Prompt: A mother tries to reason with Death, who has come to claim her terminally ill child.
I had felt him for days before that moment. He arrived before my son started coughing, but I didn’t see him until I caught a glimpse of his black cloak as he swept through the hospital corridors. He was the cold I could never shake, no matter how tightly I wrapped the blankets around myself.
He entered the hospital room. Silently sweeping from the doorway to the bed.
“No!” I shouted as I threw myself in front of the bed.
The silent, faceless horror stopped and extended a long bony finger to my son.
“He’s young,” I said. “Please spare him. Please.”
The faceless figure shook his head slowly and extended the sickle towards me, but I didn’t move.
“I’ll give you whatever you want. I have money. My husband works in the government. Whatever you want. Anything!”
The figure shook his head again, and I knew what he wanted. The only thing Death has ever wanted was more death.
“Take me instead!” I pleaded.
Death dropped his bony finger. Then held up two of his emaciated fingers. I knew what he meant, and that is how I came to kill the old man and his daughter.