(A/N: Major, major spoilers for 'The Fault in Our Stars', the 'Harry Potter' and 'Divergent' series. Please read at your own expense.)
Dear Death,
I have never felt you. I have never been a victim of your fatal and everlasting touch that is the reason for the irrevocable annihilation of a billion lives: innocent and guilty. I have never experienced the nightmarish aftermath that follows after you have done your job. I have never heard the bone-rattling screams of the mother who sits upon the grave of her child, her tears leaving a stain on the wooden coffin. I have never engulfed the death-stricken lover in my arms, who curses the Almighty for displaying such mercilessness- for leaving her lost, angry, empty and confused. I have never gone through thantophobic destruction. I have never stopped breathing. (A/N: Thantophobia is the fear of losing someone you love)
They say death is a sin; a heinous sin. Your touch doesn't go away. Sometimes even time, the silent healer, is reduced to redundancy when it can find no way to cure the ache- the ache of the loss. Why? Why does this happen? I don't know.
Let me talk about you first. Often, when you are the substance of a conversation, the aura around turns morose and grave; like one will never be cheerful again, and people pretend to believe that there is no such thing as happiness or celebration. Their faces change colours: from the deep beetroot red of excitement and joy to the pallid, sombre colours of white and yellow. Their hearts become heavy from the weight of this topic. But why? Why are you so morbid and formidable? Why do people cower and wince when we speak of you? Are you a Death Eater? Or a Laistrygonian? Or are you Lord Voldemort himself? Who are you?
When somebody mentions you in front of me, a vivid, graphic picture begins to erupt from my wild and eccentric imagination; like a phoenix that arises from its own ashes:
The sky is pitch black, like the colour of your soul. It is torn apart by the electric lightning and thunder rumbles, causing a shiver to trickle down my spine. Now it changes hues and I see heavy clouds, sagging under the indomitable weight of the vast sky above. An enigmatic, black-cloaked silhouette is seen on the boulders near the sea. The shadow becomes a real person and he marches on with portentous steps that cause the moist grass to stand on end and the damp soil to tremble violently. I hide behind a tree and watch his intimidating spirit walk upto the cemetery nearby. As he touches the iron rods of the gates, they turn black. This is his home. He reaches the first grave. Then the second, the third, the fourth and he ends up taking a complete tour of the graves. All of them have turned black- by his touch. He isn't surprised though because it's his everyday job and he is accustomed to it- to darkening lives and everything else around him. His hands are ice cold and his feet are webbed with long toenails. His face, however, is obscure and therefore its features are inconspicuous. From him radiates an evil feeling of pessimism and gloom. He seems like a traitor, a robber-no; a murderer. This is you.
You are like this. An ambiguous, hidden and floating figure enclosed in a bubble of terror which if exploded or poked at, can cause a fierce explosion of some deleterious emotions. The lurid colours you spread in the atmosphere and cemetery speak volumes of your insurmountable invincibility and infectious negativity. You are the most powerful beast that resides in this galaxy because you can steal the most precious and cherished object that belongs to the universe- life. However, are you the mightiest beast? Isn't there anybody stronger than you? I think there is. Love. Love is even stronger than you, you savage animal. I'll tell you how later.
You are a raging topic of unstoppable controversies. Tears well up in most people's eyes when they say your name. Discussing you triggers sensitivity and pain...in some of those friable hearts. Probably such people are not courageous enough to open up about a tyrant like you because they just can't. Their conscience does not allow them to do so. Some don't speak of you out of sheer hatred they have for you. You must have befriended their loved ones, leaving them stranded, friendless and isolated. But the petty percentage of the remaining population can talk about you very bravely because fear doesn't shut them down; it wakes them up. They do not feel uneasy and rant about you unflinchingly. I am a small part of that petty percentage.
To me, you are not at all a sensitive subject to talk about. I love to talk about you...because others don't. I don't understand why people ask me to shut up when I mention you. As I said, their hearts are feeble; feeble to sustain the seriousness that comes with your arrival. I understood you well and your method of working when I read your point of view in 'The Book Thief' by Markus Zusak. Yes, you indeed had a lot of work during the time of the Nazi. But I want to ask you something. Why are you so greedy? Don't you already have so many friends by your side? Why do you need more? Why do you carry so many people at one time? You will suffer at the end of it all, with too many friends. As it is, not all of them are amiable towards you. Many are angry and distraught because you deprived them of a beautiful life they were so keenly looking forward to. You ruined their dreams, which is a deadly crime. But you are deadly.
I have the power to look at your positive aspect too, unlike the others. Nobody teaches me how to recover from the loss of a loved one. You do- through your voice in those books I read. I realise the stabbing pain and poignant agony that those people in there are subjected to, after you saunter and walk out of their lives in a trice, so casually. You do know what happened to Tobias when he learned that Tris just walked into her mother's arms. If not, let me recollect for you all those sentences spoken and written. Let's take a stroll down memory lane. Come on. This is what happens:
"Tris went into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb," Cara says. "She survived the death serum, and set off the memory serum, but she...she was shot. And she didn't survive. I'm so sorry." Most of the time I can tell when people are lying, and this must be a lie, because Tris is still alive, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed and her small body full of power and strength, standing in a shaft of light in the atrium. Tris is still alive, she wouldn't leave me here alone, she wouldn't go to the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb. "No," Christina says, shaking her head. "No way. There has to be some mistake." Cara's eyes well up with tears. It's then that I realise: Of course Tris would go into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb. Of course she would. Christina yells something, but to me her voice sounds muffled, like I have submerged my head underwater. The details of Cara's face have also become difficult to see, the world smearing together into dull colours. All I can do is stand still- I feel like if I just stand still, I can stop it from being true, I can pretend that everything is all right. Christina hunches over, unable to support her own grief, and Cara embraces her, and
all I'm doing is standing still.
And when he sees her body:
She lies on a table, and for a moment I think she's just sleeping, and when I touch her, she will wake up and smile at me and press a kiss to my mouth. But when I touch her she is cold, her body stiff and unyielding. Christina sniffles and sobs. I squeeze Tris's hand, praying that if I do it hard enough, I will send life back into her body and she will flush with colour and wake up. I don't know how long it takes for me to realise that isn't going to happen, that she is gone. But when I do feel all the strength go out of me, and I fall to my knees beside the table and I think I cry then, or at least I want to, and everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.
Do you remember the time when Gus is clinging on to dear life but you drag him along and then Hazel rates that pain of losing him ten out of ten? What does she say?:
And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating face up on the water, undrowned.
I think your relationship with Harry was a bit rough and estranged. You nearly took away every person he ever loved. Why? Why Sirius?:
Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place. Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing- Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second... But Sirius did not reappear. 'SIRIUS!' Harry yelled. 'SIRIUS!' Harry's breath was coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out... But as he sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back. 'There's nothing you can do, Harry-' 'Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!' '-it's too late, Harry.' 'We can still reach him-' Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go... 'There's nothing you can do, Harry...nothing...he's gone.'
Now, there are some ingenious homo sapiens who give you an open invitation to be their friend. They'll do anything to try and reach you; even if it is at the cost of self-affliction. These people, it seems, are bubbling with eagerness and desperation to befriend you. And you, being your unabashed and barbaric self, accept their friend requests. Oh Lord, your greed seems to get hungrier with each passing day! If you still did not understand what I'm talking about, you douchepants, I'm talking about the cowardly act of suicide. You are so malicious that you can let them suffer the worst tortures for your sake, to befriend your worthless spirit.
Another bizarre concept I have frequently come across is this: "When great souls die, they don't die; they become immortal." How is this practically possible? Does immortality exist? Or is it an illusion? When someone dies, they are gone forever. They won't return. They've left us. It's only their memories that linger with us till the time the trauma exists, that's it. Becoming a permanent resident at your house does not mean one is 'living' in an immortal space. No. Once lifted by you, gone forever. It's an irreversible change that cannot even be controlled by God Himself.
I mentioned previously that you are definitely not the strongest juggernaut 'alive'. Love can thaw the coldest of hearts but you cannot. You destroy everything. Love makes one burst with happiness and exhilaration, you don't. Love injects peace, goodness and vitality, you don't. The world longs for love, not for you.
So, my dear enemy, I hope you've understood how I feel about you. My language is too blunt, right? But bad people deserve such treatment. You will receive yours someday. Although you have an optimistic side that actually brings upon us some realisation, this positivity is completely overshadowed by your wicked side; the one that is good for nothing. Life is a beautiful lie, you are a painful truth. Despite telling you all this, I know you will not change. You can't...because there is an end to everything. Even if you do try to engulf me in your vicious trap, I would like to remain your enemy...for eternity; only if it were possible.
Yours hatefully, A nasty nemesis.
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