People choose life and death for themselves

2024 Author: Seth Attwood | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-16 15:55

- Are you a blacksmith?

The voice behind him rang out so unexpectedly that Vasily even shuddered. In addition, he did not hear the door to the workshop open and someone went inside.

- Have you tried knocking? He replied rudely, slightly angry with himself and with the nimble client.

- Knock? Hmm … I haven't tried it, - the voice replied …

Vasily grabbed a rag from the table and, wiping his weary hands, slowly turned around, replaying in his head the rebuke that he was about to give out in the face of this stranger. But the words remained somewhere in his head, because there was a very unusual client in front of him.

- Could you straighten my scythe? The guest asked in a feminine, but slightly hoarse voice.

- All Yes? End? - Throwing a rag somewhere in the corner, the blacksmith sighed.

- Not all, but much worse than before, - answered Death.

- It is logical, - Vasily agreed, - you can't argue. What do I need to do now?

“Straighten the scythe,” Death repeated patiently.

- And then?

- And then sharpen, if possible.

Vasily glanced at the scythe. Indeed, there were several chipping marks on the blade, and the blade itself had already begun to wave.

- It's understandable, - he nodded, - but what should I do? To pray or to collect things? I’m just for the first time, so to speak …

- Ah-ah-ah … You mean it, - Death's shoulders shook in soundless laughter, - no, I'm not after you. I just need to tweak my braid. Can you?

- So I'm not dead? - Imperceptibly feeling himself, asked the blacksmith.

- You know better. How are you feeling?

- Yes, it seems normal.

- No nausea, dizziness, pain?

“N-n-no,” the blacksmith said uncertainly, listening to his inner feelings.

“In that case, you have nothing to worry about,” said Death, and held out the scythe.

Taking her in, instantly stiff hands, Vasily began to examine her from different sides. There was nothing to do there for half an hour, but the realization of who would sit behind his back and wait for the end of the work automatically extended the period by at least a couple of hours.

Stepping over with cotton feet, the blacksmith went to the anvil and took a hammer in his hands.

- You are … Sit down. You won't stand there ?! - Putting all his hospitality and benevolence into his voice, Vasily suggested.

Death nodded and sat down on the bench with her back against the wall.

The work was coming to an end. Straightening the blade as much as possible, the blacksmith, taking a sharpener in his hand, looked at his guest.

- You will forgive me for being frank, but I just cannot believe that I am holding an object in my hands, with the help of which so many lives were ruined! No weapon in the world can match it. This is truly incredible.

Death, sitting on the bench in a relaxed pose, and looking at the interior of the workshop, somehow noticeably tensed. The dark oval of the hood turned slowly towards the blacksmith.

- What did you say? She said quietly.

- I said that I could not believe that I was holding a weapon that …

- Weapon? Did you say weapon?

- Maybe I didn’t put it that way, I just …

Vasily did not have time to finish. Death, jumping up with a lightning movement, in a moment was right in front of the blacksmith's face. The edges of the hood quivered slightly.

- How many people do you think I killed? She hissed through clenched teeth.

“I… I don’t know,” Vasily squeezed out of himself, dropping his eyes to the floor.

- Answer! - Death grabbed his chin and lifted his head up, - how much?

“I, I don’t know …

- How many? - she shouted right in the face of the blacksmith.

- But how do I know how many there were? The blacksmith squeaked, trying to look away.

Death dropped its chin and was silent for a few seconds. Then, hunched over, she returned to the bench and, with a heavy sigh, sat down.

- So you don't know how many there were? - she said quietly and, without waiting for an answer, continued, - what if I tell you that I never, do you hear? Never killed a single person. What do you say to that?

- But … But what about? …

“I've never killed people. Why do I need this if you yourself are doing an excellent job with this mission? You yourself are killing each other. You! You can kill for paperwork, for your anger and hatred, you can even kill just for fun. And when this is not enough for you, you start wars and kill each other in hundreds and thousands. You just love it. You are addicted to someone else's blood. And you know what's the nastiest thing about all this? You can't admit it to yourself! It's easier for you to blame me for everything, - she briefly fell silent, - do you know what I was like before? I was a beautiful girl, I met the souls of people with flowers and accompanied them to the place where they were destined to be. I smiled at them and helped them forget about what happened to them. It was a long time ago … Look what happened to me!

She cried out the last words and, jumping up from the bench, threw off the hood from her head.

Before Vasily's eyes appeared, covered with wrinkles, the face of a deep old woman. Sparse gray hair hung in tangled strands, the corners of chapped lips drooped unnaturally downward, revealing lower teeth that peeked out from under the lip in crooked shards. But the most terrible were the eyes. Completely faded, expressionless eyes stared at the blacksmith.

- Look at who I have become! Do you know why? - she took a step towards Vasily.

“No,” he shook his head, shrinking under her gaze.

“Of course you don’t know,” she grinned, “you made me like this! I saw a mother killing her children, I saw a brother killing a brother, I saw how a person can kill a hundred, two hundred, three hundred other people in one day! I screamed in horror …

Death's eyes sparkled.

- I changed my beautiful dress for these black clothes so that the blood of the people I saw off would not be visible on it. I put on a hood so people wouldn't see my tears. I don't give them flowers anymore. You turned me into a monster. And then they accused me of all sins. Of course, it's so simple … - she stared at the blacksmith with an unblinking look, - I accompany you, I show you the way, I do not kill people … Give me my scythe, you fool!

Having snatched his weapon from the hands of the blacksmith, Death turned and headed for the exit from the workshop.

- Can I ask you one question? - I heard from behind.

- You want to ask why I need a braid then? - Stopping at the open door, but without turning around, she asked.

- Yes.

- The road to heaven … It has long been overgrown with grass.