What is a child, if not a curious soul? Many wise persons have declared that youth lives in the heart.
So when does a child stop being a child? I do not believe innocence plays any part.
Our child of death met their maker and keeper. Few things were said and no full answers were given, but this is the way of death. They are a sibling to everything that exists, if you deny their grace and mercy, you will never feel the warmth of their kiss.
Our child was wise but not wise enough to know that they were missing the question that would take them back home.
What is fear, if not the desperate nature you try too banish, but must keep close. Only you can say. If you met death, what question would you ask? Would you you run away? Was our child foolish for wanting to stay?
(In a dark room at the edge of space.)
Child: I want to know who you are.
Death: I am.
Child:I want to know who you are to me.
Child:What is this place?
Death:(they cluck their large face, back and forth, in disappointment) You have many questions and so little time, small sandman . I feel a more interesting question would be- ‘What am I…..’
Child: …Not. That was my first question.
Death: You are not made of the fears you carry like a locket against your chest. You guard your fears and regrets it like I do the non-living. You are not these things. This is a promise, you must let your heart sing.
Child:What am I?
Death: (with a long drawl the words echo around the room) You are everything you imagine yourself to be, small fractals, pieces of sediment, glass, grain, change, molecules you can not contain, yet cannot escape. You gather them together, but they are not yours. At least not in completeness or truth. You are never separated from us, the ones who see all you do.
Death:Our time is finished.
(the child stands, their fingers reaching towards the dark. Death smiles knowingly)
Death:You must leave.
End of message.