Work Text:
he's all alone
— it's becoming too much —
now he isn't breathing
— his chest is collapsing —
how is there blood in his mouth?
— it doesn't matter, keep walking —
but where was he going?he knows there's snow,
beautiful, baptismal, ice.
But now he can see that underneath it are hyacinth orchids,
small buds attached to quivering stocks.
they look down, trembling and avoiding his eyes.
they reek of bones and metal and soft bits spilled.
looking up, standing on the bodies, he sees—
oh what a beautiful person!
the White Reaper holds himself with the dignity of a butcher.
his heart begins to shiver
"you will not be forgotten," the flowers whisper gently.
"oh yes I will." he tells the corpses softly.
after all, it is his time to die