There was no rain that night. The wind was cool and dry, caressing her hair with a methodical thoughtlessness. Clear were the skies, the moon larger then usual and full with a shining beauty that touched delicately along the roads her boot clacks fell upon. The chilling moon highlighted it in a silver sheen like the shimmer the sun set upon a large body of water. She was a beautiful girl, with shimmering jewels dangling from the lobes of her ears, light blue jeans stretched over her thin legs, a thin shawl draped over her slight frame.
Her eyes, a dim shade of brown they were, rested on the scrabbling tar set length by length before her, stretching far into the distance, farther then she could see. The gaze of the stars balanced along her back and seemed piercing and warm against the cold night set in early fall. A few leaves disturbed her path and she tramped swiftly over them. She passed houses lit with candles of soft flame in their smooth windows, curtains fluttering in soft red frames.
And she walked, past the occasional streetlamp flooding orange light to fight against the moon. And she looked up to see, atop a telephone pole, silhouetted against the extensive moon, was someone. Tattered black cloth hung sullenly from the ravaged being as he lay there, motionless, against the fluttering of crows caws. He let the wind brush the fabric of his cloak, allowed it to touch his bones.
She watched him, atop the wooden telephone pole, the black fabric brushing the thin wire beneath him. She did not panic, only watched him sway in the wind, like the thin branch at the very top of a broad oak tree. A strong gust of wind burst by, watering her eyes, and she was forced to look away. When she looked back to the top of the telephone pole, he was gone, only a torn piece of fabric remained.
Another gust of wind, stronger then the past one, cascaded past in waves as the candles in the window of a nearby house flickered out and the curtains billowed. Though the door was closed and not a single window inside was open. She watched carefully as the candlelight disappeared.
"Don't be afraid." her head twisted sharply to the figure standing before her, his shadow creeping up against the road, engulfing her feet in the bulk of it. "Season's don't fear The Reaper," he stepped towards her, "Nor does much of good mother earth."
He extended a hand covered with the sleeve of his cloak, "We can be like they are."
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice was strong and he smiled beneath the layered shadows the hood of the cloak dropped. As if in answer, he reached his hand up, tugging at the thin lining of the hood, and pulled it away, revealing the soft face of a boy, his chalk white hair fell into his eyes, his tan skin seeming to glow in the silvery moonlight. A dotting of acne winded around his forehead and he raised his white eyebrows cunningly, lips spread in a gentle smile,
"C'mon baby, take my hand. I'm your man."
"Barely a man yourself." she muttered, facing him bravely. He was probably her age, not too young, but young enough to still be a blindfolded child. His smile mellowed out and he drew his hand back, searching her face with fragile grey eyes.
"Romeo and Juliet, they're still together, even now." she found his gaze intriguing, "We can be like they are," and when she didn't seem to buy into it, "We'll be able to fly."
She didn't move, just watched the slow turning of the black cloth that melted over his body and the golden weapon he held in the hand that wasn't extended toward her. Her eyes followed the gleaming metal, all the way to the sharpened edging.
"Prove it," she said, asking him to fly. He bowed his head before snapping his fingers, producing a sound she had never heard before. Nothing seemed to change until she looked and saw he was levitating a few inches from the ground. But she wasn't shocked, she felt almost expecting. He placed his hand outstretched in front of her again, letting the cloak fall from it, revealing clenching white bone, a few strips of skin still holding on. But she wasn't disgusted.
"Take my hand, we'll be able to fly, you and I. Baby, I'm your man." his voice sounded like a chorus and his feet fell back upon the pavement with a softened thud of boot heels.
"Don't fear The Reaper," he said and she had no fear to give him. A soft goodbye traced unsaid along her lips, "Baby, take my hand." She took it and it closed around hers, warm in the cool night air. "Don't fear The Reaper."
She had become like they are, with no fear.
"This world is slowly tearing itself apart. Come with me and we'll watch the show together." he told her.
Don't fear The Reaper.