by Lauren Baum

Created on: May 30, 2008

He merely sat and looked at his hands. They had been useful to him on many occasions. They had carried M1's, M14's, M16's, they had thrown rocks, baseballs, and hand grenades. They had carried His New Born Daughter from the delivery room, they had carried coffins and folded flags. He had used them to build machinery and houses, they had repaired cars, broken toys, wiped runny noses and held injured kittens. They had not let him down often. Now they looked odd, strange, alien. They looked as though they should belong to someone else. They were misshapen, the fingers were bent wrong, they were gnarled and bumpy, discolored and painful.

And all he could do with them anymore was look at them and wonder why they wouldn't work anymore...
The entity who stood behind him wondered at his thoughts that he could perceive in the form of pictures. It had no context with which to judge them. No love to feel, from where the drive to hold and comfort come. The very idea of mercy was non existant in it's realm.
He and I use the term only as an referrent. He was blind to the concept of mercy. for he was death. Death had come for the old man. But now that it was here, it stopped for a moment to observe. It was quite irregular, but it was the hands that caught it's attention. Hands were common to both of them. the hands of the entity were used to touch and chill and stop breath and chill hearts or overheat them till they burst. So the vision of hands holding a child was worth a moments hesitation.
Death could not speak, had no voice except the gurgle of the death rattle the gasp of sudden pain. But in that pause there was a question. Death asked the creator why? Why this one? What is the picture? Only God could explain it to the entity in a manner it could grasp. But it went like this; His life has been full, he has walked the walk of all men, for a short time to hear and touch, see and feel, to eat breathe, hurt, wonder and love.
His hands have done both evil and good. His memories are mine and the time of his reward has come. His pain has come, for already, your icy fingers have touched his heart and he senses your nearness.
Death said; and is my work good? Is it evil? What have my hands done? I use them at your behest.
God said you are harsh, but your service is great. you are neither good nor bad, you just are. But without you no one would be saved.
Death said then I can reap this soul without guilt; and his grim face almost smiled as he wrapped his cold arms around the old man, who continued to gaze at his hands.
Across the universe they flashed together an instant of time divided.
The entity laid the weightless burden before the heavenly father, and from the gnarled fingers a light formed. To it was added the light from the father, whose radiance built until it was bright as the sun. The old man sat up and looked at his hands which were once again young and strong, the shaking was gone, he grasped the hand that was extended to him and smiled into the face of his master.

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