The Final Reaping

• Kody Roberts, Grade 12, Lowood State High School -
• Short Story
• 2018

Finalist in the 'Horizon of Dreams 2018' competition

The ground blackened with every step he took. All around him, life fluttered, blossomed and bustled, seemingly unaware of his grim presence. Each time his feet touched the ground, he winced in agony, rendering him weaker and weaker. This was no longer his domain, and he would not see it for much longer hereafter. The banners and billboards looming above his cowl pulsated with vibrant colours, each advertising the ‘revolutionary’ new breakthrough causing him this torment. A cure for death; the undoing of everything life existed for, developed by the leading scientists throughout the world who were oblivious to their own arrogance. But Death knew this time was forthcoming; he had sensed it for centuries, as more of his power bled from him each day. The pristine iron scythe he carried with him during his lifetime had become rusted, and was fragmenting piece by piece, reflective of his own tiring body. He shuffled agonizingly past a broken-down building, with an elderly man situated serenely on a creaking oak-wood rocking chair, waiting for the time when his life would cease to exist. Death turned his head to observe this man, knowing that he could no longer grant him the peaceful ending he wished for. He stopped, and watched in desolation as he reminisced over his diminishing power; not the power to kill, but the power to save. To save from suffering, to save from agony, to save a poor, wearying soul imprisoned inside a living suit of flesh. Death dragged himself from this thought, and continued along his final path. The noises of laughter and joy, and most tender of all, life, echoed through his mind. Further he limped, utilising his fraying scythe as support to keep his tiring body upright. The laughter surrounding him faded subtly to tears as he turned into the slums of the city. Here, the streets were littered with those whom he could have once saved, those who were enduring their sluggish deaths, only to have no one to guide them to their afterlife. They would end entombed on this plane of existence, bound to the earth by the shackles of technology. He strode past them, until he had reached the door to his final reaping. Through the rotting door, he could see her; she sat, crumpled in a corner. He materialised through it, and stumbled over to the young girl. For a moment, he could only observe. She had not yet finished her time on the existing plane. He gazed at her battered face, and watched as the blood dripped from her nose, mixing with the tears she wept. Bruises scattered across her arms and face, making her unrecognisable to those unfortunate enough to see her in such a miserable state. Finally, Death felt a surge, as her body, struggling to breathe, ceased. Her lifeless arms dropped. He stood, hand outstretched as her life dissipated, and her soul discarded her body to meet him. She took his hand, and together, they faded peacefully from existence.