3/16/10

A/N: What the crud!? I was on some girl's profile and then reading the Rose Red script (part where Steve and Nick are talking in the Kitchen and eating ... eggs and champagne ... anyways .. ) I just got a nosebleed! It was weird. D: Really, really strange. And now that I've written this .. I might as well write a chapter for a story ...

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My name is Ariane Pfaff and this is my incredibly true story.

I am in love with Death.

Not the idea or concept of it. But the person. I met him when I was just three years old, and since then I have been following him.

It was a hot summer day and my father was lying out on the couch. As my mother went to get drinks, I was standing in the living room. As sweat ran down my face and the fan blew along my body, I was aware of a feeling. Not that of the fan or the sweat or even my own bouncing on the ground. Something else. A sense. I looked up towards the couch to see a tall cloaked figure standing at the end, near my father's feet. They slowly approached my father, a long scythe in their hands. I was silent, stopping in my actions, and stared. As they raised their left hand, which was pale and bony, I let out a soft sigh.

The person turned their heads, their face shadowed deeply by the hood of their black cloak. I believed they didn't think I saw them, which was silly. They were right in front of me! I began to walk forward and they took one step back, their leg passing through the cushion of the couch. They raised their hand to tell me to stop. I stopped. Staring up at them I could see that they were confused, even though he had no face.

The cloaked figure tilted its head to the side as I smiled loosely. I wasn't scared. Just curious. I stuck out my small hand and waited for him to shake it. When he didn't, I grew upset.

"It's not nice."

"What's not nice, sweetie?" came my mother's voice from the kitchen.

I stared at the stranger as they stood in silence. Finally they turned and walked to my father, reaching out. They placed their thin hand on his face, gently running their fingers over his skull down to his chin. I could see his skin turn from the reddish peach to a pale. I watched in silence as his chest stopped rising and falling, just sitting there.

" .... What is it?" I asked, confused.

"What's what, hon?"

I turned my eyes up to the guest, whom turned their head to me again. Gripping onto their tall scythe, they craned their neck around, leaning in towards me. I placed my hands behind my back and looked down. I took one step back as he came closer. When I looked up, he was close. Very close. I could smell his skin and almost feel it. It was cold and had the scent of rotting flesh. I heard a soft murmur from them in a strange language.

Their head snapped to the side as I heard my mother come into the room, carrying a tray of lemonade. As she stepped into the living room, just before actually, the creature let out a high-pitched shriek and stepped back. A gush of wind blew around me, throwing my hair about. I closed my eyes, shrugging my shoulders. Black dust floated around in the room, encircling me. As the wind died down and the dirt settled, my mother came in. She glanced from me and my eyes that were squeezed shut to my father lying on the couch.

She was silent.

Finally she spoke. "Erik?"

When my father didn't answer, I opened my eyes to see her drop the tray. The glasses shattered on the ground, spilling yellow juice. I opened my mouth, "Mama."

She screamed, running forward and knelt beside my father. She grabbed onto his shoulders and shook him. "Erik!" He still didn't answer. I tilted my head to the left, staring at them. I watched as she placed her head against his chest and then her fingers on his neck. She let out a cry, covering her mouth. Sobbing, she turned to me. "What happened?!"

I shrugged. Jumping to her feet, she stepped over the juice and ran to the kitchen. I could hear the phone being picked up and her dialing the numbers. I heard her scream into the phone and then cry. I stepped forward, walking over to the couch. I turned my head and looked at my father. His pale face was still sweating, but not as much. I reached out and wiped his forehead with my wrist.

"Papa."

He didn't say anything. His eyes didn't open. His mouth didn't mouth. I was confused. "Papa."

My mother quickly ran in, pushing me back. "D-Don't look, Ariane."

I stepped back a bit to let her kneel beside the couch. She clasped her hands together and placed her forehead on his chest. She began to pray.

As I stood in silence, my hands hanging by my side, I felt a chill. The same as earlier. I was silent though, as I didn't want to disturb my mother. Feeling a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, I turned my head to the left. The tall and cloaked man stood there again. His face was turned towards the couch, watching the entire spectacle. I reached up and tugged on his cloak. His head turned down towards me. Then he bent over, leaning his head close to mine. Raising his left index finger to where I assumed his lips were, he whispered to me.

"Shhh."