The Companions
The woman fell to the dirt and cried,
“I want to bend the world in a shape that doesn’t sting my tongue. I claw and claw at it, but all it does is bloody my fingernails and tear at my joints. It never bends.”
Death looked down at her from the road, and said,
“I am a fierce companion. I am not fickle like the others who run ahead and fall behind. I am always present whether you look my way or not.”
Misery stepped on the woman’s hand.
“I may be impermanent, but I am never too far away. Don’t discount me so soon, old friend.
-
The woman met the end of the road. She stood in a chapel of bones and said,
“The other people here don’t know you like I know you.”
Death held on to her shoulders and replied,
“Have you come to make peace with me? Others only meet me in passing, but you know me more intimately.”
“Yes,” she said.
“So be it,” he replied.
~
The woman sat by the water and watched the waves lap against the sand.
Misery laid his head in her lap and asked,
“Are you writing a poem? I have known many poets and make a more interesting subject than that old man.”
“I wager there are more obituaries than poems,” Death replied.
“I would never make a wager with Death,” Misery replied, “That bet is only for fools. And I am not as easy to make peace with as you.”
-
The woman sat at the edge of a cliff. She took a breath. For once, the world fell silent.
She looked down at the birds below and wondered what one must shed in order to be light enough to fly without falling.
-
The ink seeped into the woman’s skin. And the needle ran its course.
Death watched closely.
“Misery is not here today?”
“No, not all pain belongs to him,” she replied.
“Memento mori,” he mumbled.
-
The woman despaired and curled in the bed.
Misery watched closely.
“Death is not here today?”
“Not all suffering belongs to him.”
“To live is to suffer,” he murmured.
-
The woman found another beach and sat down in the sand.
“Repeating motifs are fun for writers, but not so fun for those who live them,” Misery mused.
“What kind of metaphor is this?” Death asked.
“A mean one,” Misery replied.
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