A Story Narrated By Death Itself.

There are many stories told of who I am, of what I am. Some make me out to be a monster and some a savior. I am not human and I am no angel. I am neither saint nor sinner. I just am. I walk, everywhere at once. Some brush past me and some I take along for my journey. As of now I have a millennia worth of souls flanking me. Some bright and shiny, some dull and rusty. No two souls are the same. Different colors, different sizes, different shapes. Every soul still carries the silhouette of the human it once belonged to. Some souls are like long lost friends who greet me with open arms and warm smiles. Some souls are rebellious and unkind. They put up a fight because they are anchored to the Earth, making my job harder than it already is. Some accept that it is time for them to go regardless of all they will have to leave behind. I see all souls, every single one. Even ones yet to be born. If I had a heart, it would break. For some souls are so broken from all that they have been through, some so ready to go that they are bursting at the seams. But as I stated earlier on, I am not human. I do not possess a beating heart and I cannot feel. Certain souls are warm, light and illuminated, but some souls; some souls are dark, cold and heavy, weighed down by pain and suffering.

Humans speculate whys, hows and even whens. Some say I consume every soul I collect to survive. But some have an interesting speculation, they say all I want is a friend for my lonesome journey and one is just not enough for me. To tell you the truth, even though I do not have to but I wish to. Even I do not possess the answers to this. I do not know how or why I am here. I do not even remember when. All I remember is walking and collecting.

The slums of Africa and Burma, jam packed streets of India, quiet Pakistani villages, the now barren hills of Afghanistan that were once luscious and green. The busy streets of New York, London, and Tokyo. The quiet French countrysides, the frozen streets of Moscow, the calm beaches of Hawaii, the Gold Coast of Australia. To name a few, I am everywhere at once. From deserts to the tip of glaciers in Antarctica. Taking souls as little souvenirs of my travels.

At times collecting is very difficult. When a human is in immense pain, when it is unexpected and sometimes it is even more difficult when they see it coming. And so I make futile attempts to make it easier. For them and for myself. I carry with me all the anguish and despair of final moments. I watch their lives play in front of me as their fleeting souls come stand by my side.

To infants and children I am the loving gaze of their mothers, to the elderly I am the face of someone they lost long ago. To some I may be the face of a significant other and to some I may be the face of their child. No matter how much time passes it never gets easier and the burden gets heavier. As if the weight of the world is on my shoulders, if I had any that is.

Every universe has its version of what I am. On particularly slow days we are able to converse but regardless we are interconnected in an inexplicable way. To put it in simple terms, we are all connected to each other with the same invisible string.

With every soul is the roar of the life it lived, no matter how long or how short. They remember the ones they left behind. I occasionally hear the pleas of a motherless daughter or the screams of an orphan in a war ridden country. Every soul has witnessed pain and felt it. And I feel all of it at once. If I was human I would be filled to the brim with guilt, regret and desperation. At times I think it is best if I do not feel so I can do my job sufficiently and efficiently. If I felt I would not be able to fulfill the purpose of my existence.

No matter how close I am or how far. Humans know they will inevitably be visited by me and will join me for this never ending walk. Years, centuries, millennia have passed and will continue to pass. And I will walk with an army of souls by my side, collecting as I go. Some say we will walk to the end of the universe together. Wives, mothers, sons and daughters. Fathers, brothers, husbands, grandparents. All alike. No matter how familiar we have become. Humans will never truly realize what I am and what I have done. What I was created to do. They will want to understand and they will try. But they simply cannot.  So I will walk. Collecting souls, acquiring ‘friends’ and ‘feeling’ pain. Until they finally do understand.

 

Maybe then someone can help me understand all of this too.