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The Crowns made of Dust

A young child who suffered, met her end in a way she wanted. Attempting to befriend the one who was to gather and move her soul to the afterlife, a child too young to suffer death finds comfort in the Grim reaper. The reaper, unnamed and feeling trapped finds freedom in a child who clung to him as if he was her lifeline. Family always has a way of finding each other don’t you think?

Gen_Ten · Fantaisie
Pas assez d’évaluations
4 Chs

Prologue

I remember when I first encountered the child. A young girl, who just wanted her parents to be happy, and not have to work themselves to their breaking point, just to cover her medical bills. A child that pulled her own lifeline, and as if everything was natural, got up and stood by the window, just barely being able to see over the windowsill.

I approached her, and hovered by her side, before holding out my hand for her to take hold of. Instead of looking at me in fear, she merely smiled and pointed to a garden outside of the window.

"Before I go, can I go see the garden?" She had asked me. I pulled out my watch, glancing at the time, and then back up at the child. Almost instantly, we were standing in the hospital garden, the loud hum of machinery gone, and instead the laughs of children filled the air.

The girl ignored the laughter and slowly shuffled to the flower beds, that were lined up against the gardens walls. She picked the most colorful flowers, and brought them over to me, where she motioned for me to kneel down. I complied, and watched as she tied the stems of the flowers together, creating a messy circle. She placed them on my head, only to move her hands back as the flowers withered and died.

"Is that what happens when living things touch you?" The child tilted her head, not moving her eyes from my crown of dust. I exhaled and nodded, expecting her to try to run away. She did not. Instead, she ran back to the flower garden and gathered as many as she could. Then she put them on my head, each flower decaying as quickly as the previous, the dust being the only proof that the flowers ever existed.

Time ticked down, and the girl grew sad at the thought of me being unable to hold the fragile flowers. She kept moving back and forth until she succeeded in putting a small purple and white hyacinth on my head, the flower resting on a small mound of dust. She seemed to be pulled from her thoughts when a quiet beeping came from my watch. Time had run out. I held my hand for her to grab, and with a smile, she took it.