Blood was oozing out of the cracks in their skulls. Pieces lay on the ground, framing what was left. Their skin was a sea of purple. The bruises spread quickly around their bodies, almost infecting it like a disease. But, underneath, they were stone white.
Gashes and lacerations littered their bodies, chunks had been ripped out of their skin. What was left of their flesh was raw and as cold as winter ice. Their limbs were twisted, bent and out of shape as the structure had been demolished. Their loved ones lay around them. Crying. Screaming. Yelling out to try and make them listen. But they couldn’t hear a thing.
Death stops you listening.
Death doesn’t want you connecting with the other world. Him and life are sworn enemies. Once brothers, still were: turned against each other by the thought of power and ruling humanity.
Complete opposites. Life and Death.
Feared by most, Death was cloaked in black and never stepped foot into the living world. He was like a shadow, a hooded ghost. He would claim things for his own and bring them under. No matter about the pain. Dying was the worst pain they have ever felt. But no matter how painful it was, they had to. Everything had to die eventually and when they entered his world they learned that it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t a terror.
Life was white and pure and clean. And people looked up to him like an angel, a star. But however far away you looked, you would see that he wasn’t worth such praise. Life made people sad and lonely and grieve. He tore families apart and broke friendships into pieces. He made people immortal to win over death. But he was what made people worth living for. Life brought nature and leaves and flowers.
Death ended it all. Death claimed the world for his own, eventually.