by B Latif
Death’s Life
By
B. Latif
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Text copyright © 2015 by Bela Latif
For Mothers
Copyright © 2019 by Bela Latif
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published in the United States of America
www.blatifauthor.com
First Published 2019
To contact the author, please write to:
[email protected]
Or visit her Amazon Author Page:
https://www.amazon.com/author/blatif
Also by the author, Death’s Lament, an Anthology of Poems:
https://books2read.com/u/3JVJzQ
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Death’s Life
“Humans know a small fact; they are going to die.
But I know a bigger one; it’s something they always forget.”
Chapter 1
“I was never born but I still exist,
A parlous being swirling in a black mist,
I am where all hopes end,
Before me strutting beings bend,
Here a masquerade on my eyes,
Guess the mundane, who am I?
Beautiful creatures call me ‘alone being,’
Well, here’s a fact; all souls reside with me.
Disguised as a weapon for a perfidious doll,
Warm as hell for a pious heart.
The nightmare that haunts your dreams,
You might be oblivious, but that’s me,
I rule all hearts, a common fear,
And you, just a lamenting tear,
Angelic love for a virtue.
White funeral for a sin.
Excruciation, paroxysm, ecstasy, and pain,
I mock you, your life’s in vain.
Sanguinary – you might call,
In my kingdom, everyone shall fall.
Lo and behold, hold your breath,
For this is my realm and I am Death.”
I might sound patronizing, and to some, I presume, conceited, but I won’t refrain from telling you that I know everything.
I’ve scared you.
Just for a moment though.
And let me tell you another thing, you’ve scared me as well. Yes, you.
Who is you? You might be wondering. What is the creature, the thing Death is afraid of?
Humans.
Yes, humans scare me, but I won’t divulge it right now. You’ll learn that for yourself.
Let me reintroduce myself, in just one word.
Death.
I wish I could give myself a name. but what would I possibly call myself? And what do you possibly call me, huh?
Pain. The end. Destiny. Killer. Cruel. Unpredictable. Fact?
And Lord… you know, it’s an amusing little coincidence that I also call you by these names.
You are pain to nature.
You are the end of sanctity.
You are the world’s destiny.
You are killers.
You are cruel, barbaric covets.
You are infinitely unpredictable.
So, I wonder what is the difference between you and me?
Even if I asked myself that question a thousand times, and don’t get an answer—you might think that’s out of order—I have had the question in my mind since life was given to man.
Let’s not uncover the clandestine beginning of life just now.
Life.
What a controversy for humans. They call me Death when I am more alive than they are.
I lived to see the first murder on Earth, when Cain killed Abel. I lived to see blood turning against blood, when Joseph’s brothers threw him in a well. I lived to see the enigmatic, dark magic of the Pharaohs. I lived to see clouds flooding the world and Noah’s Ark with the only survivors in it. I lived to see Jesus being taken alive to the Lord God. I lived to see Abraham ready to sacrifice Isaac. I lived to see Muhammad.
I lived to see revolution.
I lived to see you.
I live. And humans die.
Does any human know the secret of nature, or the world that I know? The inscrutable times?
I do!
So, why is that you call me death and yourself life? I just needed to clarify the misconstrued candor in humans’ minds that I don’t exist
I do.
Keeping all the beleaguering words aside, I want to tell my story. I just want to tell humans that I know the facts about them that they have forgotten.
And this is what scares me the most.
Observation No. 1
“Humans know they are humans. Humans don’t know they have humanity. Something that I would call dead in them.”
I must register a complaint as well. Why do humans think I’m a villain? I’m not meant to play that part.
It was meant to be played by Satan, and as I said before, one of the billion facts that scare me is that this part is also being played by humans.
To take souls is a duty bestowed upon me by the Lord, and for this purpose I travel the world with such speed that no one could imagine, faster than the twinkle of your eye.
I’m not bound by time, but man is its prisoner.
There’s no time limit for me, however, I can’t go into the future or back to what has passed but having traveled the world, I’ve observed people.
And they bring to me the first human trait, which is curiosity.
I’m not reluctant to inform you that I’m curious.
Since the beginning of time, why have I been portrayed as a heinous figure? Incarnated in black robes with a scythe in my bony fingers, two hollow sockets for eyes, bald, a rictus smile, honed nails, in short, a skeleton.
But I tell you what, human.
The skeleton is a part of you humans—not me! When I saw the sketch of Death for the first time in 2000 BC, it made me laugh.
You know why?
Because it’s exactly what I think humans are.
Again, what a wonderful coincidence.
Humanity skinned from their bones, their eyes hollow to observe nature, their heads naked from dignity, their nails honed because of resentment and greed that murky, somber gown of helplessness on them with an axe of jealously to kill everyone.
Pity. Pity. Pity.
I wonder, if I were a human would I be like that? Would I also forget I was a human and my purpose on earth? Would I also forge the Lord?
That has made me wonder for ages, since times I can’t even remember… and there’s a second feeling beside curiosity—a desire.
Just to experience what’s it like to be human, even once.
I’ve seen flowers. They are buds and then they bloom into ruddy petals, looking beautiful.
I don’t know when that desire turned into a bud and then a flower blossomed. It just seemed to attract me.
But of course, it is impossible.
&n
bsp; Do you believe in miracles?
I do. Because I saw Moses’ rope turning into a giant snake. You’ll also believe only if you are able to watch a small flower blooming or a seed growing into a tree.
It’s called a miracle.
Not burgeoning.
But your dictionary will define it still as a process called growth.
Why have I turned the whole conversation to miracles? Because a miracle happened to me. Not that I would become visible to the world. No, not that.
The miracle started in 1923. But first, I’ll start with the sketching-my-image thing. So, there I was, roaming around, trying to find the true meaning of the word ‘death.’
Humans invented it. I think the one who concocts something must know its meaning as well. Of course, it was ages ago and I had killed many people until then. I use the word killed because that was the meaning of death back then.
It was a cold winter morning. There was a chill in the air and the shrouded bodies searched for a tinge of sunlight.
I felt nothing but saw humans feeling it.
I had to go to a church and unlock the souls of fifteen people there. When I have a soul to free, I usually go beforehand to see the situation. So, I was before time in that basilica on Sunday. The bishop was speaking about me.
Curious, I listened.
“My dear brothers and sisters. My dear children. The path of righteousness isn’t a difficult one. You take one step and God moves ten steps toward you. Don’t fear death, fear sins. Everyone must die one day, sooner or later. Everyone must face death, but death is cruel. It gives pain…”
And so on.
Death is cruel.
I frowned at that human. How unfair. If I could, I’d appeal in the court. I – am – not – cruel.
And then a blast and fire everywhere.
It was my duty, I had to free the souls from their cages. And, Lord, how do I do that?
As I mentioned earlier… disguised as a weapon for a perfidious doll and warm as hell for a pious heart.
I become a beauty for a spiritual human. For instance, there was a guileless child in the church. His was the first soul I had to free, and in that moment, he could see me.
When the time comes, the person can always see me. He was propped on his elbows, staring strangely at me.
I smiled.
I don’t give pain to the innocuous. So, I smiled as he contemplated my unexplainable beauty in his mind.
White silk robes undulating in air that was filled with the aroma of jasmine and roses. My eyes pure blue, silver hair flowing down my back, and a crown on my head no less than a queen’s. Just infallible.
Seeing my paragon beauty, the child couldn’t speak or blink. I have seen that look on the faces of many pious humans when they finally see me.
“I have come to take you,” I told him in my most euphonious tone, offering him my serene hand.
“Who are you?” he finally managed to ask.
“Who do you think I am?” I smiled.
Taking a child’s soul has always been a delight. After all, the sooner you leave, the less burden of sins on you.
“A… a… dream…”
“If you say so,” I shrugged my shoulder, “Come along, boy.”
A dream…
And what a haunting nightmare for sinners. I become fear itself when I take a sinner, and then they call me fear.
I know human nature more than humans know themselves. Humans ask for evidence and their eyes seek proof. I can’t show you the scared faces of sinners but I can tell you about them.
The one who murdered fourteen people in the church in a suicidal bomb attack.
A terrorist, a clean-shaven, pathetic Jew. -
Excuse me, I don’t want to sound blasphemous here by discussing religion, neither do I wish to be sardonic on the division of creators, but sometimes I feel a lack of senselessness in humans when they don’t have unity in religion.
They can’t even agree on one god!
I’ve seen people praying and prostrating themselves to the stars or the sun. A little sense developed, and they began worshipping statues.
And civilization brought with it the theological existence of God, Allah, Buddha, Brahma, Jesus.
That was much better.
I would like to control myself before I reveal the veils of the Universe or before I slip some aspersions to mankind.
I was talking about death, which is me, of sinners.
The obliterated basilica went black, my eyes turned crimson and my hair black as it snaked above my head, my robes became black too, smoke and ashes rising from them. I could feel my eyes beginning to glow.
But more than that, I could clearly see fear suspended in the terrorist’s eyes.
The most silent time is when I take a soul.
As the cracks began to appear on the walls of the forlorn room I had created, a cat-like grin formed on my face as the man began to crawl back like a rat in a trap.
I feel nothing… absolutely nothing. When I take a soul there’s no mercy, no fear, no felicity, because I’m not human.
I had to give him pain and fear, so, with a flick of my eyes he slammed into the wall and broke his spine. Even if the suicidal attack had been malevolent and his flesh had been blown to bits, when I take a soul, the person becomes perfectly well.
So, I broke his spine and then his leg.
Then, as if he were a puppet, he tossed and swayed in the room as my long nails danced in the air to the music of my devious cackle. I could almost imagine myself as the most hideous creature.
Thank the Lord, my reflection doesn’t appear on water or glass, otherwise, would have been either very envious or full of vanity.
In summary, I’ve never seen myself. Don’t you consider that strange? How can a person live without seeing his own face?
OBSERVATION No. 2
“Humans see their faces a million times in their lifetime and still don’t recognize themselves.”
Sometimes, I wish I could see myself, but then I remind myself that I shouldn’t wish. Wishing is a human trait, remember?
And there is a fact about wishes and desires too. You can’t call my words adages, maxims, or dictums because my experiences are from the beginning of life, so I call these my conclusions or observations.
OBSERVATION No. 3
“No bomb, no fire, no bullet can perish a soul. The only thing that truly perishes a man is his desire.”
Desire perished me too. So again, I desired. I hadn’t desired to be a human. The thing I wanted to experience the most was what I couldn’t have, even if I lived to the end of time on Earth.
Feelings.
Human feelings.
Basically, time never ends, it only starts. Doomsday will start a new life and time henceforth.
It is humans who end.
I wonder what it’s like to live as a human. Three things about human beings intrigue me, creativity, nature, and religion. Creativity, as it is infinitely and constantly expanding. Nature, as it is diplomatically changing. Religion, as there is monotheism, but confusingly there are innumerable religions.
I just wondered what masterpiece would I create? What kind of nature would I have? What would be my religion?
Tut.
No, that isn’t going to happen.
So, I continue doing my duty. As I mentioned, I wander in the world. They say people change their opinions and thoughts with time, but I say they don’t.
The same things repeat with little change, because they always have the same opinion about me. I want a difference, I want to ask the question, ‘What is death?’
The most different answer I heard was in 1303 BC from some tribal people in a desert in Arabia. Did I mention I can understand languages?
They were destined to die from thirst. I listened as the sweltering and scorching heat of the sun burned their skin. With a black hood on my head and golden eyes, I walked silently with my bare feet on the sand, feeling nothing, and my white skin glowing
in the sunshine.
“Oh, this heat is going to kill me…”
“If only we had brought some more water…”
“Even if we had, it wouldn’t be of much use. It would be boiling and burn your mouth and throat.”
“The camels, we should kill one…”
“No, find an oasis.”
“But it’ll take time, and by then the sandstorm would kill us!”
“Good,” one of them stood up with a leather bottle, “Death will give me freedom.”
I stared at him. Death is freedom.
I am freedom!
Wonderful!
At least I’m of some use to humans then.
“Oh no, Allah, have mercy!”
I didn’t listen as they began to discuss their rival: the sandstorm. And soon it came. I have patience. I waited until I had to take the life of that man who had said those words.
He was neither a sinner nor a pious man. So, I took his soul gently, but not without some effort. First, I stared at him and he stared back.
“Who are you?” he spoke, bewildered as he lay there on the sand.
“Freedom.” I gave myself a new name.
“Pardon?”
I frowned. He had given me the name himself and now he failed to recognize me.
It’s hard to believe humans. Diplomatic. Without wasting any time, I clenched my hand in a fist and he was gone without excruciation.
I moved on.
It is tiring to search for answers, but even more to wait like a helpless, netted bird. I guess I’m not really freedom. Freedom means to have nothing to worry about. Humans have their life in a graveyard and hell to worry about, so I’m not freedom.
Time progressed.
It was 1900, and I was passing a school in India. It was some very illiterate village where Muslims and Hindus lived together.
The school had no gable and was made of mud. The Muslim children were sitting under the shade of a fig tree having a class, narrating their lesson aloud.
A riot was about to break out, and British soldiers were going to murder civilians.
The class was stridently revising their lesson when the docent arrived.
“Children, have you learned the lesson I gave you from the Koran?”
“Yes, master!” they all replied.