Tell A Tale in 500 Words
Death Has A Shadow By Saffron March
A piece of rubble crumbling from a ruined house, the wind blowing against the panes of blackened windows. Each and every small sound was intensified by the deceiving calm. The building's windows looked like hollow, dark pits, empty and harrowing. They are abandoned now; the life that once thrived within them, savagely lost and cast astray.
I casually stroll through this deserted waste-land, knowing it’s not long before the calm is broken and the screaming and wailing start. I know it all too well. Before I leave for my next destination I hear a loud wail. No…Not a wail, a screech. I follow the direction of the sound. As I get closer, I hear more sounds, like a mumbled prayer and a small cry. I catch a glimpse of one of my sisters around a wall of debris. She is kneeling next to where the sounds are coming from. Suddenly, there is a muffled roar in the distance. I turn around and see a blinding orange flash. An enormous cloud of smoke rises, signalling to all the chaos that has started. As I predicted the screams, cries and wailing begin, barely audible above the roars of the missiles that get louder and louder, closer and closer. I look at my sister and she meets my gaze. I consider staying but she shakes her head and I nod. I know my sisters can handle this, I’m needed elsewhere.
The policemen confront him. He faces them, confused by the situation. He tries talking to them calmly but they don’t listen, getting annoyed and aggressive. One of them sneaks up behind him and grabs him around the neck, trying to force him to the ground. The others join. He is sprawled out on the ground, horrified onlookers filming the scene. He is pinned to the ground, mumbling something. An ambulance arrives and takes the man away on a stretcher. He is unconscious. I leave the scene without a word, slipping past the onlookers. They want to know if he’s going to be okay, I know he’s not going to be. I know because, before he passed out he could see me.
My sisters and I can’t be seen by everyone, only the sick, the weak and the doomed. We shadow the suffering and care for the dying. In every part of the world, you’ll find either me or my many sisters. We are the numerous forms of death and we have busy these past several years. Violent wars force people out of their homes so that sometimes my sisters and I have to tend to those who tragically drown, prejudice views result in the deaths of many all because of race, culture or sexual orientation and the world’s government are too corrupt to do anything to really help. Over the years, the human race has become more tolerant and aware however many people still suffer and those who have a voice are ignored or forced into silence and you wonder is it fair?
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