Death at the River Valerie Granzo Death walked along the edge of a slow-moving river, whistling and thumping a wooden stick rhythmically as he went along. He paused as he neared a clearing in the wood, and looked into the translucent water. He crouched to his knees, and plunged his bony fingers through the smooth surface into the too-cold currents below. When the hand resurfaced, it was cupping pitcblack mud, and death returned to the clearing to deliver his treasure. From underneath the folds of a heavy cloak came an ivory knife, plain but sharp. Death sliced two diagonal lines into the mud, cuts which seemed to pierce through the earth itself. Death stood back and watched the spot as the mud began to bubble, slowly at first but gradually increasing in speed. The texture of the mud began to change, and it rose up, expanding rapidly and hardening as it grew. Mud turned to clay, and finally to an almost marble, ebony wood. Razor sharp leaves sprouted at the tips, and bloody poison berries blossomed among the branches. At the end, a tree stood unnaturally tall, a misfit amongst all the other. Death looked critically at the tree, from roots to tip, craning his head to see every last leaf. His expression remained unchanged, and except for a slight curl of the lip, almost untraceable. He turned away resuming his steady hike alongside the river, whistling the beginnings of the flower duet.
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