-Life
The earth’s moist dirt tickled beneath your fingertips, coiling your hands further with tiny pebbles and mud; but the stains bothered you not for you loved feeling the gritty and grimy texture against your skin. You would lather yourself with the dusty scent if you could, replace the unnatural fragrance of fruity shampoo and fresh soap with an earthy one of moss and grass, rain, and dew.
Nature always had that effect on you, urging you and calling you, maturing a desire in you to bury yourself deep below the ground, to nurture and grow. You thought of yourself as a seed as a child, ready to sprout like a flower once watered and planted, but because nothing ever came of it –of years trying to grow green leafy appendages– you settled on …show more content…
Although the irony was not lost on you, to have the freedom to grieve over the dead in a room full of nothing but the dead, you remember not the pain which you felt towards your mother’s death, but the death which surrounded you. You career finally took its payment and without the wall which you built that kept you from caring too much, you fell into dozens of tiny pieces – each one weeping over a body you helped dissect, bodies that once belong to a soul, who were once someone’s daughter or son, mother or father, husband or …show more content…
The game of cat and mouse between your fascination with life and death teetered from one side to the other depending on the day, depending on the trigger. On most days, you were the guardian of your sanctum, the overseer of the dead; the quiet, if not air-head who talked to plants. But as time continued onward and your skills evolved beyond your superior’s, skilled in the science of post-mortem, it was clear as the summer day that your gift in pathology could and would destroy your link to the living.
You were never meant to experience death; you had the soul of Mother Nature inside of you, put upon the earth to love and to nurture and to protect. You were supposed to a creator of life, instead, fate took your mother, took your confidence and mind. It robbed you of the life you were supposed to live and instead instill within you a taker of it – someone, who although feared death, respected it and preferred to be around it.
Because when you live with the dead and talk to the dead, the living became all that more frightening.
The earth’s moist dirt tickled beneath your fingertips, coiling your hands further with tiny pebbles and mud; but the stains bothered you not for you loved feeling the gritty and grimy texture against your skin. You would lather yourself with the dusty scent if you could, replace the unnatural fragrance of fruity shampoo and fresh soap with an earthy one of moss and grass, rain, and dew.
Nature always had that effect on you, urging you and calling you, maturing a desire in you to bury yourself deep below the ground, to nurture and grow. You thought of yourself as a seed as a child, ready to sprout like a flower once watered and planted, but because nothing ever came of it –of years trying to grow green leafy appendages– you settled on …show more content…
Although the irony was not lost on you, to have the freedom to grieve over the dead in a room full of nothing but the dead, you remember not the pain which you felt towards your mother’s death, but the death which surrounded you. You career finally took its payment and without the wall which you built that kept you from caring too much, you fell into dozens of tiny pieces – each one weeping over a body you helped dissect, bodies that once belong to a soul, who were once someone’s daughter or son, mother or father, husband or …show more content…
The game of cat and mouse between your fascination with life and death teetered from one side to the other depending on the day, depending on the trigger. On most days, you were the guardian of your sanctum, the overseer of the dead; the quiet, if not air-head who talked to plants. But as time continued onward and your skills evolved beyond your superior’s, skilled in the science of post-mortem, it was clear as the summer day that your gift in pathology could and would destroy your link to the living.
You were never meant to experience death; you had the soul of Mother Nature inside of you, put upon the earth to love and to nurture and to protect. You were supposed to a creator of life, instead, fate took your mother, took your confidence and mind. It robbed you of the life you were supposed to live and instead instill within you a taker of it – someone, who although feared death, respected it and preferred to be around it.
Because when you live with the dead and talk to the dead, the living became all that more frightening.