MICRO MONDAY, LOVE AND VENGENCE

And The World Screamed

To the wilfully ignorant, it seemed Death followed in Vesper’s footsteps, but truth be told, she followed Death. It had taken someone precious, and she sought vengeance for its action.

Vesper’s sleep had been brief and fitful, like every night since her love’s untimely passing. Balor had been a giant of a man, both physically and spiritually. He was a loving, handsome, good-natured man, whose only love — other than Vespa — was to help people. It was with Balor, whom Vesper had planned to raise a family and grow old with. But the merciless hand of Death had cruelly shattered this dream when it had randomly chosen Balor as its next victim. Not one to forgive and forget, Vesper had sworn a blood oath to the gods, old and new — but especially to Freyja — she would avenge her love’s death.

Waking, but not yet awake, Vesper pulls herself out of bed and begins her day. First, to prepare her equipment and to thank the gods for this opportunity. She prepares her altar with a small sacrifice — a live squirrel snared the previous day — and lights a small sacrificial fire with her blessed oil. Chanting an archaic prayer, she pierces the squirrel with her dagger, allowing its blood to flow to the fire. Once the fire and the blood mingle, she cleanses her dagger in the fire, continuing the prayer until the fire extinguishes itself.

After Vespa’s morning ritual, she departs her lodgings and treks to the village’s hospice. The plague has been in this village recently, and where there is plague, there is death and suffering. And where there is death and suffering, there is Death. She knows Death is nearby and realises the time is opportune to strike.

The huntress spies a gigantic form, shrouded in a black cloak, tending to the sick and dying. This must be Death, for no other presence commanded her attention such. Carefully, as she knows Death holds many surprises, she stalks the hooded figure, moving from bedside to bedside. She sees her opportunity and pounces, ready to strike. The figure hears her approach, and turns to defend, but her holy dagger is too precise. Too true to its mark. It pierces the heart; its blessed steel turning existence into emptiness.

As she pulls back his black cowl, she gasps, for it is her true love’s visage she uncovers. As her heart crumbles to dust, Vespa finally understands. She never hunted Death, for she is Death.

Emily (Little Miss Right Now) isn’t interested in later. Gotta live for the moment., for right now. Read her stories, cause it’s as close as you’re gettin’! The local preacher man used to call her a sinner, while he boned her hard, but when there’s no future, how can there be sin? You can follow her on Twitter @MicroEmily.

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Another tale by Emily (Little Miss Right Now).

Another tale by Kate Pasithea