To Smile Upon Death

Death was old. Born before dying was thought of. Death was just his name, and no one yet hated him or feared him. He lived atop a soft green mound. It was the highest hill in the land, though still quite small, for the hills had not yet grown up to be mountains.

Every night, Death looked up at the sky. Dark, cold, and mostly empty it was. Only a single pale moon awoke each night, and she was sad and lonely. Birds graced the sun with their company each day, but none soared the night sky. Nor did twinkling stars brighten the dark. She lived in solitude.

So, as he lay in the glow of the moon's sorrow, Death decided to go to her. I will be the moon's bird, thought Death. And because he could not fly, Death woke the hill beneath him, and asked it to grow into a majestic mountain, tall enough to pierce the sky. And slowly, it obliged. 

Death waited patiently as year after year the mountain grew taller, and from it's peak, he watched all the people in the land below. He watched as they lived out their happy little lives. And he kept watching as their living became suffering. The old grew older, and the sick, sicker and there was no dying to relieve them, for no one had yet thought of it.

When the mountain reached the sky at last, Death gazed upon the moon up close. Never had he seen a more beautiful sight. Nor a more desolate and lonely one. 

“Moon, I hope I do not intrude upon your sky,” said Death. “I have come to keep you company, so you need never be lonely again.”

The moon shone brighter. “My bird,” she said. “My own wonderful bird. You have come far to perch by my side and chirp in my ear. What a gift it is to have your company this night.”

The two talked merrily the whole night through, until the first warm rays of the sun's golden light streaked across the sky. The bright light illuminated what the darkness had so politely hidden. The ongoing plight of the people below.

“You are sad, my bird,” the moon noticed. “I should like to help you feel happy, as you did for me. Ask anything of me, and it shall be yours.”

Death looked into her eyes, she was fading slowly as the sun grew brighter. “Oh Moon, is there any help to be had for the people of this land? They suffer, and I can bear it no longer.”

She faded from sight, but her melodic voice answered from the dawn sky. “I will give them a home in my sky. Bring them to me and they will float here, forever in peace.” 

Death accepted this task. He would bring the weary out of suffering, and into repose. He would ferry them from this land into the next. And so he became death.

The land was vast, but Death worked tirelessly to visit all whose need of him was dire. To guide their spent bodies up the mountain, and their eager souls into the night sky. One by one he filled the darkness with dazzling stars, and the moon cared for them all.

Suffering and infirmity gradually vanished from the land, but so too did memories. In time, people forgot the strife caused by a life without death. No longer did they understand his place in their world. They resented him because he took their loved ones. They feared him because they might be next. Hatred for Death spread like a cold shadow over a tranquil meadow.

Death's burden weakened him greatly, as each soul he shepherded onward took a piece of himself with it, until he was as frail as a late autumn leaf. The next breeze might crumble him to dust, and whisk him away. He would almost welcome it, for he was weary. But his own was the only soul he could not reap.

Still Death endured. Night after night. Ceaselessly. Endlessly. Gloom settled upon him like dull ash over the ruins of a burnt forest. Deeper and deeper it buried him, and he grew comfortable underneath it. Resigned to never again see joy, for who could smile upon Death when he brought only grief? 

A young girl sobbed when death arrived. She clutched a frail hand between both of hers and pressed small, quivering lips to the old woman's forehead. Though tears stained her cheeks, it was not sadness upon her face, but unmistakable anger. 

Well Death was no stranger to fury, and was well insulated against it, for many had tried to scorch him with a glare. But as Death led the old woman away, the force of the girl's anger was so staggering, even Death could feel it.

If her rage was so intense, surely her joy would be an equal match. Her smile, a force of nature. A smile that could chase away storms, and thaw frigid winters. But alas, she did not smile. So as the girl mourned the old woman, Death mourned the smile that he would never see.

Years passed before Death saw her again. A fragile hope had taken precarious root in him. A foolish hope that he might one day witness a smile. Today would not be that day, however. Death arrived to a scene of utter misery, and the woman greeted him with only tears.

A baby, too small, and too quiet, lay in the woman's arms as she rocked him gently, dabbing her fallen tears from his pale head. All the while, she sang a sweet lullaby. Though the words were happy, the trembling of her voice gave it a melancholic air. 

Well Death was no stranger to sadness either. He wallowed in it day after day, and thought himself invulnerable. But as Death took the baby from her arms with care, waves of sorrow pulsed like a heartbeat from the woman. So overwhelming that even Death could feel it.

If her despair was so potent, he knew her joy must be absolute. Her smile, irresistible. A smile to stop father time himself, just so he could bask in its warmth a moment longer. But of course, she did not smile. And he feared she never would again. What a loss that would be to this land.

Not until the woman grew very old, did Death come for her. She was next to an old man, and they had fallen asleep holding hands. Though her breaths came in uneven rasps, she looked peaceful. She wouldn't feel a thing if he took her away now, but the corners of her mouth rose ever so slightly, and he wondered whether a pleasant dream danced in the old woman's mind. 

Death had just decided to let her dream a while longer when her eyes opened, and she did something incredible. Something unthinkable. Something impossible. The old woman smiled upon death.

The lines around her smile were like ghosts of every smile that came before. Like beautiful scars earned fighting for moments of joy against the hardships of a long life. And she wore the scars with pride, beaming brighter because of them. A genuine, breathtaking smile. A smile so pure, so powerful, that it turned Death Mortal.

A warmth engulfed Death, like a ray of sunshine aimed just for him. The old woman took his hand. She was ready, and so was he. Death knew the way, of course, so he led them up the mountain. 

Countless times he had made the journey, but this was the first time he noticed the plush grass underfoot, and the fresh scent on the lazy breeze, and the bubbling of the cold spring nearby. All too soon, he arrived at the mountains’ peak with his final passenger. She drifted eagerly up to the stars, finally reunited with those she had lost along the way.

Then the moon was there to welcome him as an old friend. “My bird,” she said brightly. “Long have I waited for you to fly home.” A wonderfully weightless feeling overcame him, and he floated higher and higher into the night sky. “It is time to rest my bird. I have given you proper wings so you may fly here as long as you wish.” 

So Death flew away from the land of the living to sleep among the stars at last.