Post by Shizen on May 29, 2009 4:28:17 GMT -5
The kid was named Death. Not literally of course, his name was מָוֶת. Death is Jewish and he is waiting. He sat waiting, playing with a toy, odd and curious. His smile was so very backward and his eyes were milky and creamy, the way his father’s coffee looked back before they went on holiday. The boy’s hair was straight black and greasy, looking like sludge. Thick and curled, but so long and matted, it hung around bony shoulders and a protruding chest. מָוֶת was very pronounce with his skeletal structure. מָוֶת was always hungry. He was also very patient. Sitting and playing with his strange little toy. You see, Death was waiting for someone to come play with him, but the poor boy never thought that sitting alone in his dark room would leave him very limited in playmates. Of course those who did open the door to his room were very mean to him. They did bad things to Death. He hated when they came. That’s why his smile was so very backward. He would say bad things to them. Terrible things his mommy told him to never say. That’s why they closed his mouth, it was worse than washing it with soap! He can’t say anything now and his smile was all wrong. He could whisper, though, very carefully. Sometimes it hurt so much and his coffee cream eyes would leak milk and his mouth would drip gutter sludge, but he could whisper.
Not everyone was bad, though. Every now and again, a very long gap really, people would come and they were all different from the people who always came. Some wore robes, others looked like him, some had long hair…then there were the ones worse than the people he disliked very much. Some wanted to talk and say they were sorry. He never knew what they were sorry for but he always let them know it was okay and they would cry so bitterly. Like they were mad. מָוֶת never knew if they were mad at him or mad at the people who visited him the most. Others came to play with him, but the games they played were never fun. People got hurt when he would play and he was taught not to hurt others. But then…then there were the very, very bad people. The ones who were the worst. They didn’t want him hurting others, they wanted him to hurt himself. They would do so much to him. They would make him open all the wounds he had, they would drink what came out of them, they’d make him so very tired and he could see himself getting smaller and smaller in the waist until his hips stuck out. He would get very tired and then they’d put him in small things and make him leave his room.
The things they would do with his energy were horrible. And when they were done…when they had their fill, they’d give it all back and he would feel so icky inside. He felt like the way his friend must have felt. He had a vague dream once when he was called David, his friend was hurt and big men took him away and stuffed little white worms in his wound. He said it felt so gross to have so many worms crawling and writhing under his skin. That’s how he felt all over when those worst people were done with him. Crawling and squirming, gnawing at something inside him. It made him very tired and he would sleep and every time he woke up he would be so very angry. Each time it happened, which was very rare thankfully, he got madder and madder. Then his door would rattle and shake and he could see through the cracks. A world full of light and color. The more he saw it, the angrier he would get and his tantrum would get worse and worse. Without his mommy or daddy, he would just get angrier and angrier until he was exhausted and couldn’t muster up any more anger. Then all would be quiet for a very long time.
It had been so very long ago since anyone came to play. But every so often those people would come and take him away. They’d make him tired with their mean ways. They would do all sorts of cruel things. They’d make him get naked and they would play doctor. Scalpels and sutures, pokey and stabby things inside him. Or they’d play soldiers and tie him up and take turns with guns. Or they’d open his door and tell him to go find his mommy and daddy and every time he’d leave, they’d chase him and do even more bad things to him and he’d wake up back in his room. But the worst is when they tell him to take a shower. For some reason the shower hurts the most. It always felt like his sadness was more than his own sadness. This is why he would just stay in his room and play with his toys. He would whisper until his mouth hurt. Say the prayers his mommy taught him. Some times, when he was really desperate, he would say the prayers he wasn’t allowed to say. The bad prayers. They weren’t allowed, his mommy and daddy said. They weren’t evil ones, but they weren’t allowed. It was all very confusing to Death, but he tried to be a good boy. But the people! The hurt! It made the gnawing and crawling come back when he thought about it!
His little body trembled. He broke again. “Dear Lord, I may not see the sun and moon lose their light. I may not witness rivers turn red, or stars fall from the sky,” His body shook with a great fear. “Yet there are times when my world comes unhinged and the foundations of what I believe crack and dissolve.” His mouth hurt and sludge drooled from the cut that appeared. He twitched like a body spasm. “Give me the grace to believe that Your power is at work in the turmoil of my life.” The milk and cream of his eyes rolled upward and his awkward nose slicked with grimy liquid. “Lead me to remember that your power is greater. Than…all…e-“
“-Go away. Christ has no power here.” The icky crawling feeling came back. He body twitched and rolled with worms. They were inside him. Death was angry. The tantrum was roiling up. “God has no power here.” His little toy shook in his hands before he threw deep in the darkness. “You have no power here.” His tiny hands were a nasty white color as they balled into fists. Everything shook. The door creaked and cracked. The knob twisted and turned. “Out there. I want out there. Then you will have power.” And he did want to be out. He hated this room. This room was a bad place. It was a bad place. The people were bad. Everyone out there, out behind that door were bad.
But mommy and daddy will be mad! They always told him not to hate people and to follow the commandments. Be a good boy and everyone else will be good! “I’m a good boy. I’m a good boy,” Death had to keep reminding himself. “Make mommy and daddy happy.” Don’t hate, don’t be wrathful. Don’t throw tantrums. He just wanted to play with his toy.
“But I want to play out there. Those people will play the games I want to play. You won’t play any more of those bad games. Only fun games.” The door peeled at the edges and slammed back into their frame. The brass plate to the door burst out of its screws and fell to the darkness. The deadbolt moved an inch before it slipped back to its hold. The light was tempting. He wanted the light. He wanted to make the bad people go away. He wanted so much to make them go away forever. He knew what they really were. They were sinners. God hated sinners. If Death were out there, he would have power to make sinners pay. That’s what David did. He made sinners pay.
But that’s what God does. He takes care of the bad people. מָוֶת had to be a good boy. Just follow the rules so God didn’t take care of him, too. Oh…but he didn’t. Not mommy and daddy. Death wasn’t stupid. He knew. He knew. He just wanted to be good. He tried so hard. Sitting in his room. Playing with his toys. Saying his prayers. Even accepting the one he was told not to. Just wanting someone nice to play with. He tried very hard, but now his tempter was getting out of hand. He was going bad. Bad fruit, bad fruit.
The door frame splintered. “You’re not bad. You’re a good boy. You’ve been terribly patient, but now I want to play. I’m nice. You’ll see.” מָוֶת agreed. He was the only who liked playing with him. All the games he wanted to play with מָוֶת. Fun games. No more hurting people. At least not people who were nice and didn’t need to be hurt. They’d make the real bad people hurt, though. Hurt like îÈåÆú hurt. Hurt like David used to hurt. Hurt like David’s friend hurt. Hurt like David and Death’s mommy and daddy hurt. “Think of how they hurt. Don’t you understand how bad they hurt? The sinners hurt them. You’re not returning evil for evil. You’re taking an eye for an eye. Life for life. You’re giving what you received. Let’s play. I want to play.”
No! That was wrong. Death wouldn’t play those games! You treat others how you want to be treated. You be good so others will be good to you. They might not understand now, but if you’re good, they’ll understand later. He fought back the anger, tried so very hard. His little nose ran with grime. His mouth hurt more and more. He tried his whispering. “Be a good boy. You’re a good boy,” Death whispered. Then he felt it. His mouth. It broke. His very backward smile became a taut and puckered face. Very tense and deeply lined. He looked like a small, angry old man. Then he threw a tantrum.
“I! WANT! TO! PLAY!”
Not everyone was bad, though. Every now and again, a very long gap really, people would come and they were all different from the people who always came. Some wore robes, others looked like him, some had long hair…then there were the ones worse than the people he disliked very much. Some wanted to talk and say they were sorry. He never knew what they were sorry for but he always let them know it was okay and they would cry so bitterly. Like they were mad. מָוֶת never knew if they were mad at him or mad at the people who visited him the most. Others came to play with him, but the games they played were never fun. People got hurt when he would play and he was taught not to hurt others. But then…then there were the very, very bad people. The ones who were the worst. They didn’t want him hurting others, they wanted him to hurt himself. They would do so much to him. They would make him open all the wounds he had, they would drink what came out of them, they’d make him so very tired and he could see himself getting smaller and smaller in the waist until his hips stuck out. He would get very tired and then they’d put him in small things and make him leave his room.
The things they would do with his energy were horrible. And when they were done…when they had their fill, they’d give it all back and he would feel so icky inside. He felt like the way his friend must have felt. He had a vague dream once when he was called David, his friend was hurt and big men took him away and stuffed little white worms in his wound. He said it felt so gross to have so many worms crawling and writhing under his skin. That’s how he felt all over when those worst people were done with him. Crawling and squirming, gnawing at something inside him. It made him very tired and he would sleep and every time he woke up he would be so very angry. Each time it happened, which was very rare thankfully, he got madder and madder. Then his door would rattle and shake and he could see through the cracks. A world full of light and color. The more he saw it, the angrier he would get and his tantrum would get worse and worse. Without his mommy or daddy, he would just get angrier and angrier until he was exhausted and couldn’t muster up any more anger. Then all would be quiet for a very long time.
It had been so very long ago since anyone came to play. But every so often those people would come and take him away. They’d make him tired with their mean ways. They would do all sorts of cruel things. They’d make him get naked and they would play doctor. Scalpels and sutures, pokey and stabby things inside him. Or they’d play soldiers and tie him up and take turns with guns. Or they’d open his door and tell him to go find his mommy and daddy and every time he’d leave, they’d chase him and do even more bad things to him and he’d wake up back in his room. But the worst is when they tell him to take a shower. For some reason the shower hurts the most. It always felt like his sadness was more than his own sadness. This is why he would just stay in his room and play with his toys. He would whisper until his mouth hurt. Say the prayers his mommy taught him. Some times, when he was really desperate, he would say the prayers he wasn’t allowed to say. The bad prayers. They weren’t allowed, his mommy and daddy said. They weren’t evil ones, but they weren’t allowed. It was all very confusing to Death, but he tried to be a good boy. But the people! The hurt! It made the gnawing and crawling come back when he thought about it!
His little body trembled. He broke again. “Dear Lord, I may not see the sun and moon lose their light. I may not witness rivers turn red, or stars fall from the sky,” His body shook with a great fear. “Yet there are times when my world comes unhinged and the foundations of what I believe crack and dissolve.” His mouth hurt and sludge drooled from the cut that appeared. He twitched like a body spasm. “Give me the grace to believe that Your power is at work in the turmoil of my life.” The milk and cream of his eyes rolled upward and his awkward nose slicked with grimy liquid. “Lead me to remember that your power is greater. Than…all…e-“
“-Go away. Christ has no power here.” The icky crawling feeling came back. He body twitched and rolled with worms. They were inside him. Death was angry. The tantrum was roiling up. “God has no power here.” His little toy shook in his hands before he threw deep in the darkness. “You have no power here.” His tiny hands were a nasty white color as they balled into fists. Everything shook. The door creaked and cracked. The knob twisted and turned. “Out there. I want out there. Then you will have power.” And he did want to be out. He hated this room. This room was a bad place. It was a bad place. The people were bad. Everyone out there, out behind that door were bad.
But mommy and daddy will be mad! They always told him not to hate people and to follow the commandments. Be a good boy and everyone else will be good! “I’m a good boy. I’m a good boy,” Death had to keep reminding himself. “Make mommy and daddy happy.” Don’t hate, don’t be wrathful. Don’t throw tantrums. He just wanted to play with his toy.
“But I want to play out there. Those people will play the games I want to play. You won’t play any more of those bad games. Only fun games.” The door peeled at the edges and slammed back into their frame. The brass plate to the door burst out of its screws and fell to the darkness. The deadbolt moved an inch before it slipped back to its hold. The light was tempting. He wanted the light. He wanted to make the bad people go away. He wanted so much to make them go away forever. He knew what they really were. They were sinners. God hated sinners. If Death were out there, he would have power to make sinners pay. That’s what David did. He made sinners pay.
But that’s what God does. He takes care of the bad people. מָוֶת had to be a good boy. Just follow the rules so God didn’t take care of him, too. Oh…but he didn’t. Not mommy and daddy. Death wasn’t stupid. He knew. He knew. He just wanted to be good. He tried so hard. Sitting in his room. Playing with his toys. Saying his prayers. Even accepting the one he was told not to. Just wanting someone nice to play with. He tried very hard, but now his tempter was getting out of hand. He was going bad. Bad fruit, bad fruit.
The door frame splintered. “You’re not bad. You’re a good boy. You’ve been terribly patient, but now I want to play. I’m nice. You’ll see.” מָוֶת agreed. He was the only who liked playing with him. All the games he wanted to play with מָוֶת. Fun games. No more hurting people. At least not people who were nice and didn’t need to be hurt. They’d make the real bad people hurt, though. Hurt like îÈåÆú hurt. Hurt like David used to hurt. Hurt like David’s friend hurt. Hurt like David and Death’s mommy and daddy hurt. “Think of how they hurt. Don’t you understand how bad they hurt? The sinners hurt them. You’re not returning evil for evil. You’re taking an eye for an eye. Life for life. You’re giving what you received. Let’s play. I want to play.”
No! That was wrong. Death wouldn’t play those games! You treat others how you want to be treated. You be good so others will be good to you. They might not understand now, but if you’re good, they’ll understand later. He fought back the anger, tried so very hard. His little nose ran with grime. His mouth hurt more and more. He tried his whispering. “Be a good boy. You’re a good boy,” Death whispered. Then he felt it. His mouth. It broke. His very backward smile became a taut and puckered face. Very tense and deeply lined. He looked like a small, angry old man. Then he threw a tantrum.
“I! WANT! TO! PLAY!”