AN: So I was taking another look at this, and i decided that it needed to be revised a little bit. For a few reasons actually, 1) it was to short to be a short story, so i decided to turn it into a prose poem 2) it had a few grammatical errors that needed to be fixed 3) and so of the lines needed to be rewritten. Not that ya'll wanted to know all of that, lol, but anyways, here is the revised version. I hope ya'll like it. Thanks -Raine
In Death: Revised
The sound of shots being fired all around me seems so loud,
echoing through my head as I lie here helpless.
The cries of the dead and the dying are haunting,
drowning out the cries of the men still fighting.
The stench of death is nauseating and suffocating,
filling my lungs, filling my soul, and I feel like I’m drowning.
I gasp for air, but it only makes the feeling worse.
The smell is getting stronger, killing me.
The dust and smoke from the many bombs is choking me,
making me cough up the liquid death.
It helps nothing.
I’m still drowning, still dying.
Everything is becoming muffled now;
it’s so quiet and my vision gets blurry.
That’s when I see it, see her.
Death has come for me
in the form of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Her long black hair flows out behind her
as she walks through the rows of the dead.
Her pale white skin is flawless,
as if she were made of marble.
Her naked body is breathtaking;
it’s the body of every man’s dreams.
She walks slowly, laying her hands over the dead
as if pulling their souls out of their bodies.
She looks at each one as she does this,
giving each of the dead her undivided attention.
Every Dead is important to her, she loves them all.
The dead follow her willingly,
trusting her completely, as she moves on.
She comes to me,
her loving, bright blue eyes pierce mine,
and everything stops.
The smell of death leaves me and I can feel no more,
the weight of dying releases my soul and I am free- I am dead.
I rise up from where I’m laying,
take a step towards her and walk on.
In death there is no white light,
no angels singing, no golden gate.
There is only beauty, only love, only family.
In death there is only her and her “children”.
In death there is life.