Sensations of Death

in a quiet room, flooded with the strange, gray light of the sun behind overcast skies, a girl lay strewn across her bed, staring into the ceiling, her limbs twisted at odd angles; a life-sized doll now broken.

((Have you ever died?))

almost idly, she raised one of her hands into the air and gestured–the roof above her disappeared. for a second, there was hesitation, as if the spirit of the barrier remained, but then the elements entered the room as the last vestige of what had kept them out was carried away on the wind. light rain dotted the girls face and ran down her cheeks, until a residual layer of moisture shone on her body, refracting the pale luminescence of her skin.

((Have you ever killed?))

a drop fell into her open eye, and she blinked, once. water caught in her lashes left a shining semi circle of droplets that blurred into other water on her face as it pooled in the hollows of her eye sockets and the cavities in her ears.

((I have done both. I have murdered.)) she smiled, bitter, and the water that had settled between her lips ran into her mouth or across her skin. ((I have died.))

((I am intimate with death.))

rain flowed down the subtle curves of her breasts to join the river running between them, towards her navel.

((Death is cold, and warm, soft and hard, harsh and kind. Death is my friend, my companion, my enemy, my captor. It is the only thing I hate, and the only thing I love. Death is the eternal paradox, my eternal paradox, the curse and power of my station, the joy and sorrow of my life. Death is the weight behind my movement, the reason I feel the rain.))

finding a suitable hollow between her legs to linger, the water formed a puddle, and the rain that fell into it sounded the fiction of liquid on liquid–drip, drip, drop, drip drop. the noise filled the room as her floor became a giant puddle, rising higher and higher as it was augmented by the storm.

((I live because Death allows it, and yet, Death has no power over me, for I will never die, will never be replaced.))

((Of all of my friends, only I am truly eternal. Of all of my friends, only I am truly cursed.))

she lay there, silent beneath the sky, her gaze fixed above her, and, to not disturb her surroundings, perfectly still. in any other, the stillness would have been the stiff pose of a body long dead. in her, it was the stiff pose of habitual boredom, or anticipation. she assumed it now in an expectation thick with desire–to distract herself while she waited.

((You see, Death is selfish. It keeps me here by design, refuses to relinquish me though it knows upon my end another would be born into my position. My friends disappear with the centuries, released by Death, by me, free to enter what heaven they deserve. The rites I have preformed to release them, over the centuries, have become innumerable; they only die when they wish it, and only by my hand. I give them rest, I give them silence. I give them what is denied to me.))

her clothing now adhered firmly to her skin, the black satin of her dress thick with moisture. her hair, similarly, was plastered to her head and the soggy, woolen blanket beneath her. rivulets of water ran down the sides of her leg, slipping toward the floor and the ankle deep pool it had become. her eyes, eyes far older than they had right to be, saw the grey of clouds, but did not register it–her focus had shifted to something far removed from the present.

((How can I explain the heaviness of centuries to you who will never know it? You will die, perhaps by my hand, perhaps by another, and with death will come rest. I am eternally exhausted, but denied the sensation of depletion. I am denied every sensation but that of Death.))

((Yet that sensation is all I want. For here indeed is the irony of my existence, only through Death can I perceive life. It deciphers the mangled information my senses gather, turning it to something my brain can interpret. It's influence is in the beat of my heart, in the rhythm of by breath, in the movement of my limbs. I live on time borrowed from the timeless, that I might complete the task that has been assigned me–to act as the manifestation and purveyor of Death in this reality, and that I will continue to do unto eternity.))

((Such work, you know, is never done.))

the rain grew stronger as the day ended, the sunset shrouded by the clouds. the girl lay in the darkness, feeling the pounding of it against her, a feeling numbed by the cold in the water and a deeper, internal cold that haunted the flesh beneath her skin.

((And odd as it may seem to some, I love death.

If you knew it so completely as I do, you could not help but do the same.))

a soft sloshing of water announced someone's coming. she was immediately aware of it, but did not react, choosing instead to wait until it stood above her, and she could see clearly. the person was a man, shadowed and perhaps a little blurred about the edges–he almost looked as if he had melted out of the darkness, and was hard to distinguish from the night. she looked up at him, her eyes recognized him, but still she did not move. they remained, thus poised, in the darkness, for an infinite time–perhaps a moment, perhaps an hour, it was at once a second and a lifetime to them.

she moved first, and her gesture now was of invitation, she opened her arms to him, and her smile once again upset the water of her face. showing no objection to her soaked state, he came to her, brushing soft, tender kisses along her face, wrapping himself around her and pulling her close.

she spoke: "It is so strange that you are warm."

he smiled into the hollow of her neck, then nuzzled the skin below her ear. "Is it indeed? I do not find it strange at all."

she did not smile then, not until later, when they lay spread across the bed together, and his hand smoothed her rain slicked hair away from her face, and murmured softly against her shoulder, and she felt the sensation of his love, and the sensation of her own for him. with the feeling came the first warmth she had felt that day.

((Do you see?))

–Firefly

a.n. just a quicky I felt like doing, I've always enjoyed the relationship between Saturn and Death, this is just a fantasy of mine. Draw what conclusions you will from it. Review. Tell me what you think.

format notes: the words between parenthesis are Hotaru's thoughts, they can be connected to the scene in the bedroom or not.

Revised it! Yay!! This definately needed it. Um...I'm working on the eight of contract, which is coming along slowly due to various school stuff. But it should be done eventually. All you contract fans out there...don't despair! I love you all. DF 10/23/04