Once Again

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 27; the 27th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'Once Again'.

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Endings are never happy. Nobody knew better than him. It is his job which he has been doing for centuries and he has seen it all. The screaming, the silent acceptance, the ignorant, the shock everything he has seen it. Yes he is death. The methods are his and the consequence always the same.

Most spend their lifetime ignoring him as if he never existed. Yet his visit is the only certain event after birth in everyone's life. The more they live, the closer he becomes. Still people tend to ignore him. But he doesn't care. He is period at the end of sentences. He knows whatever happens the period is always there.

When he comes, it is over. He interrupts lives to make it complete. The times when people survive, are not when they are defying him. It is just that he never came. How well they survive death-like situations is what determines the quality of their remaining life till he actually comes  in to picture.

Tonight he is visiting another stranger. In his line of work, everyone is a stranger to him. But the struggle is what excites him. The challenge of prying out the soul from an unwilling body is the high that he craves for. He detests people who invite him for they are trading their soul to escape the pain.  But he is not expecting any resistance tonight. The person has been lying on the road-side without food or water for couple of days and he was sure he would not get the high. He will soon find out how wrong he is.

As the sun blazed on, he crept upon the helpless body. He seemed to be enjoying this moment. Sometimes he realized, the slow and creeping approach is also a thrill. Surprisingly, he felt the resistance. The person with no physical strength was not submitting. He was fighting. This is what has amazed him throughout the centuries. Fight even when all odds are against. Hope was their weapon.  Many before him relied on hope alone. But hope remains only hope when he is there. He is the finality. No weapon could beat his trigger.

He sucked out the life once again. His perfection remained unchallenged. Yet he was sad. He had always loved the fighters. For they gave him the thrill he always wanted with a weapon he has beaten time and again. Hope.


PS: Have been reading Tolstoy's Death of Ivan Ilyich. The book is thought-provoking to say the least.

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