by Ksenia Vlasova-Kuznetsova,
What happens, when a soul is not ready to be born? When Life knows that this child would be safer, or happier dead?
Is there even a chance for this poor soul?
“Life, please, let me take this child. They will be safer in my arms.” Death stood before Life with its great arms crossed, pleading for the protection of a soul. They knew that if this child was born into the unfairness of our world, they would lead a terrible life, full of suffering and misery.
“Death, we have argued about this particular topic before. I am Life, and life is beautiful. You are Death, the incarnation of all that is horrible, and if you take souls before they are even born, you will never be anything more than evil.” Life stood higher than Death, for they believed themselves to be better. Alas, they were not the only one who held that opinion – the entire world thought of Life and Death as opposing forces, each with a clear role in the dynamic of destiny.
Death looked over at the shining soul, one that was going to become dull and cracked if Life took it.
“Life, please. I beg you.”
“Do you really think I care? What does it matter if this child is unhappy – it is alive, and Life is still beautiful!” Life exclaimed. Death was silent. They glanced over at the soul, knowing that however much they wanted to, there was nothing in their power that they could do save this child. “I’m sorry,” Death whispered, “we will meet again.”
Years passed. Death watched as the child grew, lying on a bed, attached to Life by a number of clear tubes running from veins to the heart pumping machine. They watched as all the people who came into the hospital room left crying, their hearts torn apart at the sight of the child going through such misery. They watched as the parents, sat on the child’s bed, praying that one day it would get better, knowing it wouldn’t.
Finally, Death approached the child. They knew that the child would never grow up to experience laughing until it felt like they couldn’t breathe, or to experience loving someone with their entire heart, or to feel the joy of finally accomplishing something they had put a lot of work into. The child knew this too and longed for a sweet release from the torment that they had been subject to. It lay still, yet reached out to Death with all it’s might, and Death welcomed it with a warm and gentle embrace.
“I am sorry, my child, I never meant for it to happen like this,” Death whispered, their voice soft as they held the child. Death took one last glance at the child’s life before turning away.
“Death, where are you going?” Life’s voice suddenly appeared behind Death.
“Life, leave me. This child was ready, for its life has come to an end. Therefore I am taking it.”
“I don’t think so,” Life’s voice was chilling as it grasped Death’s arm, which held the child. The colour of their robes, the shining white against the shadows of black, contrasted in their differences. “You shall give me this soul, for its journey in Life is not yet complete.”
Death looked at Life with despair filling their voice: “But-”
Life snatched the child’s soul out of Death’s grip. “It shall be a miracle.”
Death watched helplessly as the poor child was thrust back into it’s life filled with pain and heartache. Yet Life was happy, as it was still beautiful, no matter what happened to some poor, suffering child miles and miles away. For this, Life is foolish, as a miracle is not always a miracle, and life is not always beautiful.
