Two Forces

Everybody celebrated Life. Why wouldn't they? She was fabulous. She lit up a room. She brought music, laughter, and grace to an otherwise dull and infinitely spinning spec of cosmic dust. So droll.

Life was everything. People worshipped her, fought for her, bled for her. They paid fortunes just to have more time with her, even as she laughed at the time they wasted to do so. At first, Life thought she'd give everybody the same love and attention.

But then...Life decided that was rather boring.

She wanted people to suffer for her. Surely, she was worth suffering for? Not all the people, of course. Only the ones who were less deserving of her light. Less deserving of a good Life, the best she had to offer. If they didn't earn her respect that was on them. Obviously, they hadn't worked hard enough, or tried hard enough, or pushed their little hearts she breathed into beating enough. Her graces were not for the faint or the weak. For them, they could settle for hand-me-downs or the dim edges of her shadow as she walked.

And despite her fickle nature they continued to clamor for her all the more.

Because Life was unfair.

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Everybody feared Death. He had no idea why. He tried so hard. Whenever there was pain or suffering he ended it. He brought peace, stillness, and seriousness to a chaotic and utterly manic sprawl of creatures who hated him for it. So unfair.

Death loved everything. People didn't see it, maybe, because they saw only the shells he left behind. They saw instead the horrors of the bodies and the corpses left in his wake, not the release of those souls from the terrors that had fallen them before he gave them grace. Death treated everyone the same, regardless of their age, their race, or their religion. It was his way.

But then...Death became the enemy.

He wanted people to understand him. Surely, they could see the careful rules he followed? He never once stepped outside the lines or boundaries, following the same patterns each time. Surely they saw, right? They knew how to escape him, or run away. Even when he felt spurned he never faulted them for trying. Yet still they blamed him - as if he had somehow chosen them out of everyone else, when he could have taken another. As if the rules he abided by weren't clear for everyone to see. As if they didn't push each other into his grasp with their actions.

And despite the fickle nature of those he tried to help he persisted all the same.

Because Death was equal.

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If you ask me, my child, which force I respect more then I must tell you: Life may be something to enjoy when it smiles upon us, yes. But Death should not be what makes us equal.

Rather, it should be what we are willing to risk to bring more equality into our daily fickle Life.