The Reaper

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The Reaper

  by Swadha Rawat

Co -First Place Winning Piece at the 2019 Writer's Guild, Modern School Flash Writing Contest for Grade 10


 

Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

 

Even as the drums of war reverberated in the caged city,

 A shroud of mourning muting the fallen kingdom,

The Black Market glistened

With precious swords and stolen stones

The tinkle of golden bangles on slender wrists and golden coins trading hands.

In the tangled web of crooked alleys

Awaited a wizened old woman

Whose eyes shone in the dark with the wisdom of a thousand suns.


The newly crowned invaders swarmed the market

Dark hands covered in blood reaching for even more

After burning their lore and crushing their defeated souls.

The Red Knight General of the conqueror’s force

Swept into an alley in his bloodred cloak

And looked down upon

A crippled, wizen woman with a headband of beaten gold

His gloved hand snatched the glittering circlet away.


Her yellow teeth bared, the fortune teller ordained,

“Oh! plunderer of hopes,

Scourge of souls and thief of our young ones’ dreams,

Your end is nigh, it is closer than it seems.”


To which the knight haughtily replied,

“Old, beaten shaman,

Tell your Gods to cower for they cannot possibly match my power,

I am invincible.”


At the next full moon, on a new battlefield,

Swords clanged as men bled and banners rose and fell,

And the hooded figure of the Red Knight reaped the souls of men.

His sword held high above his head, his cloak a crimson banner

The Red Knight proclaimed himself the winner.

As the enemy’s swords fell and his men’s swords sheathed,

An arrow cut through the air

Fate demanding its aim land true.


For all his might and all the victorious battles

He could not stop the blow.

And so, the Red Knight fell upon the battlefield,

Soaking it with crimson that was for once his own.

The Red Knight could not breathe,


Someone sat upon his chest

And as his eyes fluttered open, he looked into the abyss of Death.

The Grim Reaper,

A crooked smile sharper than his fallen sword,

As vicious as his wicked scythe used to reap the souls of men.


“Impossible!” Spluttered the fallen knight,

“I am invincible.”


To which Death simply replied,

“But I? I am inevitable.’’

 

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