Sister Death: #minithology

By N.D. Gray, E. Prybylski, Juliet Ruiz and 2 more

WHAT IF DEATH HAD A SOFTER SIDE?

 

Death in love.

Death in sorrow.

Death at war.

 

These five tales weave stories of Sister Death. Though each tapestry is unique, we are touched by the life she tries to live... tries to preserve... tries to protect.

As the veil draws across your eyes, trust Sister Death. 

 

SHE COMES FOR YOU…

 

Authors N.D. Gray, Leslie E. Heath, E. Prybylski, Juliet Ruiz, and Karli Stites tell five unforgettable, sometimes sad, sometimes sassy, tales of a soft and gentle Death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3 Feathers Publishing
• Release date: Sep 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781947344266

Book preview

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Contents

Introduction

1. Love and Death

2. Even Death Likes Cats

3. Sister Sleep

4. A Symphony of Death

5. Hope Is a Yellow Balloon

Thank You

Also By

Copyright

INTRODUCTION

we emerge into this world heavy with potential, and with a prescheduled appointment chiseled on our calendar. A date with a destiny no one can escape.

Many of us avoid thinking about this inevitability, taking comfort in the distant, fog-shrouded future. Maybe we do not live to our fullest, but we refuse to linger on thoughts of the end.

Some of us are okay with it, and we stroll through graveyards, sleep in coffins, collect skulls, and hang out with others who do the same. Or, we are motivated by it, embracing YOLO mottos and sucking the marrow out of every second of life.

A few of us not only think about our relentless moments of finality, we breathe life into fictional characters so that we might choreograph theirs. We tell stories of death so often, the idea becomes an entity with an unlife of its... theirs... her own.

Female anthropomorphizations of Death have been done before, but in this #minithology, we intentionally look at the softer side of Her.

From love and kittens, through post-apocalyptic wastelands, our Deaths weave gentleness with the cold, inexorability of the final end.

For all their skill at softening the entrance into the eternal night, the harbingers of destiny have a destiny of their own. Curl up in your favorite coffin (or chair) and prepare to meet Sister Death.

ND Gray

September 2022

Camp Verde, AZ

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After twenty years as an ER/Trauma/ICU nurse, Leslie E. Heath is comfortable with the subject of death. She pens a poignant story intertwining mythology and modern-day reality and exploring what would happen if Death fell in love.

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A tiny light shimmered on the horizon, and Death glanced up from the rural hospital she’d been watching. The old man in the hospice ward would hold on a bit longer, but someone was dying in the distance. Hope sparked in her chest. Perhaps… but she wouldn’t think of that yet. There were dozens of reasons a person might die on such a stormy night as this, and it had been months since she’d seen her sweet Samuel. Loneliness weighed her down, leaving her robes limp and unmoving in the evening’s breeze.

She traveled with the speed of thought and knelt beside the lifeless figure of a man. Rain shimmered off the broken pavement in the narrow alley as the spirit left the dying man. She took his arm, ready to usher him across the bridge to the afterlife that shone in brilliant light behind her, but he pulled away and lunged for her. In that instant, Yama’s black-cloaked messengers swarmed and dragged the man away from the glimmering bridge and into the depths below.

A shiver crawled up her spine, and she fought the urge to shudder. The god of the dead was swift in his claims, but she could usually sense the messengers before they arrived. If one of them had touched her… This time, the shudder racked her, regardless of her efforts to hold it at bay.

She could never touch any realm of the dead. To do so would drag her into that place. On the loneliest days, she’d considered traveling that shining bridge alongside the mortal spirit she guided, but she’d never felt even the tiniest hint of curiosity about the blackness in the depths below. If that messenger had touched her, she would have been forced to accompany him to hell itself, and she couldn’t imagine a worse fate. Another shudder racked her, and she worked to get herself under control.

Are you well? A man’s gentle baritone asked.

Death glanced up from where she still knelt on the wet pavement. Warmth chased away the cold dread she’d felt since the messengers had arrived, and she smiled as she stood. The dampness of the earth couldn’t cling to her, so her robes flowed gently around her legs, unsoiled by the alley’s filth.

Samuel. It’s been quite some time. I had begun to worry for you.

Samuel’s laugh chased away the final remnants of the messengers’ dread, and Death’s smile widened.

Have I become so ancient that now Death herself concerns herself with my wellbeing? He held out a hand to her and waited until she set hers in it.

You usually feed more often. And when one such as he was killed, Death was not summoned, though she didn’t mention that to him. That one was a bad character. Worse than the ones you usually stalk.

Samuel nodded. "He’s been in the news lately for a string of murders. The constables have failed to capture him, so I put a stop to him. He tasted foul. Cheap brandy, cigars, and filth. You’d think he’d at least bathe every now and again." While he spoke, Samuel pulled out a fraying hemp rope and wound it around the dead man’s neck. He worked it back and forth, ensuring that the damage obscured the bite wound.

Death watched him work, pleased that she wouldn’t be helping him hide yet another body. You’ve grown spoiled. You didn’t have a problem with the unwashed only a century past.

Everyone was unwashed then. I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to taste cleanliness. But enough about him. Walk with me?

I would like nothing more. A flush warmed Death’s pale skin, and she stared at her small hand nestled in his. They were nearly the same shade of pale – the color of life having left them both centuries before.

So why haven’t you been feeding? It’s been at least a few years since I’ve seen you.

A sigh escaped Samuel, and Death thought she heard regret in it. It’s been half a decade since I’ve seen you. An eternity. He brought her hand to his lips and held it there for a long moment. Finally, he dropped it and stepped back. Business took me out of your territory. I must say, your colleagues are nowhere near as gentle and welcoming as you.

Death giggled, then gasped. She’d actually giggled like a schoolgirl. This man never ceased to amaze her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him close again. You didn’t get along with my brothers, then?

Or your sister. She may be the worst of the lot. I’m surprised none of them mentioned they’d seen me.

Why would they? To them, you’re just another vampire feeding souls to the afterlife. What happened? With my brothers and sister?

Samuel stopped. I don’t know that anything specific happened. He cocked his head to the side, something she’d seen him do when he was thinking hard about something. They all treat me like I’m something that shouldn’t exist. Like I’m somehow wrong just for living and feeding. Your sister stares at me as if her gaze alone might be enough to end me. He started moving again, and they soon passed out from beneath the storm clouds and into pools of brilliant moonlight. None of them have taken a moment to talk to me. Not like you. You never judged me as they do.

It is not Death’s place to judge anyone for anything. She imitated his expression with her head cocked to the side, trying to imagine a world where she were responsible for determining who was right and wrong. No, she didn’t want that responsibility. The gods had their own methods for determining who went to which afterlife, and she was pleased to keep her own feelings out of it.

An unfamiliar field flowed past them, and she glanced around. Where are we? How have I never seen this place before?

"There are very few humans here, which is one of