Death

The cold iron horse galloped on and on. Clump. Clump. Clank. Thick gray wheels raced along thick gray rails. Lighter gray sky peeking from between crude wood slats for a wall. The sky swirled angrily, white foam swept into being by a turbulent sea.



I thought of the sky as I stooped to each almost-corpse. A soul here, one there. Each a beautiful cloudy white in my arms, soft and warm and safe. I filled my arms over and over, setting each bundle in their resting place. So many trips for such a small place. I felt the survivor's thoughts, a muddy unstable emotional mess. Mostly, what's it like to be where they are? What's it like to go? I'd answer if I could. I can't. Death doesn't die, ironic isn't it? The one around it the most is the one who can't relate. I make it as nice as possible, I assure you; my arms are very practiced.



They started to throw the ones I'd finished out, into the smooth, unmarred white blanket. It seems cruel, I know, but they were already safe and warm. Plop. Plop. Plop. The train was too far gone to hear but I could imagine the ominous thud as a body limply falls from a train has there been no snow to silence the sound. I sat in a small area left by a victim to the cleaning-out; I waited for a shallow-breathing man to be ready. Waiting is easy for me, I have no hurry. I can't actually be late, or, well, I think they'd prefer I be late. The skeleton man sucked in a breath and held it.



A young skeleton jumped over, on top of the not breathing man. I pulled myself back, I can wait a moment, I'd thought. The boy shook the man, raised his pale hand and slapped him. That was one of those times when you humans surprise me, I have come to expect mourning kisses and tears and hugging of corpses as your way of grieving but slapping was new. Two grave men grabbed the boy by the back of the neck and pulled him away. He wouldn't go, the almost-corpse, the unbreathing skeleton gaining kicks and punches. Hollow thuds. The corpse of a man half-opened blank eyes, brown eyes that I'd seen far too much of. I drew back, he was alive. I'd been late and I was glad. This skeleton man would have to meet me again sometime.



The iron horse slowed to a halt. The emaciated people were unloaded like cattle. I sat in my spot, faint light through the cracks and pulled my hood up. It was cold. The door was shut and the wheels began to grind the rails again. I waited, I'd stay on- the next stop was my next stop. Train took longer than on foot, of course, but I took the short vacation anyway. Rememorize the feeling of rest and of aloneness. So Death went, with the clank clank clank of the metal horse into a gray sky with angry clouds.