death does not, is not

Death does not discriminate. Death is not a soulless creature lurking in the shadows. Death has a job to do. The job is not of its own making, the job is not of its own choice. Even hades did not like his job, even though he was the lord of a third of creation. Death has a job to do. And it may seem tasteless but it is ever so necessary. When a soul leaves the planet, the empty husk it leaves behind is necessary for the planet to recover. It can only hold the weight of so many beings before it starts to give. It can only hold the actions of so many living things before it starts to die. The planet too needs rest. Burdened by the weight of those who pillage, rape, and plunder, it needs rest. So they must die. That is where Death comes in. Decay comes later. When the soul has left the shell, the body begins to crumple. It becomes cold, and slowly, other inhabitants of the earth begin to use it as it sinks deeper into the marrow of our beloved planet. Of our only planet. The eyes are eaten first, the skin around them turning black as it too is consumed. Nothing is wasted. Even the bones of the dinosaurs gone from long ago are used, now. Nothing is wasted. It is all used. Eventually. The eyes are had. Sockets forming as the skin becomes tighter, sinking into itself. The ears are had by those who eat them. Bacteria and worms crawl into and under the nails. Eating away at both sides from in between. The pale light that glows from fingertips loses its luster and slowly, the circles that are formed, the ones called fingerprints, those circles become tinged with spots of black, leaving nothing but arcs of what once was. The chest begins to sink, that mighty chest of these creatures sinking into itself held now only by the shape of their ribs, which too will sink and crack into themselves. The stomach swells with the weight of nothingness. The mud begins to lay claim to them all.

Death is not a monster. Death is an entity with a job. If Death were a boy, it would be the one standing in the playground looking around at the others with an adult sorrow in its eyes. If Death were an adult, it would be the intelligent one sitting in a mediocre office, realizing that everything must end. Everything must end. Death knows that. Death is the end. Death comes as the end. Death has a job to do. No one can survive. No one must.

Death is not a monster. In the end, Death is all we have. From shadows we come, and into the shadows we must return.

Death is not a monster. Death is the ultimate end. Death does not discriminate. Death comes for all.

Death is everywhere. Waiting. Standing still. Unseen. Felt. Waiting. Eyes that are empty. It needs to feel nothing if it must continue its job. Taking a life is not a job for those weak of stomach.

Death is not a monster