Here’s this week’s Picture it & Write:
Death is not what you think.
It’s not a black hole. It’s not emptiness or darkness. It’s something much more. It lies beyond life. Thus it shines even brighter.
How do I know that you might ask?
I have been misunderstood for so long. I have been feared and pictured in a horrible way…
Yes it is me, Death.
I’m not the evil guy, as so many of you have thought. On the contrary, life is what causes your misery. It is him that crushes your dreams and limits your happiness in this mortal world.
Think carefully about this.
I am deliverance. I am as escape. I am what is best for your soul.
I am Death.
In my world, there will be not broken hearts, because dead cannot love. No tears, because dead have no worries or feel any pain whatsoever. No wars.
The stillness will be your happiness. You will be among your closest ones. You will never been alone.
Come to me.
Please… come to me…
Jeanne was vehemently pulled away from the skull she had been grabbing.
She turned around only to see her best friend, Enya, clutching on to her shoulders.
“Jeanne, what do you think you were doing?”
They were alone, in the middle of a wild forest, surrounded by the ruins of ancient cities. In fact they were on their annual school expedition, though Jeanne now realised that they had been distracted away from the student group.
“Well, nothing. I was just checking out this skull. Look, that one will the butterfly in his eye. It stands out from everything else. Looks cool, right?”
But she found only terror into Enya’s emerald eyes.
“What? What is it?” Jeanne asked, an uneasy feeling building up in her stomach.
Enya hastily shook her head. “No nothing. You were simply… not yourself when you were holding that thing. A little too fascinated by this antique place I guess.” She laughed half-heartedly in a vain attempt to hide her fear.
Jeanne dismissed her strange attitude. She shrugged.
“Fascinated, for sure I am!”
“All right, let’s go back now.”
Enya walked in front of her best friend so as to hide her face. She struggled to appear normal again. What happened… Had she dreamt or something? This could not have been real… People thought already that she had a mental disorder… But she knew what she heard, what she saw…
No, you were not yourself, Jeanne…
You were Death.
The curse. She was sure of it now: it was all true. It was real. It was the curse.
An Evil Nymph.