Writing Dirge [E]

[Dragon Warrior]

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[IMG]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=21199&stc=1[/IMG][/center]

[size=1][i]An artistic view of overcoming death and how it may lead to the disruption of the cycle of the living and the end of all fates.[/i]


Death. You look upon it with abashed eyes and wish never to meet its cold grip. Who would? And it?s not as if we know when it will happen. Some die suddenly, reason or not. Others die with purpose?but did they expect it? And what if you were suppose to die but you didn?t? What if the world was like that? What if Death simply? disappeared?

Marcus Degroft died from cancer at the age of twenty-two. It was unavoidable and many were surprised he lasted as long as he did. He did not wish to die, but it too was compulsory. But his life was to be given another chance, more or less. He was not fated for Heaven nor Hell. At first, he was cast into Purgatory, the initial stop on the trail of the dead. A rocky path lead to the dark, haunting gates of the Reaper?s abode. It looked forbidding, but Marcus, like any who dies, had lost most sense and only followed the path. He was greeted by Death himself. The long bony hands emitted fear into the atmosphere, but still Marcus lacked the emotion.

They entered the lair.

Thousands of scrolls covered numerous dusty bookshelves, obscuring every inch of floor, and decorating the walls as if the room was made of the paper. Though this was so, Death knew which scroll was Degroft?s and fetched it immediately with his odious brace. Never once did Marcus move from where he stood by the door and not once did Death acknowledge him. Instead, the Reaper unfolded the scroll across a table (the only clean spot of the room) and marked it with a dry feather pen. After he had finished, bloody writing materialized where he had exacted, revealing the name Marcus David Degroft.

To conclude the task, the Reaper gradually moved his gaunt hand over the hourglass clamped to his belt and removed the lid. Taking a small portion of its contents, he sprinkled the sand across the open scroll. It immediately took effect and its purpose was complete. Marcus became aware of his surroundings finally and stood at attention before Death. The Reaper rolled up the paper and stashed it away in a long glass cylinder, which he handed to Marcus. Afterwards, he spoke a whispered chant causing a door to emerge from the shadows. A path was revealed to the door?s threshold, breaking away the rubble of scrolls. Death walked the passage with Marcus following until they were outside the lair of the Reaper. He pointed a gangling finger towards the river Styx. A small wooden ferry appeared from the harrowing mists captained by the undead ferryman Charon.

Docking the vessel at the shores of Purgatory, Charon stared blankly at the two figures standing stagnant on the sands. He awaited his passenger.

Death approached the disturbing waters and stopped at the bow of the ferry. He turned his shadowed face to Marcus and nodded. Marcus obeyed and approached the vessel. But this was the first time he noticed the magnificently horrifying scythe of the Reaper. He viewed the river Styx finally after hearing of it in legends. Charon, the ominous ferryman who does nothing, but guides a ship, floated before him. And Death. He would not be here if Death wasn?t here. If Death simply did not exist, he would be living.

His mind was corrupt. He did not think. A blur, the rest is. A scythe fought over, swung, and finally tossed to the watery depths of Styx. Marcus stood before an empty cloak, a shattered hourglass, its contents pouring endlessly like it was bottomless. Charon did nothing. The old ferryman simply took his oar and steered away, guiding his ferry towards the mists once more. Marcus was not aboard, though. It was made obvious. Marcus touched the sand spilling from the shattered glass. He felt the gravel in it. He cut himself on the glass and bared the pain. He could feel the wind flowing through Purgatory. He was alive. And Death was no more.


After following what seemed like endless paths of damnation, Marcus arrived on Earth, the world of the living. Things seemed normal. He had defeated Death and was allowed to live once more. He immediately came to the home of his family. The house was filled with souls, but the place was desolate. Marcus? departure had his whole family in a consciously depressed state of mind. Before taking a step into the living room where everyone was weeping, he gave his action a second thought.

He was supposed to be dead.

If he had entered, what would happen? They would never believe he was alive again. His body was most likely still in the grave he was buried in. His mind went wild with thoughts, but the state of pondering was troubling. He decided the mourning had to cease, so he entered the living room. He expected reaction, but none came. He noted everyone cried him or herself to sleep. His sisters were on the couch, his mother in her armchair. His father was in the other armchair holding his wife?s hand. They all appeared pale. He wondered if they had eaten.

Tears fell down his cheek as he gripped his mother?s hand. She did not wake. He spoke to her. She did not wake. He feared the worst, but she was breathing. He shouted. No reaction came from anyone. Did he not exist?

Marcus left his house in dismay. People walking down the street paid him no mind. They seemed like lifeless zombies. Everyone appeared pale. Had defeating Death killed everyone?s spirit? Was the world of the living cursed to live bleak lives? His family could not even see him, hear him, love him anymore. The future looked bleak. It all looked bleak.

Marcus left the small town not planning to return. To see his family again would only hurt him more. Maybe he should return to Purgatory. He should go to the afterlife perchance. Too many beliefs to ponder. Instead he came to his apartment in the city. The place was filled with the same lifeless forms as the small town where his old home exists. Once more, no one saw him. Perhaps his home could straighten things out. He approached his door with the key; the same key he had always used, but never had such meaning before as it did now. He opened the door and was assailed.

Thousands of scrolls fell on top of him, streaming through the halls, down the steps, through open doors, out onto the streets, and farther than the window of his apartment allowed him to view. The scrolls were all in the glass containers, like his was back in Purgatory. Upon escaping from under the mess, he pulled his own out and examined the contents. He then studied one of the scrolls from the pile. They were identical, minus Marcus? name. He tested another glass cylinder. The same. It became clear now. Each and every scroll was one person who has died and these are all those helpless souls that have passed on, but have not been put to rest by Death. He had disrupted the order of death. The cycle was unstable. Death was not there to silence anyone.

The scrolls kept sweeping past him like the tide of the sea. It was proof that more and more people were dying, reasons only explained by Death. He moved past the endless wave of papers in glass and wandered to his bed. Collapsing there, he shooed the scrolls away from the sheets and lay looking towards the ceiling. It was bare, white, and was the plainest thing he had seen since the faces of the humans inhabiting the same apartment building. His mind looked past the white and into the minds of the dying. He saw people suffering heart attacks, diseases, gunshots, and other foul deaths that led to another scroll in his anthology.

He began to feel claustrophobic and shook around his bed as if a seizure struck him. He fell to the floor to a spot surprisingly not covered with scrolls. He stood up again and noticed he wore a black cloak, something not apart of his apparel only moments ago. He studied the fabric. It felt cold as if it were damp from chilling rain. His eyes moved to the door where a scythe stood. The scythe was noted as only Death?s, the harvester of souls.

Marcus gulped, then silently made his way around the scrolls to the closet. Upon opening the doors, he found dozens of black cloaks. He began choking; he gripped his throat, then his skull as an immense headache attacked violently. Voices, millions of them, all calling to him, some screaming, some crying, some laughing, some aching. He slammed into the wall causing him to drop to the floor into a pile of scrolls. His mind went aflutter and his consciousness was beginning to slip.

His skin felt tightened. His thoughts and memories felt stolen. His sanity became a thing of the past. Screams and shrills emitted from his throat. He shouted at the top of his lungs until his voice went hoarse. He then collapsed completely into unconsciousness.


When he awoke, he stood up as if nothing happened. He looked to the scythe, approached it, and after grasping its wooden hilt, he stepped through his apartment door. The scrolls that covered the world were gone. Marcus pushed past everyone, but they paid no mind. Their desolate expressions and pale faces were no more. They carried on, as did Marcus. He stepped outside and slowly faded into air, his bony clutch gripping the scythe. It was made obvious. He was Death.

The cycle was restored, the souls put to rest, and life goes on. Death was never meant to be ruptured?[/size]


Comments for an odd short?

[Sir Gawain]

Intersting. Never had I seen such a description of Death. Most amusing. This is a very well done piece of work, and as such, I feel that you truly understand death. Remeber, you can only be afraid of it if you don't know what it is. And you have nothing to fear of death when it, or he, comes.
A good story. Keep being inovative!

[MissWem]

[COLOR=DarkRed]It's fascinating, and I can tell it has been quite well thought through.

I certainly like the style you described the way things were happening..er it sort of gives me that feeling how death isn't typically an exciting thing and so the descriptions were interesting but still continued the monotony and pervasiveness that is death...I find it quite amusing.

Especially when he stops death for a time and it's almost like "oops...oh well" and it's rather fatalistic and satirical. I can't really think of anything about I don't like, it's just amusing for me.[/COLOR]

[Dragon Warrior]

I was in a hurry and posted this story before I had to leave so I didn't notice the song was wrong. I just edited it. The story is even more interesting if you read it with the music.

Anyways, thank you for the comments. I don't actually feel like I understand death since it's something people tend not to really know about, but I also don't fear it enough that I contain the phobia for it. Don't get me wrong, I don't wanna die and I hope I don't for many ages to come.

A similar piece I will release soon.

[Roxie Faye]

[color=#9933ff]That was a very interesting take on death, and a well written short story. I agree that a lot of people unnecessarily fear death. I loved the mythological references to the river Styx. Does that mean you believe in the underworld/Hades, or was the boat in your story going to a more Christian-type-esque purgatory? Is that a dumb question to ask? I don't mean it to be, I was just interested. *_*;[/color]

[Dragon Warrior]

I'm not sure what I believe and yet I have many beliefs. Hmm... weird. That makes no sense. Nevertheless, I am Protestant and believe in Heaven and Hell. The river Styx, which circles Hades seven times, links to the shores of Purgatory and Charon the ferryman takes the passengers to Hell. Or so say the legends. The legends also say that the water of Styx is so foul that if a God swore oath on it and broke his or her promise, he or she would have to drink the water and would lose their voice for seven whole years. I find it all quite fascinating and good stuff to write about.

But most of the stuff in my story was made up by me.

[DragonBlood]

wow, I love it. I realy can't say much more except that I love it. Its got a realy cool tone. I also like the way in which you depicted Purgatory and the boatman and all that stuff. Very nice story. A++

[Zidargh]

I liked it. Though it seemed like alot of the elements had been taken from Terry Pratchett's [i]Mort[/i]. This is fine. An established author once told me it was the best thing to do when seeking inspiration.

However, whether you've read [i]Mort[/i] or not, (Though it's a comedy) the perhaps coincedental resemblance to [i]Mort's[/i] beginning put me off. The rest was good though, though that isn't to say the beginning wasn't.

Argh, I know where the music's from. But I can't remember. Care to fill me in on where it's from?

[Dragon Warrior]

The song is from [b]Donnie Darko[/b]. To say more, when he's in the theatre with Frank.

And no, I have not read [b]Mort[/b], but I do thank you both for your comments.

[2010DigitalBoy]

God, I wish I could write like that! That was amazing! I loved the part where the scrolls start billowing out the windows. I was able to picture everything that was happening perfectly in my mind. Now I can't help but wonder, if that guy is death, what happened to the old death?

[Dragon Warrior]

Glad it was descriptive enough to give you a clear image. But a wonderful thing about story-telling is everyone has a different image when they hear a tale. What did happen to Death, for example? Did he die? Did he get sent to heaven/hell because Marcus took over? Did Marcus free him from his eternal job? That's for you to decide.

[img]http://img131.exs.cx/img131/8930/dwwashere9rz.gif[/img]

[Gavin]

[SIZE=1]Definitely an interest take on the concept of death, I actually really enjoy it. It's not your typical genre, Gavin but it is equally well done as most of your comedy, the clarity of description means to you can put yourself in the main character's shoes and see what he sees with great accuracy. I'm not usually a fan of morbid kind of stuff like what this might have been, as done by another member, but you've added your own touch to this and it really is great.[/SIZE]

[Dragon Warrior]

Believe it or not, this is one of my favorite genres to write. Not morbid tales of unhappy endings, but ones that make the person think and are a tad unbelievable at the same time of being realistic. What's the name... ah, yes. Science Fiction XD But this is more of an opinionated sci-fi :)

Maybe I'll write another.

[img]http://img131.exs.cx/img131/8930/dwwashere9rz.gif[/img]