The Crow's Feather

She can see Death. But she's not supposed to.


2. I Met You Once

I Met You Once


Thanatos’ POV


            “I met you once.” I said to her as we were sitting on top of our graves.


            “Hmm?” she said.


            “I met you once before.” I said again. “Let me tell you a secret. I used to have a tattoo before. This tattoo, it let me interact with people. They could see me, talk to me, hang out with me. So basically, because of that tattoo I was able to pretend that I was one of them.”


            “What happened to that tattoo?” she asked. Should I tell her?


*Flashback 16 Years Ago*


            “Please. Tell me you could save my daughter!? Please?” a man pleaded a doctor.


            “I’m sorry Mr. Miller but your daughter was born dead. There’s nothing we could do about that.” The doctor explained again to the man.


            “But my wife, she’d be devastated.”


            “I’m really sorry for your loss Mr. Miller, but there’s really nothing we could do about that.” The doctor said again.


            “Do it, Death.” HE whispered to me.


            I strolled into the said hospital room. There, a picture of a grieving mother who was cradling her dead daughter greeted me as I came in. I stepped closer to them.


            “Hi.” I approached them.


            She wiped her tears and smiled at me. “Hi. What are you doing here?” she asked me.


            I chose to ignore her question and stood next to her hospital bed. “May I hold her?” I asked her. I looked at the child she was holding, so fragile, so peaceful, and so precious but lifeless.


            “H-here.” She stammered as she handed me her baby. “The doctors said she’s not gonna wake up. They’re wrong, right? She’s gonna wake up, right?” she asked me as a tear escaped her already swollen eye.


            I looked at the child I was now holding. “Of course she will. Don’t lose hope.” I said then I handed her back to her mother.


            I found recluse at the memorial park where my grave was located. I stood there, looming over my tombstone. I was too young to die; at least that’s what I think.


            “What would it take to let the child live?” I asked HIM.


            “What would you give to let her live?” HE asked me.


            “Anything.” I said.


            “What is the most important thing to you as of the moment?” HE asked.


            “Besides the child’s life? It should be the tattoo.” I honestly said.


            “Would you give it up for her?”


            “Whatever it takes.” I said.


            “Why?” HE asked me.


            “I know it’s gonna be worth it.” I answered HIM.


            “If that’s what you want, then I shall grant it.” HE said to me.


            “Can I ask you another favor?”


            “What is it?”


            “Can you let me see them one last time?” I asked.


            “I see no problem.” Then with that, HE left.


            I went back to the hospital after that conversation; back to the room where they were. This time, they were with the father.


            “Can I hold her again?” I asked the mother once more.


            The father looked at me reluctantly but the mother only smiled at him and handed the baby to me.


            “Wake up, you little angel. You’re making your parents cry.” I whispered to the little child. Slowly, her eyelids flutter open and when she saw me, she smiled. “There, there. Such a pretty child you are, eh?” I cooed to her then I handed her back to her mother.


            “H-how did you…” her father stuttered.


            “T-Thank you! Thank you so much!” The mother said to me. She was crying once again, but this time, with tears of joy. “How could I ever repay you?”


            “Aisha. It means life, you know.” I said then I left.


            That was the last time I was ever seen. Or so I thought.


*Back to the present.*


            “My earliest memory was of a young man with brown hair and green eyes looking down at me. That was you, wasn’t it?” she asked me.


            “I liked you better when you were a baby. Not annoying, not talkative, not—OW! What was that for?” I asked, rubbing the spot on my arm where she hit me.


            “I am not annoying!” she defended.


            “Keep telling yourself that.”


            “Fine.” She said. “But, Thank you. Thank you for giving me a second chance.”


            “As I said to HIM, it was worth it.”

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