At Death's Door
Now that she was healed, Death had found her walks on the beach to be extremely productive. She'd come back today with a bag filled with beach glass and shells, as well as a few interesting bits of driftwood. She wasted no time getting glue from the craft supplies and began meticulously decorating her door in a mosaic that pleased her. It was colorfu with beach glass and stones and chips of mother-of-pearll, not too sandy, and overall made her door unique. If she couldn't have a collection of hats, this was definitely the next best thing.
As she worked, she hummed a tuneless song, thinking of life and living, death and dying, and mostly about growing. It was such an interesting thing that she'd never understood before. Life wasn't a day, it was a process. No one she talked to could explain it, and she forgave them for that. She wasn't sure if, now that she was 215 days old. It wasn't long as far as lifetimes went, but it was longer than some. Every day she realized might be her last, and Death was in no way going to waste any more time. No more chess, no more worrying. Her mosaic was left undone when she reached the end of her supplies and she smiled anyway. Her door was like her life...a work in progress.
She was going to live.
As she worked, she hummed a tuneless song, thinking of life and living, death and dying, and mostly about growing. It was such an interesting thing that she'd never understood before. Life wasn't a day, it was a process. No one she talked to could explain it, and she forgave them for that. She wasn't sure if, now that she was 215 days old. It wasn't long as far as lifetimes went, but it was longer than some. Every day she realized might be her last, and Death was in no way going to waste any more time. No more chess, no more worrying. Her mosaic was left undone when she reached the end of her supplies and she smiled anyway. Her door was like her life...a work in progress.
She was going to live.