truth

As the old man closed his eyes,
The hospital room silences. His family bleeds tears.
A black hand slowly covers his vision. The hand moves away, and the old man,
Tired, grey, with kindly wrinkles, says to the silent woman:
“It was much better than last time. I liked how it ended, like a good movie.”
And the two move like a lone pair of trees,
Walking and yet not really walking, along a bright empty road in the cool desert,
Often traveled by many.
The woman drew her cloak – a billowing, beautiful shadow – in closer around her,
Because the bored and mischievous wind whispers around her in loud silence,
Speaking undiscovered words.
Said the woman: “I agree with you, friend.
Much better than catching a crossbow’s offspring…
But what have you learned?”
In a reflex, he scratched his cold ears, and answered:
“A woman…is a beautiful thing…a terrible thing…and can never, ever be controlled
Completely. Like a cat, arriving here, and leaving there, staying if she wishes.
Hated and loved, she is the bearer of life. Something to admire. Something to fear.”
The dark woman, irritated, collapses her forehead
Into an army of wrinkles.
“And? You will…?”
The old man’s blue eyes matched the perfect sky above.
“I will never take advantage of them, ever again.”
The satisfied shadows smile. At long last, she thought.
“I believe you now no longer need a human face for comfort anymore.”

Her smooth skin steamed like cooked rice,
And opaque gray smoke walking out of her cloak, embracing her.
The old man waited calmly. He had seen this a while ago.
A moment’s hesitation passes, then

She steps out. Keeping her midnight cloak,
Pearl bones lightly laugh, flaunting
A gleaming white skull with perfect teeth, and hands and arms of ivory. At last, from the mist,
The fair and wise crystal scythe lies in her grasp, relaxed, knowing he
Resides in her hands of time.
Ever-grinning, the Reaper hugs the man in a warm embrace.
They continue walking, and after a while, she asks again,
With the same cooled voice,
“Would you like to play again?”
Without a blink the old man responded,

“Yes.”

The Reaper smiled more intently, and answered,
“You will return much different this time around. I promise.”
She checks a golden pocket watch and remarks,
“You will be right on cue.”
She raises a petite arm. Slim fingers brush his old, folded eyelids,
But as she closes his eyes, regret slides down his jaw.

“Something wrong?”
“…Is this my last time?”
“We shall see. I will surely tell you when you return.”
“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”
“Wait. I don’t know your name.”
A deep smile, and a whisper.
“Well, you already know, don’t you?”
Her fingers frost through his face.
“You do not need a name to remember me. Good luck.”
His eyes seal shut as a black hand blankets sight again.

And the old man remembers nothing more.
Blue eyes become brown:

A doctor hands the quiet newborn to his mother.