The Guardians of Death (Life after death competition)

My entry for the Life after Death competition, but with a twist.


2. During death

Do you realise that humanity has labelled me as something other than I am?

For an evolved and intelligent race they do not seem to agree as to my identity.

To some I am the flying bird that spreads it wings and trusts the wind to lead me to my destination. To others I am the crashing of the sea as it travels across the world in the company of itself. Yet to others, I am nothing more than the mere shadow of a past miracle that no longer exists. To them I am hollow of meaning and inattentive to their plight. They are wrong.

I have no shape, nor do I have any other identity than the label that they have slapped upon me in the hope that I may one day rescue them. I cannot fulfil a mission I was not designed for and they do not understand this. They believe I am just a figment of their underactive imaginations. Once more they are incorrect. They always seem to be incorrect, humanity, for they do not allow themselves to understand.

I stand by helpless as blue uniforms and creatures wearing stethoscopes around their necks attack the still with electric in an effort to restart their fragile, little hearts. I watch them as tubes are shoved down their necks in attempt to replicate their delicate internal systems. I stare as they shake and fit on cots that remind me of their younger years when so little would bother them. It is ironic that they should die in the same haven they were safe in as a new born.

Irony, it would appear, is a great factor in their existence.

It is irony then, which leads me to believe that they see me as the opposite of what I am. They use my name as an excuse to cause war, inflict pain and control others in a senseless bid to gain power when I am quite the opposite. They have used my existence for their own selfish gain.

Yet, it is when they are dying that they finally appreciate my true meaning and form. This is the largest irony of them all. They appreciate me when it is almost too late for them to befriend me and live their lives with me. As they shudder and shake I wait for them at the end of the tunnel and smile as realisation dawns on their paling faces.

It is saddening, in all honesty, that I am such a distant entity in their lives that they do not realise they lack my presence until their presence on Earth is about to be distinguished. They miss my presence in their lives but they forget who I am and what I do for them so they do not comprehend what they are missing. They try to fill that hole with blood and rage and fire as they destroy both themselves and each other. They fill my place with the opposite of who I am.

I am freedom. I hold your hand as you die and I cry as you realise that we have met far too late for us to know each other.

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