Sometimes it is really hard to be so feared and hated. I mean, I am not a horrible person. But I have a duty and I must see it through. It is my geas.
People stare at me as I pass. In some way, I think they find me very attractive;
my fair skin, pale, like chiseled marble and long hair so blonde it is white.
But they look away before I can meet their eyes with mine. Some, no doubt, find
my strapless, silvery gauze evening gown to be somewhat inappropriate for casual
wear, but I like the way it looks on me. Hey, a girl is entitled to some vanity.
I consult my list for the day. As usual, it is quite long. My work is truly
never done. Please, join me for a while, we can visit as I work . . . Don't
worry; you won't be in the way.
I stop to visit with Granny Selma at the Haven's Rest Retirement Home. No one
has been by to visit her for ages. She smiles a peaceful little smile when she
looks up from her bed to see me standing there. She reaches for my hand. We
walk out together to a lovely garden where I leave her sitting on a bench with
several friends. They are chatting about old times and will not see me slip
away. I smile at their contentment.
Now I journey on to Tara's apartment, which she shares with her boyfriend, Raul.
Last night, was another bad one and Tara wears more than one new bruise. I visit
briefly and nudge her past her indecision about leaving Raul for good. It is
time for this so-called relationship to be over. I tarry a bit while she packs
her things. I want to be sure my message to end this has really taken hold.
I nod as I watch her lock the door behind her, and then slide the key back under
it. As she hurries down the street to catch the bus to the women's center, thoughts
of a new chance on life fill her head and heart.
Then there is Steven. Twenty odd years of being a workaholic, eating badly,
never taking a real break. His wife and kids have begged him to take a vacation
with them or to come see Suzie in a play or see Dan play in the game. But Steven
just keeps on working, slaving away for that paycheck. His buddies keep telling
him that he better slow down. Today, it is my turn to talk with him, to get
his attention, so to speak. Somehow, I don't think that subtlety will work here.
I slap him on the left arm pretty hard. He looks up at me, quite shaken. I shake
my head, then tap my long pale finger on his chest. Words are not needed here.
His secretary hears the commotion as his body crumples to the floor. She runs
in and dials 911. Again, I shake my head and whisper to Steven, "No, not
yet, but next time . . . . ."
"Oh, my dear, I didn't? Excuse me; I am terribly sorry for that oversight.
I know your name and thought you knew mine. My name is Lady Death . . .."
Inspired by the Death card from the
Rohrig Tarot; 330 pm CDST; 11 April 2000
Winter Wren