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This is a collection of short stories written by User:ManraptorHurrr.

CalderEdit

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The cool sea air heaved heavy breaths onto Calder's face as he stared out over the open water.

"The sea, the ocean..." he whispered intuitively, "You hold so many secrets that we shall never understand. I applaud the depths of the sea! For centuries you have clung viciously to your enigma! No man could possibly keep a secret for so long, and that is why I respect you so, dear ocean... Your wisdom..." Calder moved his hand up to his face to adjust the monocle on his eye. "Your wisdom... is of the highest."

The moonlight reflected off of the glass over his eye, creating a suspicious glare. In the white light, a small, respectful smile could be seen on Calder's face. His face was thick, but he was not fat. Calder, a large and bulky man, stood out from the surrounding beach. His attire, consisting of a lab coat that appeared to be a size or two too large for the man, a simple pair of white pants, and polished leather ankle boots, was unfit for such a place.

"My dear sea, I will return." Calder reached into his pocket and pulled out an hourglass. "All I ask of you is that you remain stationary, but I don't believe that should pose a problem for you, yes?" He laughed boldly and thrust the hourglass back into his pocket, upside down. He took one final glance at the sea, grinning, and trudged through the heavy sand.

Tick. Tick. Tick.Edit

The sky was clouded and dark. Ravens flew through the dead air. Atop a small cliff stood a hooded figure. Bony hands stuck out from the sleeves of its robe, and a faintly visible white mask was visible from under its hood. Death. He held in his hand a scythe, wrapped in chains. At the base of the blade, a skull was embedded. The blade itself, however, was made from a black material, not unlike charred bone.

Death looked upon a village down below the cliff. It was colorful and bustling, but its time was nearly up. A pocket watch hung from one of the chains on the scythe. Death watched the tiny little hands tick, not eager for his task, but anxious to get it over with. Tick. Tick. Tick. He raised his scythe and held it straight in front of him, the tip of the blade facing the village down below. Tick. Tick. Tick. A raven fluttered down from the sky and landed on the scythe. It pecked at the chains restlessly, but Death allowed it.

The face beneath the mask was an emotionless one. Death was cold, but not evil. He didn't enjoy the killing any more than anyone else would. In fact, Death disliked it. But, he was condemned to the soulless duty of lifetaking. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Color started to drain away from the village, and the people who once moved so quickly began to slow and drop on the spot. The colors and light and life withdrew from their home and drifted up to Death's scythe. The color blackened as it made contact. Tick. Tick. Tick. Death's mouth curved downwards in a sickened frown.

"This was life," he sighed. "This was existence. I took them." Death lowered his scythe, the life now completely gone from the village. His scythe quivered from the force within it. Death's expression returned to blankness, and he looked back. They had destroyed themselves with their war. Death was only the carrier of it all. They created his burden, but now it was all over.

The unliving black shell which used to live, the humans destroyed. Black, grey, empty, dead. Death saw it all, how they burned each other -- themselves -- with their chemicals, their poisons, their aggression and hate. They diseased themselves and their world, to the point of no return, and of no hope. Silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The pocket watch stopped. Death himself vanished, no longer having a purpose.

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