Last Rites

It was not a particularly interesting soul, no. Like many others I have collected over the years. A clean white bed, monitors beeping sadly. A strong, healthy body weeping over the fragile husk of a dying one.

He looked up at me, the shadow I didn’t cast draping itself over her form. Wasn’t surprised, wasn’t fearful, not even at the scythe I wield as a matter of tradition. Just nodded at me respectfully. It’s rare to see that kind of recognition these days.

Out of understanding, and some measure of care, I let the sounds drop away. Let him have a few moments of peace and quiet.

“You loved her very much.”
“I didn’t have many opportunities to tell her so.”

I didn’t have any answer to that. Life is life, and death is death. I lifted the scythe gently, causing her spirit to sit up, and stopped at his pleading gaze.

“Can I have… a moment, before you take her?”

I turned away briefly. I rarely make such concessions, but a little respect goes a long way.

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