A Dark Room
By Schildkroete
The room was dark – the only candle had burned down and died an hour ago and only the moonlight that fell through the window illuminated the austere bedroom and its still occupants.
A man was lying on the covers of the narrow bed, papers sprawled around him. In the colourless light he seemed so deadly pale that the tall figure that had just entered through the wall reached into its coat and took out a dark hourglass. But there was still sand in the upper half, enough for another year, maybe two. It wasn't always easy to tell in this reality.
Death made no noise as he walked towards the narrow bed. The faint clicking sound of bones on stone where not to be heard in the world of the living.
And yet there was a being that did hear him, and greeted him with a low growl. Fur moved over the plain fabric of bed sheets as the small dog dragged its old body around to look at him through dark eyes. But in fact it moved only the memory of a body – its real body was not moving at all and wouldn't ever again. Death swung his scythe. The ghost of the dog responded by biting his hand.
YOUR TIME SHOULD HAVE COME LONG AGO ALREADY, grumbled the hooded skeleton. It was true. Death never understood why it got postponed again and again. It was one of those things that simply happened.
The small dog barked angrily and then whimpered and tried to crawl behind the thin figure on the bed when bony fingers reached for him, lifted him up. The world began to fade away.
Just before the thinning fabric of reality disappeared completely the sleeping man woke up and to his surprise Death saw him sit up and look at him, directly, and at the small burden in his arms.
Then they were gone.
May 01, 2005