Thursday, April 11, 2013

The Last Walk of Death


 He walked through the corridor. Pristine white, and synthetically clean like a hospital. His eyes had grown bored of the white gleam after centuries and centuries of prowling. Immortality could be exhausting. The exhaustion was not that of a tiresome day of work, but one that tides, mountains and rivers of the world shared with him. He did not remember when he started, but he had gone through every street, every highway, every house that the light went into. Quietly and with an eventful finality, he approached those at the end of the light, and took them to their final destination.

He felt the air around the light. There was nothing. There never was anything. As long as he had remembered, it was quiet and clean. At the other end, as he would leave, he’d hear fading sounds of wailing, sniffles, the loud sounds of ambulances or sometimes, occasionally, a laughter. He’d keep walking with his hand on the shoulder of his passenger. Driving them towards their destination. In silence. Without a glance in their direction. This was his routine.

He could see the fading circle of the light at the end of the road. There was a silhouette emerging from the distant white shadow. Lean, weak and trembling, it continued to move in his direction.

One, he thought to himself, only one. Well, so much for the excitement.

He continued his walk. His passenger looked as though he had escaped through a war. Or not escaped, as it would be. The clothes were tattered, but they counted for little.

As he reached the frail body, the passenger looked up. With tired and frightened eyes, he said,”I am the last one. There is no one else left”.

For a moment, the angel of death paused. Then he smiled as he placed his hands on the passenger and took him to the destination. Rest in peace, he thought.

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