Dead Things
Each of us comprises an aspect of a universal organism originating from a single shared ancestor. Nothing ever really dies.
Oh Death
The old man could see it hunched over him, all this time. Its sockets looked into its eyes intently, drawing closer as he left the life drain from his body. He sang then, an old song he'd heard his grmpa sing on his deathbed, his voice hoarse and pleading. And the thing chattered its teeth softly, immitating his words. It sang along with the old man, pleading with him, an endless chatter that went on as long as he sang.
When the old man was done, it reached out its bony hands and cupped his last breath, stuck it in its pouch, then flew out of the open window, it teeth chattering, singing the old man's song.
Each of us comprises an aspect of a universal organism originating from a single shared ancestor. Nothing ever really dies.
Oh Death
The old man could see it hunched over him, all this time. Its sockets looked into its eyes intently, drawing closer as he left the life drain from his body. He sang then, an old song he'd heard his grmpa sing on his deathbed, his voice hoarse and pleading. And the thing chattered its teeth softly, immitating his words. It sang along with the old man, pleading with him, an endless chatter that went on as long as he sang.
When the old man was done, it reached out its bony hands and cupped his last breath, stuck it in its pouch, then flew out of the open window, it teeth chattering, singing the old man's song.
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