Odeus and the Death
A grim statue of a monumental dog, with antlers carved from blood and sweat soaked stone, stands still and silent in the mountain's face. Its cold, hard body, slowly starting to crumble under the squall of years, its lifeless eyes set down upon the world, as life is leaving the eyes of its maker.
As Odeus lies in his bed, the night befalls upon the mountain's peak, on which, in his humble home, the cold wind touches his motionless body. His mind is taken by the thought of closing the window completely, but as much as he could try, he knows it is pointless, for the terrifying cold is crawling from inside. As his eyes, calmly shedding a single tear, are set upon the view of the darkening, silent and unforgiving mountains, in wait for the last breath, he notices, although only for a split second, that nor the wind, nor the mice or the distant voice of the old roof over his head are not there to give him any sense of reality anymore. Instead, a long shadow emerging behind the door, bedarkening the last light left.
In that deafening silence, there is a sudden sound of the door opening. He cannot move his head so he could see better, but in the corner of his eye, he could swear that he can see the doors are opening, although they remain closed at the same time.
As the mellow, warm and soothing voice utters to his ear, the tall, lean figure, that of the Death, with a face of a draperie, sits beside his bed.
THE DEATH:
Are you afraid?
ODEUS:
Yes.
THE DEATH:
And why is that?
ODEUS:
I have been afraid my whole life.
THE DEATH:
Do you think now that was wise?
ODEUS:
We would be something else in entirety, if it was not for that fear.
THE DEATH:
What do you suppose that would be?
ODEUS:
The gods of our world, at last.
THE DEATH:
Then that is why you carve? To get closer to such a vision?
ODEUS:
Am I closer?
THE DEATH:
No. And yet, that is exactly how it should be.
ODEUS:
Was it meaningless, then?
THE DEATH:
That depends. For you, may be. There is, nevertheless, a cause to it.
ODEUS:
Did I fulfill mine?
THE DEATH:
In part. That is why you are afraid. That it will come in vain.
ODEUS:
It will for me.
THE DEATH:
Tell me, why didn't you love?
ODEUS:
The Old Man said it was not meant for me.
THE DEATH:
And do you believe him?
ODEUS:
I have to.
THE DEATH:
You do?
ODEUS:
What a life would it be, if in question?
THE DEATH:
A hard one, indeed, but a life.
ODEUS:
Would be, just a wait.
THE DEATH:
With such an answer, wasn't all of this meaningless for you? Was it for you to love, or to be loved?
ODEUS:
To be remembered, I think.
THE DEATH:
Would it be better than not to be?
ODEUS:
Just easier to come through this day, or so I thought.
THE DEATH:
Is it not, then?
ODEUS:
It changes nothing.
THE DEATH:
And yet you carved from a shapeless stone, to make it something more. A reminder of wrongs long past, to carry the message of rights yet to be done. And although you have done the same to yourself, who will carry the message that is yours?
ODEUS:
I, alone.
THE DEATH:
If I tell you now that you were not meant to, would you believe me?
ODEUS:
It changes nothing.
THE DEATH:
It changes everything. For with the stone, I now take the creator.
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