Finger's of Death

[chaoserver]

Mature content is implied. Story is depressing. This story is not a Yugioh story. procede with caution

 

Here is one of the first stories I posted on Sal's. It's short, simple, and like many of my stories is of a different style. It is non violent, though like most of my non violent stories still carries mildly mature themes. Aside from spelling errors this story will remain unchanged. No FAQ will be posted, your imagination can answer any questions your left with. With that clear your mind and enjoy.

 

 

[align=center] Finger's of Death

 

 

Now and again, the truck bounces. The flaps of the topper flip up for a moment and the clear light of the full moon streams into the back, revealing the dirty crates and soiled cardboard boxes that a group of people are huddling on. Its filthy, very filthy. Dust thickly lays over everything, and occasionally one of the people will sneeze. At least its mostly dry, I suppose. Freezing to the point of death, though.

 

. . .And thats what brings me here.

 

The carry-alls' heater is broken. Even if it wasnt, it probably wouldnt help these people. Their huddling together for warmth, some wearing light jackets, the lucky wearing thick and heavy ones, a select few with gloves even. Fear is so thick its suffocating. Everyone's hunched over, conserving their scant heat as best as possible, looking up as the truck hits a bump, trying to catch a glimpse of the world beyond the flaps.

 

Looking down at my feet, I see a small woman, pale, so very pale.... She's got a coat, but shes not wearing it. A heavy coat. Woolen, dark it is, yet she's pulled it tight around two little children, a boy and a girl, about three or four years of age.

 

I'm not here for them; small, small children.

Im here for the pretty, pale woman who's hunched above them, striving to keep them warm. In a fraction of a second I know everything about her, her hopes, dreams, desires. . . How badly she wants to leave this place. Suppression, hatred, on all sides, wherever she goes.

 

For her children. . .So very willing to die for her children, and she will. Out of curiosity, for curiosity I feel, I look into the childrens futures, to see for myself what shes dying for.

 

They shall arrive at an uncles house, an abusive uncle with little care for his niece and nephew. He shall harm them in many ways before throwing them out of the house uselessly. Alone on the streets, they will learn to survive.

 

The boy has the mark of a destroyer on his heart. At twelve, he will have joined a local gang at his new location and will proceed into the oh so bloody career of a hit man. I will see this boy and his works many times before his end.

 

The girl has the mark of a flower. Pretty, soft, but bends so easily at the touch of another, and she will bend to her brothers much stronger will. He will use her without remorse, pushing her into prostitution where she will sell very very well, for like her mother, she is a delicate beauty.

 

Such potent lives... wasted, really.

 

Yet, I see, her brother will abandon the country sometime in his mid-twenties, leaving her to her fate, never to return. Weak, yet sensible still. She will get up, dusting away her shameful career and get a respectable job. In this job she meets a good man and marries. She shall provide a home of warmth and love, and her children shall be great indeed.

 

Hmm. If their mother knew these things, up until her sons departure, would she still give her life for theirs? I look at the mother and, playing with Possibilities, see her future if her children die and she lives.

 

She would arrive at her brothers house, torn with sorrow. She, too, will taste his abuse. But she will break away and go on to founding a childrens shelter, mending very many lives.

 

I, being Death, never have tasted of human life except to take it. I feel emotions; however, justice and morals don't effect me. So, struggles of heart, which humans so often are in the clutches of, endlessly fascinate me. I make it my hobby to toy with lives as a sort of entertainment in my otherwise rather dull existence.

 

So, watching this so very young mother feebly rub her childrens shoulders, I decide to test morality against motherly devotion. What better way to pass my time?

 

I hear a weak groan escape her lips, then she breathes her last.

 

Mother? I whisper, young young mother. The womans head has dropped to her chest, yet it jerks up, trying to listen. That is, her soul jerks up. Her body is still relaxed in death.

 

"Yes?" she calls, her voice hoarse. She is rigid with fear, and although her soul is no longer anchored to flesh, she, not realizing she is deceased, still shivers with cold.

Young mother, you are dead. I say calmly. Her eyes glaze over with fear, probably expecting armed soldiers to burst into the back of the carry-all and drag these poor refugees away. Shes rigid, alert for a moment, two, as I lacking empathy observe. She finally sees me, knows me, becoming more used to the spirit with every instant.

 

Her eyes widen, and as with most of them, understanding hits with such great force it leaves her in shock. Trembling, blind, her mouth forming a little o that quivers by reflex; she has no sense in her.

 

". . .D-dead?" she finally stammers. Some scream, but she didnt. Good good mother, her first thought were those children. "But, my babies, I. . .no! No! . . .NoNoNO! Please, I cant! Not until they're safe, I. . ." She ceases to stutter, simply too astounded. She runs her spectral hand over their tender brows, whispering "Death, please. Please dont take me till their safe." She looks at me with eyes that hold no tears, for phantoms do not weep.

 

That is what I wish to discuss with you, Young Mother. I have a proposition you shall very very much be interested in. She looks confused but nods for me to continue.

 

These children shall lead destructive and painful lives. They will be abused by your brother. The boy will destroy many with an expensive gun, the girl will lull people into cage of blackness and sin. The boy will wreck his sister, then disappear. She will die soon after, all alone. Woman, these are your children, I leave you to think of this.

 

Yes, Death is capable of lying. But this isnt quite a lie, you know. Although I saw their futures, there is the Chaos Factor to take into account. The daughter just might die after her brother disappears. Whos to know? I am not Fate, I am Death. Completely different factions of existence.

 

The young mother looks at her children, again in her numb state of shock. She reaches out tenderly to touch them, huddled together as they sleep under her corpses arms. She begins to sob the searing sobs of the Dead, the sobs that carry on winds that hiss and whistle, so torn is her heart.

 

"Why do you tell me this?" she whispers. " I did not want to know!" She screams, in the very heart of despair.

 

Ah, but now you do. Hear me out young mother? I ask. Hope flecks in her eyes, and she nods, not eagerly, but intense nonetheless.

 

Young Mother. I, being Death, can see into many possible futures. Let us say that you survive and your children pass on? You would go to your brothers house, endure his abuse, then escape to a far, far far away place. In this place you would open a home for others children, a shelter. You would help many many, saving just as many lives as your own seed would destroy. I leave you to think of this.

 

She sobs without tears, gnawing at her knuckle and I see that she is in the depth of turmoil, confusion, faced with two inhumane decisions. She can not respond. She does not understand. I will lead her to understanding.

 

Young Mother, I give you a choice. Your children, or you. She looks up at me without comprehension.

 

I can give you back your life, the life that will help so so many. But you must release your children to me in return. You cannot all survive together. So, Young Mother, I grant you the decision of Life over Death. Do I take your destructive, wasteful children, or you? She had been clutching her shoulders as I spoke, understanding a dawning light that illuminates her eyes as she looks up at me with the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cubs. Which, I suppose, she is.

 

"Do not tempt me with such a fate!" she screamed. "I will not play into your hands, whatever your game! How dare you give me such choices! How dare you tell me such futures! Take me now! I made my decision before you said a word!"

 

Nod nod I nod, not surprised but surprised. She's breathing heavily, though shes not breathing, and all of her anger is chanelled at me, a poweful aura. Ah, the climax has been reached and now I know her decision, though Ive always always known. And she always knew, too.

 

I extend myself to her, and a good deal of her ferocity has been worn away with her words, for she now looks at her children with a sorrow beyond sorrows, and bending over them, she whispers "I have given you life, twice. Please, my children, live to become honorable. I dont believe its useless to hope, and I will hope for you till you join me. Be good now, mommys leaving." She shuts her eyes. "But not for forever."

 

She stands up and enters me, and I feel her hatred as she passes me and enters the lands beyond. Hatred for me, bright and hot. Not for taking her, all things end and she knew, but for making her hurt like that that. For torturing her emotions like that that.

 

How interesting, I think. I've felt such things before, but each time its new.

 

It ends. Her spirit is gone for good, and the body, having held onto her just until she entered the lands beyond, slumps over and onto the children. They squirm in their sleep, re-adjusting themselves around her body till they can breathe easier. The other passengers know nothing of the dead woman in the back, and the truck travels on through the night.

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[chaoserver]

This requires bumpage.

[chaoserver]

Bumpagooruooo

[blue-eyes]

Cool I guess.

[chaoserver]

Thanks I guess.