Autumn Twilight

                Death and I go walking into the crisp autumn twilight with nothing said and nothing heard but the crunching of fallen maple leaves and the ruffle of a fallen angel’s leathery wings stretching out behind me. I thought the day would never arrive when I would be afraid to look my friend in the eye, but I can no longer string my bow and slay the heart; the sport my friend and I had partaken in for years uncounted and forgotten.

Death took a handsome toll from the folk I inflicted with my pain, but now I tire of wars of passion, the murders done by the scorned, tired of watching the unwanted spill their life upon the ground when their love’s not returned. I cannot notch another arrow when I know it causes such grief, unless I could find someone to prove to me that love is real and not just illusions of lonely crazed loons.

I have watched nations war over it. I have seen brother kill brother because it. I have seen empires crumble to dust, and then get forgotten by all but legends. I grew tired of the slaughter long ago, but I had a job to do.

I asked Death to reap my soul and spirit me away to another life, one where I would not carry the blood of innocents on my hands. He laughed at me. The world needed me as much as the world needed him.

No rest for me, not till the world is undone, that is when I can unstring my bow, hang up the quiver; that is when I can wash my hands of this blood and curl up in some corner of chaos. There I will wait for the next sunrise, the next world.

Maybe next time around I can be someone else, maybe Morpheus will lend me his spot; I always wanted to spawn a dream, allow someone to escape their dreary lives, even for just one night. I thought that was what my arrows could do, escapism; people could escape into the arms of a lover.

They have caused more damage than I can count. Now they lay in their quiver, impotent pieces of wood, the metal tips, dull. I remember when I first received them, at the beginning of this world. I thought they held great promise; I was gypped.

As I pause to reflect on my duties, Death stops, watches me from the shadows of his cowl, I can feel his empty eyes staring at me. I know he is grinning at me, though I do not see his mouth. It creeps me out when he does that, irks me too. I have to push on, do my job, till the end comes for us all. Until that day comes, Death and I will go walking into the crisp autumn twilight.