a mistake.”

Oh, foolish Christine. Does she not know that mistakes are a mortal’s disease? That Death was born perfect? What would your existence look like if something as undeniable as Death made mistakes?

Thank your lucky stars Death can’t make mistakes, mortals. Otherwise, that word, that little title, wouldn’t be a guarantee. And if you think your world is breaking now, only imagine the stress fractures caused by your lot being immortal. Nothing is made to last forever. Especially not something made of flesh and brittle bones.

“I’m not dead!” Christine pulled her hair so tightly that you could hear it tear. “I’m here! I’m alive! I can prove it to you.”

Death sat back in an invitation, opening Christine’s mother’s arms.

Christine nodded and stood up. “Okay. Watch me.”

She picked up her chair, shaking it in midair. “See? Can a dead person do this?” She set it down again and walked past Death, shoving Death’s chair so that Death couldn’t look away from her. “Can a dead person do that, Death?”

Death folded Christine’s mother’s hands, face completely blank.

Christine laughed. “See? You have to agree with me!” She walked to her dining room wall and flicked the lights off, throwing both her and Death in complete darkness. “Can a dead person do this?” She flicked the lights back on. “Or this?” She kept flicking the lights back and forth so quickly that it was impossible to keep track. “Or any of this?”

Death tapped Christine’s mother’s fingers against the table in a clear sign of impatience. At least, it would be impatience for me. If Christine wasn’t actually dead by this point, I’d change that myself. Some humans were so grating that I was happy their lives were painfully short. The menaces.

Christine walked into her kitchen and grabbed a stack of glass plates from her oak cupboards. She had bought them from a company everybody knew, but she was convinced glass plates made her better than those who could only afford paper ones. Something about the environment and everyone having an equal chance to decent money in life.

She slammed the cupboard shut, disappointed that the wood didn’t splinter on impact, before marching back into her dining room. “Can a dead person carry dishes like this? Can a dead person carry anything?”

Death froze, watching the plates carefully. Death may be an amalgamation of every bit of rearranged matter since the beginning of all, but that didn’t stop Death from being nervous when annoying humans threatened Death with distasteful glassware made by slave labor.

Christine picked up a plate and threw it against the wall. It shattered on impact, each piece of glass falling to the floor like bloodthirsty rain. Death stood up, Christine’s mother’s hands splayed across the dining room table. Christine picked up the next plate and threw that one straight at the ground, sending its shattered corpse skittering across the scratched hardwood floors. A couple of chunks brushed against Death’s shoes. Death brushed them aside.

Christine looked up at Death, her entire being trembling. “Is this not enough for you? Do you need more from me?”

Death met her gaze head-on, completely unwavering.

Christine screamed, grabbing another plate. This time, she aimed right for Death’s face. Her mother was dead, after all. It couldn’t be her mother’s face. She wanted to see it shatter against Death’s face. Maybe she could be known as the one who killed Death. She would save every human from Death’s wicked grasp for all eternity.

The plate was an inch from Death’s face when it stopped. Death hadn’t even moved. It just hovered there in mid-air. Slowly, the plate gently floated down, swaying side to side like a leaf in the wind, right back to the table.

Christine’s chest heaved as she stared in horror. But Death didn’t clench Christine’s mother’s fist. Death didn’t yell or fight back or even scowl. All Death did was lift Christine’s Mother’s hands and wave them through the air before tugging on Christine’s reality, peeling it back like a damp sticker until Christine could see through the cracks.

It was nighttime in the crack, but the dark was interrupted by the constant light of sirens. A child was screaming for his mother, but there was no response.

Christine stepped closer, peering through the opening. Her body was on the ground, bleeding out onto the dark pavement. Paramedics surrounded her, poking at this mirror Christine to no avail. Her eyes were already glassy, her heart slumbering in its ribcage cradle.

“Death, that’s me.” Christine, the real Christine, the Christine who had existed for this entire story, stumbled back. “But I’m right here. I’m right here, Death.”

Death walked silently, putting a hand on Christine’s shoulder as they both stared through the crack. The paramedics lifted mirror Christine’s body into a body bag, zipping it closed.

Christine turned to look at Death. “Which one is real? That Christine or me?”

Death shrugged, putting Christine’s mother’s smile back on. I could imagine the verbal response if Death ever spoke. Why does only one have to be real? Why can’t you be here with me and down there, leaving the world behind?

Death lifted Christine’s mother’s hands and smoothed the crack closed, putting that dimension out of sight once more.

Christine sunk to the floor, burying her face in her knees. “Oh, Death. What happened? How could this happen? My sons. My boys. What will they do?”

Death sat beside her and gently traced a finger across Christine’s thigh, spelling out a single English word. L. I. V. E.

Christine lifted her head, her face covered in tears. “But aren’t you against that? Isn’t that your very opposite?”

Death shook Christine’s mother’s head.

Christine let out a sob. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

Death nodded, smile never wavering.

Christine leaned her head on Death’s shoulder. “Just give me one more minute. Please.”

Death leaned Christine's mother’s head against Christine’s head in response.

You mortals never really have a good sense of time, so it was only about forty-five seconds by the time Christine sighed. “I’m ready, Death. And I’m sorry.”

Death merely patted Christine on the shoulder before standing. Death offered a hand again, bending slightly to keep smiling at Christine.

She accepted it this time, gripping Death’s warm hand. The warmth only grew, increasing until Christine could feel it in every atom that made up her being. She finally smiled at Death, the tears evaporating off of her newly glowing face.

Death guided Christine to the front door of her home, each step completely silent as Christine’s made the hardwood floors creak. Once they arrived, Death opened the door, blocking the entryway so only Death and Christine could see through. Christine’s eyes widened and slowly, in reverence and awe, she walked through.

I cannot tell you what she saw and why come would run through laughing, and others had to be dragged in screaming. Death has never let me look through the door, but I know I will one day. We all will one day when the universe implodes, and everything’s crushed back down to a howling void, and the only thing that remains is Death and Death’s door and whatever lays beyond its threshold.

Death turned around one last time, smiling into the empty bones of Christine’s house. Death waved farewell before stepping through, closing it with one final thud. 


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Wed Dec 07, 2022 6:01 am
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HarryHardy wrote a review...



Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression: This is quite the concoction here. It has so many layers in there to be unpacked and I love it. This is certainly a different portrayal of Death compared to a lot of what I've see here. I don't think I could really even tie it to any specific legend I know, but it seems to be a bit of an amalgamation of quite a lot of little things coming together to paint one of the most interesting pictures of Death I've seen in quite a while. Its a lovely little balance here between Death depicting some form of care and sympathy while also very much appearing as an impartial being to exist since the beginning of time. This narrator though is another story entirely xD. Contrary to how it might seem in my reactions I did love the narrator but I have a feeling that's going to make this whole thing a little bit of an acquired taste because this narrator is a tiny bit rude at times.

Anyway let's get right to it,

Let’s start at the end, shall we? The end of life, the beginning of rebirth, the continuation of existence. Let’s start with my friend Death.


Love this opening here. Very casually letting people know Death is your friend is always a great way to prove your credibility before diving into an explanation like this. Well, let's see where this is going then.

Before there were humans, before there were plants and animals, before there was Earth, there was Death. He She They Death was born alongside the universe, for the start of existence already foreshadows its end, and the cosmos came to be in Death’s hands. You are a galaxy born of supernovas and genocides. Without Death, you would have no air to breathe, no ground to walk on, no planet to call home. And yet Death is in this book because you have the gall to call Death a monster.


Bold of you to assume I call death a monster but carry on. On a more serous note, love this opening. Its almost poetry right here. You've set up quite a beautiful image there to show us what seems to be a message that life can't really exist if there was no death. And the fact that Death is benevolent is already interesting, but this just puts that cherry on top and now you can consider us hooked here.

No matter, I shall set the record straight for my friend. For you, simple mortals, for you bound by Death’s loving hands.

Today, Death visited a woman named Christine. She was mortal, like you reading this. She lived in a house she didn’t own, with a husband she didn’t love, and with children she didn’t want—an average woman in every respect, right down to her bitter, overwhelming fear of dying.


Well that sounds a bit worse than the average there but not the worst example to be starting off with. Although I wonder if I'm not meant to read this, this is clearly targeted to mortals. Perhaps I should look through that lens, cause in that sense this does make for an interesting perspective.

I mean, what is wrong with you mortals? You live your entire life knowing you will one day perish. Flowers wilt and decay in their vases, strewing your dinner table with their corpse. Grey hairs sprout from your scalp. Your skin peels in the aftermath of the sun’s wrath. You die every day a million times as your cells break down and are consumed by the next generation. Some of you eat dead animals. You wear dead plants. The promise that one day everything around you will die sustains you, and you have learned to use Death to your benefit. What happens to your cries of “you only live once” when your time comes? Why should Death be so kind to those who scorn Death so viciously that they’ve spun tales of never-ending as if escaping Death would prevent you from ending?


That one takes a second to unravel there. It does make sense though. I don't believe most mortals ever really stop to think of things from that perspective even as they spend their time being so afraid of death. Well well, let's see what more you have to say, although I must say you sound a little bit accusatory there. Are you sure you're not just Death in disguise?

Christine didn’t want to die, but Death came anyways, where Death was unwanted, early in the morning. Death never cared how they had died. What mattered was they were corpses where they stood, or sat, or sobbed, and it was Death’s job to separate the soul from the husk, leave the body to rot as the Earth declared, and take the soul somewhere out of the universe’s grasp. A dance as old as stardust, a story older than light.


The physicist in me will scream at this but the poet in me adores that last line. This is a nice little opening bit to the actual heart of the story here. I think its a lovely depiction of Death there. Its not exactly the most caring one, but it seems to be an impartial that takes no pleasure or pain in the business of collecting souls and I love that.

Death never appeared to mortals as Death. You have spun stories of Death with a pearl skeleton and ancient robes, a heavy scythe in one hand, and a pale lantern in the other. But Death is immune to your stories and appears as Death wants, as something comforting, familiar, almost friendly. For Christine, Death appeared as her mother, still young and lively like she had been months before her death. Death had blonde hair now, a simple smile, a well-loved sweater. Absolutely nothing like Death is said to be, but Christine knew. She knew in the quiet way that we know that someone is lying to us despite what they say. A knowledge that went against what she had been taught, but she believed nonetheless.

“You are Death.” It was not a question, not a moment of pondering. Instead, it was a cold fact that left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted a glass of water to rinse it out.


Well gotta love that. That's a nice touch by Death. That's a problem a lot of versions of Death tend to have sometimes with the whole image problem. But it seems a pretty clever solution has been found by this version of death here. Although I love that the disguise just doesn't work. It always seems to happen that way somehow.

Christine stood up, sending her chair skittering across her scratched hardwood floors. “Did you hear me? I don’t want to die! You can’t make me!”

Death lowered the hand, making the edges of Christine’s mother’s smile kinder.

“Are you going to say anything?”

Death shook Christine’s mother’s head.

Christine's rage bubbled like a pot coming to a boil just beneath her skin. How dare Death come into her house wearing her mother’s skin like it was a simple overcoat? Did her mother agree to this? Was her mother okay, or did she have to be destroyed for this?


Well that's justified I would say although Death looks to be very done with this mortal world to be reacting in that fashion to this whole meltdown. Let's see how this is going to be proceed here. Of course we know how it ends, that's quite obvious but the methodology is Death is always so different and always so entertaining.

I was not there to defend Death’s honour, but I’ll do so here. Death was not wearing Christine’s mother. Honestly, the places your mortal thoughts go sometimes say more about you than any of us. The nerve. Christine’s mother was dead, which is the finest you mortals can be in a world like Earth. And Death could never destroy a spirit. Whether that was because Death was too kind or it was impossible, I still don’t know.


Alright, alright calm down there. People don't exactly know well enough to be able to assume that you know. They're not the only ones making assumptions here. Also loving this narrator here by the way. Its a bit combative I suppose as you read it, which means its not going to be liked by every one who reads this but I personally love being able to back and forth a bit here.

But Christine didn’t have me to yell at her, so she went on believing that Death was some sort of monster as most of you mortals do. And Death went on not minding a bit. I sometimes wonder if Death misses a time before mortals. Stars didn’t cry when they died. Meteors didn’t scream and yell as the atmosphere burned them to a crisp. Death didn’t seem to miss simpler times, and Death couldn’t operate with that same level of patience if there wasn’t some sort of love or appreciation behind those false eyes. So maybe not. Maybe Death cared for you mortals despite your scorn. Maybe remember that next time you curse Death’s name.


Ahh the old times. Gotta love how this is implying everything in the universe has some form of soul to die, not entirely sure if that's what this is getting at in truth, but that is what comes across and honestly, I love that.

Death frowned at that. It happened more often than you would think. Millenia of putting beautiful things to rest didn’t ease the ache Death sometimes felt when mortals did nothing but point out how they would be missed.

“My boys. What will my boys do without me?”

Christine sobbed, laying her head on the wooden table. She never wanted to be a mother, but that didn’t stop her sons from wanting to be her children.

“People depend on me, Death. You should know that.”


That is always the saddest part of having to do this whole shtick. I must agree on that one. Unfortunately when its your time there simply isn't any choice. That's just kind of how the universe works with this whole balancing act situation. Love that you do point that out here, which I was worried about given the attitude of the narrator, but it seems like the narrator isn't 100% biased, just only about 95% from what I've seen so far.

Death laid Christine's mother's hand beside Christine’s head.

“How could you do this to me, Death? What will it take for you to realize you’re wrong? I’m not even dead. Look at me.”

Death was looking at her, but Death didn’t waver.

“Hello! Feel my pulse.” Christine lifted her head, shoving her wrist in her mother’s face. “Feel it.”

Death shook Christine’s mother’s head, gently pushing Christine’s wrist away.

Christine only sobbed harder. “Please. You made a mistake. You made a mistake.”

Oh, foolish Christine. Does she not know that mistakes are a mortal’s disease? That Death was born perfect? What would your existence look like if something as undeniable as Death made mistakes?


Well we're getting into the more emotionally charged part of that, and of course unfortunately the no mistakes policy is quite important. This is a world without such mistakes it seems, that's always lucky. Urgh the running around we have to....ahem. SOrry as a mortal yes, very grateful no mistakes are made. Love it. Love it. Good on you to make sure to mention because yes there are so many times where it seems a mistake but sadly it is not.

Thank your lucky stars Death can’t make mistakes, mortals. Otherwise, that word, that little title, wouldn’t be a guarantee. And if you think your world is breaking now, only imagine the stress fractures caused by your lot being immortal. Nothing is made to last forever. Especially not something made of flesh and brittle bones.

“I’m not dead!” Christine pulled her hair so tightly that you could hear it tear. “I’m here! I’m alive! I can prove it to you.”

Death sat back in an invitation, opening Christine’s mother’s arms.

Christine nodded and stood up. “Okay. Watch me.”


Well that's an interesting move to make there. This Death is one of the most passive Death's I've seen. I can't quite judge this one yet though because I really can't say if this is going to make the situation worse or better. What it is doing though, is making the situation a lot more interesting that it normally is so I do love that.

Death tapped Christine’s mother’s fingers against the table in a clear sign of impatience. At least, it would be impatience for me. If Christine wasn’t actually dead by this point, I’d change that myself. Some humans were so grating that I was happy their lives were painfully short. The menaces.


Oh wow, you are revealing so much about yourself right now that you might want to be careful where you tread. Mortals aren't the only ones who read these things you know, especially when you write about some us within these pages.

Christine picked up a plate and threw it against the wall. It shattered on impact, each piece of glass falling to the floor like bloodthirsty rain. Death stood up, Christine’s mother’s hands splayed across the dining room table. Christine picked up the next plate and threw that one straight at the ground, sending its shattered corpse skittering across the scratched hardwood floors. A couple of chunks brushed against Death’s shoes. Death brushed them aside.

Christine looked up at Death, her entire being trembling. “Is this not enough for you? Do you need more from me?”

Death met her gaze head-on, completely unwavering.


Well it looks like we're watching Christine slowly descend into madness here so I'm gonna have to go ahead and say that this strategy by Death belongs in the does not work category or at least not great for the health of the mortals category especially if one is in such a mood.

Christine’s chest heaved as she stared in horror. But Death didn’t clench Christine’s mother’s fist. Death didn’t yell or fight back or even scowl. All Death did was lift Christine’s Mother’s hands and wave them through the air before tugging on Christine’s reality, peeling it back like a damp sticker until Christine could see through the cracks.

It was nighttime in the crack, but the dark was interrupted by the constant light of sirens. A child was screaming for his mother, but there was no response.


Well that one took long enough to do. Death, you've gotta work a little faster than that buddy, do you have any idea how many people die in a minute. I suppose trying to give some time for Christine to come to her conclusion instead of dumping this on her immediately is a good idea, but ultimately those do backfire and need to adapt in situations like this one aka the exceptions.

Death walked silently, putting a hand on Christine’s shoulder as they both stared through the crack. The paramedics lifted mirror Christine’s body into a body bag, zipping it closed.

Christine turned to look at Death. “Which one is real? That Christine or me?”

Death lifted Christine’s mother’s hands and smoothed the crack closed, putting that dimension out of sight once more.

Christine sunk to the floor, burying her face in her knees. “Oh, Death. What happened? How could this happen? My sons. My boys. What will they do?”

Death sat beside her and gently traced a finger across Christine’s thigh, spelling out a single English word. L. I. V. E.

Christine lifted her head, her face covered in tears. “But aren’t you against that? Isn’t that your very opposite?”

Death shook Christine’s mother’s head.

Christine let out a sob. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”


Well Death finally showing signs of that earlier declarations there. That took long enough to get to. I'm now going to lower the bias percentage down to 90 although not planning on going any lower than that here.

You mortals never really have a good sense of time, so it was only about forty-five seconds by the time Christine sighed. “I’m ready, Death. And I’m sorry.”

Death merely patted Christine on the shoulder before standing. Death offered a hand again, bending slightly to keep smiling at Christine.

She accepted it this time, gripping Death’s warm hand. The warmth only grew, increasing until Christine could feel it in every atom that made up her being. She finally smiled at Death, the tears evaporating off of her newly glowing face.


Well that finally happened. Now the real question is Death, would this have worked without actually driving her half mad. Because ultimately some of that does go into this acceptance, and yet it feels like it took a second too long for Death to make the right move there. Oh well, I suppose you're the expert.

I cannot tell you what she saw and why come would run through laughing, and others had to be dragged in screaming. Death has never let me look through the door, but I know I will one day. We all will one day when the universe implodes, and everything’s crushed back down to a howling void, and the only thing that remains is Death and Death’s door and whatever lays beyond its threshold.

Death turned around one last time, smiling into the empty bones of Christine’s house. Death waved farewell before stepping through, closing it with one final thud.


And so it ends. Well a lot more bittersweet of an ending than it seemed to be headed towards even though a bittersweet ending was what we were promised at the start there.

Aaaaand that's it for this one.

Overall: Overall, a lovely little start to this collection here. I can't wait to see more of this narrator here, because I can't imagine how many more fun arguments there will be to get into, I mean, how many more fun stories there will be to react to. On top of the narrator of course, loved this depiction of death. At least to my knowledge its a pretty fresh take and I loved it.

As always remember to take what you think was helpful and forget the rest.

Stay Safe
Harry




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Fri Sep 30, 2022 2:54 pm
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Spearmint wrote a review...



Wistttt! =D mint here, with a review, as promised! ^-^
Overall, this was a fascinating exploration of Death as a good, merciful being. I know you love flipping tropes around, and what trope is better known than Death as a feared skeletal reaper? It seems like you kept the ideas of Death as a patient, immortal being, but one who's kinder than we imagine. So yeah, this was a refreshing take on the idea of Death! :>

Alright, on to some specifics…

Let's start at the end, shall we? The end of life, the beginning of rebirth, the continuation of existence. Let's start with my friend Death.

Just right off, you have a really strong start here. I'd say that "Let's start at the end" is fairly common as a start, but you follow it up with "my friend Death," which is a phrase that is definitely not as common! The narrator and their remarks are a steady presence throughout this piece, and mad props to you for writing such an engaging and mysterious narrator. (Even if you won't tell me who the narrator is… >.>)

He She They Death was born alongside the universe, for the start of existence already foreshadows its end, and the cosmos came to be in Death's hands.

This is probably one of my favorite lines in this story. Your poetic side shows a lot throughout this piece, which I absolutely love. C: It adds a slightly mystical feel to this piece and enhances the descriptions.

You die every day a million times as your cells break down and are consumed by the next generation.

Okay, well, excuse me, Narrator. Doesn't that mean we're also reborn a million times as new cells are formed?? =P
The narrator is just so dismissing of humans, and I feel rather insulted, but intrigued at the same time. xD

Millenia of putting beautiful things to rest didn't ease the ache Death sometimes felt when mortals did nothing but point out how they would be missed.

I'm curious just how much the narrator knows. Are they supposed to be omniscient? Or are these notes about Death's feelings just assumptions? If they're just assumptions, perhaps clarifying that instead of stating Death's thoughts directly might be nice. Although that does also raise the question of how the narrator knows about this whole scene in so much detail… It's not like Death could've told them. Or can Death communicate in another way? Hmm.

Death tapped Christine's mother's fingers against the table in a clear sign of impatience.

I know the thud at the end is supposed to be the first time in the story that Death causes a sound, but I wonder if Death tapping Christine's mother's fingers makes a sound? It could totally be silent, gentle tapping, though.

Some humans were so grating that I was happy their lives were painfully short. The menaces.

Wow. What have humans ever done to you, Narrator? Or does our mere existence annoy you? XD

All Death did was lift Christine's Mother's hands and wave them through the air before tugging on Christine's reality, peeling it back like a damp sticker until Christine could see through the cracks.

Just. Ahh! The comparison to a "damp sticker" is amazing, and it's mildly frightening that Death was able to peel back reality so easily. Good thing Death is "perfect," or so the narrator says… Because that sounds like a supervillain power, lol. (Or perhaps a superhero power. Who knows anymore?)
There does seem to be a disconnect between peeling back a sticker and seeing through cracks, though. Was the sticker like wallpaper and there was a wall with cracks behind it? Or were the cracks more like tears in the sticker-paper of reality? I think what bugs me about this is that peeling back a damp sticker seems softer than seeing through cracks, if that makes sense. Anyways, something to think about! ^^

Once they arrived, Death opened the door, blocking the entryway so only Death and Christine could see through.

I wasn't quite sure what this sentence meant. Who was Death blocking the entryway from? The narrator? (Ooh, idea: does the narrator know all this because of some hidden cameras in this little dimension?? xD)

I cannot tell you what she saw and why come would run through laughing, and others had to be dragged in screaming.

Tiny typo here! "come" should be "some." :]

Death turned around one last time, smiling into the empty bones of Christine's house. Death waved farewell before stepping through, closing it with one final thud.

Okay, so first off, why did Death turn around, and why was Death smiling? 0.0 Was it just at a job well done, or did Death sense the narrator there? And Death waved farewell… (Omg, imagine if Death was waving at the reader XP)
Second, the thud. !! It really brought a sense of finality to the ending and wrapped up the story nicely. C:

Honestly, this piece reminded me a little of Mort by Terry Pratchett. Basically, a boy becomes Death's apprentice, although Death as written by Pratchett is actually a skeleton who talks. But the idea of Death as a generally benevolent being is there. (I really enjoyed all of Terry Pratchett's books, and I suspect you'd like Discworld as well. It's magical, slightly wacky, and filled with fun pokes at fantasy clichés. =P) This piece is uniquely yours, though, with the ideas and descriptions and snarky narrator. xD <3

Thank you for sharing this story, Wist, and I hope you have a marvelous day/night! =D

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Ahhh! Thank you so much, Mint. <3 This is all really helpful and very inspiring commentary. :D



Spearmint says...


:D <333




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