The Patience and Patients of Nurse Mother Death

The Patience and Patients of Nurse Mother Death

a prompted short story by The Overlord Bear

Prompt (from r/WritingPrompts): “Death is not a skeletal figure, but a kindly and motherly one who comforts and cares for those slow to die and embraces close those who die fast. She has no idea how she got her current reputation.”

How I had become a figure of horror to humanity was because of prideful doubt. They worry so much about their unworthiness that they try to justify it by painting us beings Above as worse. It remains so for many of them even now.

Still, I cannot hate them. Humans could say that I have all the reason to, and perhaps I do have the will to do that, but I refuse to not remind them of the better care they can find. Certainly, it hurts to watch humans fall into sin, and it would hurt even more to let them fall further into it. Even if they were the ones who forced themselves out of my arms, it still hurts to watch them tumble down into a trap of eternal meaningless suffering.

But that is just a smaller thing to think about. My embrace can convince journeying souls towards my Master, no matter how many, and that is always enough for me to work.

“Ah…my children had given up on me…Perhaps my repentance would never be enough…”

Today had another wrinkled and rail-thin man. He was crying in my embrace.

“Maybe not to them,” I told him. “But to us and my Master, it can, and as long as you will it, it will. We’ll even help you out.”

He looked up at me, eyes widened. “Who are you and your Master?” he asked.

“Would you like to meet Him for yourself?” I asked back with a smile. “I don’t think my words can ever be enough to describe Him, see.”

“Well, what’s there left for me to lose?” he smiled back, and then he reached out, allowing me to raise him up for the winged soldiers.

And then came another rain of coos and cries. I swung my arms around the little balls of flesh, and the surprising beauty of their deformed faces reminded me of how the Master was already so many steps ahead of the earth’s popular culture.

“The Master always has room for little ones,” I told them as the winged soldiers helped me raise them up.

“Are you Death?”

There was a young man in my arms this time. His face held a mixture of emotions.

“Yes, I am,” I answered, smiling.

“Ah,” he went, looking down, “I always thought Death would be beautiful…but not this beautiful…I feel bad now…”

“Well, you’ll have to be cleaned up first, then,” I told him, and his brightened look also exposed the chafe marks on his neck. “Would you like that?”

“Yes!” he nodded repeatedly, and then I handed him over to the winged soldiers on the side.

And then the clouds in my eyes became too much again. The same went for the winged soldiers’ too.

“Our Master had made them for greater things…” one of the winged soldiers commented as we continued to embrace and pass souls, our clouds continuing to rain upon them. “May they feel our rain with His help.”

“May they, indeed,” I agreed.

Thus went another ordinary day.

Author’s Note: Ah, this brings me back again to when I was working on my BA Creative Writing thesis, hahaha~

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