Farror

The Reaper Of Memories
David Evershed


Two years, two years the man had spent in the dour land of death. Two years since the accident that had ended his life. For two years the man existed in mindless contentment. His memories of life had faded, slowly at first, then with increasing speed until he had all but forgotten what made his life worth living. Sunshine, flowers, and above all, his family. Oh how he had desperatly clung to the memory of his beautiful wife and sweet daughter. But as the living world forgot him, so did he forget them. And so after two years of ignorant bliss all of his pain was brought back to him.

His grey world seemed to spin and a think purple fog rolled majesticly across the colorless plains of the dead. Through all this, the man watched, supremly unconcerned, for he was dead, and nothing could hurt the dead, not anymore.

This idea proved to be wrong, for as the swirling mist blocked the landscape from view and the first tendrils of it began to stroke his legs, the man felt the beginings of consiousnous return to his long dead mind. And with that came memories, so many painful memories, reminding him of all that he had lost. By the time the fog had enveloped him in its purple swirls his memories had fully returned and he clung to them, weeping for what he had lost, weeping for death.

Out of the barrier of mist came a silouhette, dark at first and as it approached it only seemed darker. Shadows clung to the sweeping midnight black cloak and in his one pale, perfect hand, the dark man held at tall curved scythe. The blade of it looked dull but somehow, still deadly. The handle was a brown that came from no ordinary tree and in it was carved rustic symbols.

As the man watched this cloaked hooded figure come forward, the mist seeming to swirl away from him, he felt a deep terror strike at his heart. One word revebrated through his screaming soul. Reaper. But how was this possible, the man thought, terrified. He was already dead. What use would the Reaper have for him?

When the hooded figure stopped a short distance from him, the man noticed something wrong. This creature did not have a shadow for a face. It had a thin delitcate bone structure, a well made, seemingly perfect nose and shoulder length long black hair. The most distinguishing feature that the creature had though, were its eyes. They where a piercing blue and completely without emotion. Without pity.

The man stared in wonder at this thing, if it was not the reaper, then what was it? It still struck terror into his very soul, but it was obviously not the Grim Reaper of which the legends told.



The creature then spoke in clear, cold tones.
“I am indeed a Reaper, although a Reaper unknown to you or you kind. This terror in your heart, it is a fear of the unknown, for I am the creature least known in God’s creation. I am a Reaper. I am the Reaper of Memories.”

The man felt a dark foreboding enter settle it’s blanket of fear over his heart.
“The… The Reaper of m-Memories?” He stuttered out.
“w-What’s that supposed to mean?” The same voice the Reaper had used earlier leapt up in his mind, each word echoing hollowly in his head.
“I let your loved ones move on, I let them forget!”
“And… and what does that have to do with me?” The man asked nervously, toying with his earlobe, a habit he remembered from when he was alive.
“For the to forget, so must you, you must leave behind you memories beyond all possibility of redemption.” The voice echoed coldly in his mind.
“b-But no! I had already forgotten life, I was dead, why, oh why have you brought back this pain!” The man said sadly.
“Because, this form that you are in right now is, in its self a memory, a shadow of your former, living self. An echo of your life that your mind created in your dying breath. When I take away your memory, you will cease to exist. That is why I must make you forget.” The Reaper said, this time out loud.

The man’s eyes went blank for a moment as he struggled with this concept. Had this creature just sugested that he did not exist? This momentary stillness did not last long. The man began to tremble and soon tears streamed down his face.
“Why must it be so Reaper? Why? Can I not forget again and wonder this land eternally?” The man pleaded.
“Do you truly wish that upon your family? Do you wish for them to spend their loves in misery, reminded everyday of the death that was meant to be? Are you that cruel?”

The man stared at the Reaper, thinking deeply about it’s. His tear smudged face furrowed in concentration. Apparently reaching a decision he began to plead with the Reaper, plead for a chance to wonder the lands of the dead forever.
“Reaper, don’t take me away, I’m not ready to leave! Take my soul, take my hear, but leave me my memory!” The man cried.

The Reaper watched impassively for a moment before raising his scythe.
“Judgment has been passed upon the mortal.” The Reaper said emotionlesly. The scythe’s blade glowed blue, occasionnelly flickering into a violet before the raised scythe, now sharp, swung down to end the half life of the dead man.

(note: this is just the first version, I'm hoping that with your comments I will really be able to improve upon this)

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A minifridge... The doll house of the alcoholic.

Sneaky

I lke this concept of death by forgetting. A really unique idea. "Memories of your last dying breath."

I did not like the repetition of "two years" at the beginning, these three sentencens did not really flow. Likewise the beginning was too descriptive for me; you showed too much and too few things were happening.

I waited for example for "an electronic jump on a monitor" when your man began to remember. Perhaps you can notch your description a bit down and reality a bit up? not too much, because the image of an "nearly empty shell" that you created is fitting.

The description of the reaper did not sit well with me. It is not the traditional man of bones, and i liked the idea of him being a figure with real body.

You made some elegant observations, blue eyes, fine yet scary looks. But the scythe did bother me. It`s a brutal and heavy thing, too strong perhaps an instrument for taking the last lingering memories.
A sickle perhaps?

and should that not be " and in it were carved runic symbols?

The end was good. Even the last spark does not like to be taken.

Had a biblical ring to it: better be a living donkey than a dead lion.

Farror

Hmm, perhaps I could change the two years bit, I'll see what the others think about it, just to make sure it's not just bugging one person.

As for the description, I fin it odd that you should say it was unnecesary, as there was nothing else happening at the time and without that description the story would not seem complete to me. Perhaps I could edit in a bit more action while keeping the description, would that work for you?

As for the Reaper's appearence, I'll keep it was it is. For the face, I want to make a difference between the Grim Reaper and the Reaper of Memories. For the scythe, my thoughts where to create similarities and differences, and without a scythe, you dont have a Reaper.

Thanks for the feedback.

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A minifridge... The doll house of the alcoholic.

Sneaky

Not the description per se was unnecessary, but the point of view.

That was what i wanted to say.

If for example a nurse walks into the room and checks your patient and sees only blank lines from the EEG, that would have worked better for me and still there would have been the "empty shell" feeling you created with your description.

I know that would work better for ME but it is really a matter of my taste.

I like it better if I see it for myself, not being told about it.

The same goes for the scythe and the Reaper k?

My taste, a proverb around here:

Taste is a matter of taste, some have it up front, some backwards.

And that is no pot-shot at you brother hare.