Immunity

A conversation between the four horseman about life and Death

“Immune? I am immune?” Death spoke, or rather it whispered. A wisp of voices roiled forth into incoherence as if caught on a wind, only to be brought back with sudden and distinct clarity yet never rising above a chorused whisper. It simply spoke. Emotions, as such that would be express were done so by only one of its many voices, where many simply spoke in the deep yet even wisp of whispers only one expressed the question.

There was silence. Then it spoke again, this time it was a child that expressed the question.  “Why, my brothers, do you say I am immune?”

“AH BUT YOU ARE BROTHER.” War, like a battle cry his voiced marched forth. A sweeping cadence that took all in its path, in his words carried the ring of steel on steel, the fell of nations and the rise of conquests.

“YOU ARE IMMUNE TO THE ILKS OF THE LIVING. WHILE WE TUMBLE WITH THEIR ANGER, THEIR ANGUISH, THEIR HOPES AND DESIRES. YOU, DEAR BROTHER, YOU ARE THE TAKER OF SOULS, THE ONE WHO FERRIES LIFE TO ITS REST OR PUNISHMENT. YOU DO NOT WRESTLE WITH WHAT HAPPENS TO LIFE, YOU ARE DEATH AND THEREFORE YOU SEE NAUGHT BUT THE FINALITY OF LIFE.”

“Immune?” the voice of a woman asked among the incoherence.

Pestilence laughed. A chill thing, that seemed to petrify the air between them. Hers was a coiled snake about to strike, a voice that dipped and rose, lulled and poisoned, filled with rot.

“You are called “The Reaper” brother, a thing of fear to all life.” Her voice a blood filled song that echoed from within and without, enough to cause a sense of vertigo in any less than those present before her. “We are the means, you are the inevitable end. We are life in all its glory, its pains, its suffering, its emotions that run the highs and lows, sacrifice, corruption, love and hate, guilt and innocence. We are in all these things. You are not; you are the end of everything.”

“That is why...you are...immune..., immune...to the ilks...of...life…as…our brother…war…bespoke.” this came from vacuum that is Famine. His voice sucked and halted, taking in and giving forth nothing in return.

“For us….there…is…pace. Time... enough…for us…to…integrate…ourselves…into……life. To… become…a….part …..of…… it, live….in the…….moments…whether good or ill we bring. For us…there…is…life…and…we…live…and abide….for us…there is………living…but of that…..you….are……immune."

“Do not speak to me of immunity” The whisper of an angry child. Though its voice was  even as it always was and always would be, there was a remark difference in its foremost tone . Beneath the hood of what covered his frame shadowed features swirled and shifted, different faces overlapped with varying expressions, anger, hate, betrayal, love, nobility, impurity, all the states in which life could be ended, formed then quickly evaporated to be replaced by another. It spoke without haste, though for its foremost there was a changed cadence.

“I am Death. I am not a transition of life, I am not a method, I am not and end result. I am Death. You say I am the end of life or that I am present at the end of life to ferry souls to the underworld, to the great beyond, to the next….life. You say I am immune to all that is life. I say you are wrong.

I am there, always. At the beginning and at the end, every death, I experience it, I live it. I am there, I am them and even now I am dying a thousand times over. I  AM death, at the last moments of every life I am there to feel, to experience to die. I am the villain brought down by the sword of the hero, and I am that same hero that is brought down at the hands of another.  I feel each death, all the deaths in the world.”

It addressed each in turn and spoke in the warbled tones of an aged man. “Do not speak to me of immunity. You make war yet you revel in the battle, you bring plaque and pestilence, yet you thrill in the pustules and the rotting of flesh and you, you being famine, the starvation of nations, yet you feed upon the despair and suffering. I am what you make me, the quick and brutal death of wars, the slow agony of starvation and the burning pain that is pestilence.

Do not speak to me of immunity. I am Death; I am every death, each one. I see through the eyes of the dying, I LIVE their last moments. I am the child on the battlefield whose inexperience sees him run through and dying alone in a foreign land. I am the forlorn lover, whose broken heart and broken mind causes her to seek comfort among the rocks at the bottom of a precipice, I am he who has finally run afoul of the wrong man and his associates. I am the man who even now breathes his last breath because of the anger of a woman. I see through their eyes, I feel the last ebb of life leave my body, the heaviness that spirals me into the darkness. That is death and that is what I am."

“ah brother, but you are more, WE ARE MORE.” bellowed the thunder of War. “We are much more than that. We are teachers, we are instructors and philosophers. Through us we command change.”

“What wisdom?” Asked the thrilling voice of a young woman. “What have we taught what have we instructed?”

“Change” the silken form of pestilence leaned forward from her own shadows. “Through war, do we not teach the value of peace, though famine to we not teach preservation and through me �" through pestilence do we not encourage exploration into fields that heal and ensure life. We teach…”

“We pervert.” Bantered a gentleman’s voice. “Through war is the wisdom born to create more effective ways of killing. Through famine is born greed. The hording and accumulating of that which they believe should be theirs and none may have despite the plenty. And yes through pestilence do we not teach separation and segregation, discarding the sick and needing, thinking that some are pure and they, the sick, the contaminated and diseased, of little worth."

Again, the voice of a child. 

“All this I know, because all this I feel. I am feared because many believe that death is inevitably worse than life, yet to experience all that I have, it is life to me that is to be feared.  We represent the accumulation of what life really is, Conflict, Desire, Vulnerability and yes Death. For some I am the ultimate end, for others I am the transition and yet still for others I am the acceptance of life’s goals.”

This time its whispers lilted and with the rushing of the wind the voices joined together, becoming a chorus, a myriad of echoes that resounded and reverberated like the hollow thumping of a drum.

“I know all this my brothers, because I feel all of it. In this I am more a part of life’s ilk than you are. Do not speak to me of immunity, I am Death, I am everything.” 

Author's Note

I have only started writing again after a long time without inspiration, Did not think I would be able to do so again. I welcome what you have to say.

Reviews

Amazing piece. I felt I was there... in between them all.. listening.. looking from face to face in complete wonderment. Did they see me sitting there and listening? Nice job....This could be pre-chapter and grow into something more... I hope to check back with you and your new start..