it was not death for i stood up

“It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down –
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.”*

What does it take to get away with murder?

The power.
The prestige.
The fame.

Those were the things that lured you in - the right moment. Right place, right time. In life, if you play your cards wrong, it doesn’t matter if there’s one witness or a thousand. 

They take your time.
They take your life.

You do as they say, play by their rules, and everything will be okay. For them. For you? One way or another, you’re simply collateral damage.

Do as they say.
Play by their rules.
And everything will be okay - for them. 

For you? 

You should have played by the rules. You should have done as they said, then everything would have been okay.

The water is cool, then cold, then just a numb escape. The cherry red dress that once made you feel beautiful becomes the weight that now drags you down beneath the waves. And the surface? Though you struggle, you slowly lose your way. They say drowning is peaceful, but what do they know? Have they ever felt the push and pull of the abyss? Have they ever seen the eye of eternity?

A gasp for life becomes the choke of death as water rushes towards your lungs. Your sanctuary? Your salvation, once found in your very body, is now betrayed by your breath…

But not by them.

The ruby red rose, once vibrant and alive, beautiful and brave, slowly turns still. No need to struggle. Had you played along, followed the rules, everything might have been okay. 

But now you’re nothing and nobody…

                                … just another Jane Doe…

                                                …slowly drifting away…

 

You lose.

Control…
Direction…
A reason to live.

That calling…the whisper from beyond…

“It’s not your time…”

But is it your place?
And is that even for you to decide?

After all, time is like the tides - it comes, it goes. It can often toss us about,  shape our direction, and cast us onto the shore. You can feel the grains of the sands slowly seeping their way into your skin. The tides, like the time, have pulled away.

The voice - it’s moved beyond a whisper - no longer just in your mind.

“Open your eyes.” 

And what do you see - another reason for you to live?
Pain isn’t a reason - but it’s all you have to give.

“It will be revealed, Jane. 
In time, it will be revealed
Secrets are not healthy,
And you can never hold them in.”

Jane Doe’s eyes slowly blink open.

The sun is high overhead, the heat searing at the sands that surround the skeleton-faced woman. She groans, or at least goes through the motion, stretching her jaw wide. Her body is partially buried beneath the sand. 

Jane can see down the shore well enough to see that the surf is slowly making its way in.  The strands of seaweed, woven and wound through her hair, writhe and wriggle as she begins to shift around, seeking a way out. Her gaze lands on a pair of pale feet.

She stops and lifts her head. 

The Sound of Death stands over her, dressed in white robes. The two lock eyes for a long moment before Jane’s face finally turns back towards the ground. Her fingers begin to scrape at the sand. Death stands watching her a second longer before shifting her focus towards the frame. The winds whip and cast the cloak around her.

Death's voice is low and driven as she speaks.

“In life we find ourselves chasing so many things: Careers and families. Our next promotion. The next big thing. It’s so often in life we focus on what’s in front of our faces that we forget what’s just around the bend. They say some animals have no object permanence, but in truth? There is no such thing.”

She looks over to Jane who continues to jam her fingers into the sand. Her movements are much too slow and it shifts back into place.

“The careers? Families? They come and go.”

Death bends down, kneeling beside the woman. She digs both hands into the earth just beside Jane. The skeleton-faced woman stops and watches as she works. Her cloudy yellow eyes search for something only she can see.

“We say they’ll always have a place in our hearts,” the woman in white stops, pulling her hands free. She holds them out in front of Jane, her captive audience, allowing the granules to steadily slip from between her fingers, “but over time, just like castles made of sand - they slowly fade away. A memory, a picture from the past, then a ghost lost to time.” 

Sound pushes herself upright. Jane watches and then tries to follow, but finds she’s still stuck. Renewing her drive, she mimics the motions of the woman who now wipes her hands along the sides of her robe, scooping at her makeshift grave.

“The promotions? The highs and lows with the rush of the next new thing - do you drive forward? Rally the call? Or return to the mundane? What a rush and a thrill but what happens when it fades away?” She shakes her head, “Not even a memory worth recalling in your darkest hour.”

The Sound of Death looks past the camera, her hand catching the cascade of her hair.  She holds her arm over her eyes and squints.

“And the next big thing?”

Her gaze slowly settles on the frame, the corner of her crimson lips raises slightly, as if fighting a smile.

“That’s where you come in. A man of your stature, standing, and legacy must already know. These moments? Sweet whispers but too often gone before they can even begin. You know the choices, Mr. Hopkins, you can whisper or you can roar. Ultimately, they are the same. You understand better than the rest: it’s not about the words you speak, but rather how you find a way to etch your name into the very sands of time themselves…”

Suddenly, Jane heaves herself from the grip of the beach. She does so with such force and so abruptly that the layer of shore she had not pushed free rapidly cascades down towards her feet. The sands slowly begin to gather.

Death steps around the side of the skull-faced woman. Her dull amber eyes follow, her head rotating further than her anatomy should allow until finally she can turn no more. 

“Which is what brings us here, Donnie. Which is what brings us together. We have been given this opportunity to show the world that not only do our names belong in those sands, engraved for eternity, but so do those who stand before us. It would be shallow of me to say this will be an easy day…” The Sound of Death leans close, whispering in Jane’s other ear. She whips her head, snarling. “But you have what he does not.” 

The woman in white smiles that scarlet smile. It’s subtle at first, but slowly, surely, it becomes evident - or perhaps more colloquially - conspicuous. She continues, her voice more driven and bold.

“One leg in the grave, Donnie - that’s where you’re on equal footing. What matters then is the direction you are heading.” She steps forward. Jane begins to follow only to find her foot still lodged in place. Retching it free, she hobbles just behind. “What has brought you here, Donald? One last grasp at the great one? Another run - pouring out the last of yourself before even your own sands runs out? After all, it’s better to be broken down then carried away. The futility of the task is that while you dig and dig, looking to go deep enough to cement your name, you do not yet see that this hole is a tomb and that your legacy and everything you use to hold yourself up - is just sand beneath your feet, slowly filling your grave.”

The Sound of Death stops, allowing her companion to catch up. Her limp already starts to fade. 

“Matches like this are not made for those already burdened by the weight of time; pinfalls and submissions mean little to the grave. What matters is your sheer and undeniable ability to lay your opponent’s hopes down to rest, in peace or in pieces, and I have to tell you that while you may pick apart pieces, Donnie…”

Her alabaster arm extends, gently caressing the woman’s cheek. If she feels it, she shows no sign - only a snarl.

“There is no rest for Jane and there will be no peace.” 

Sound shakes her head.

“This is not a gentle way to go, Donnie. For while your goals may seem similar in nature - you seek to simply shovel away at those sands She strives to shred away at your skin, to dig apart your flesh and then bury her fists right into your brain.” Jane openly bears her teeth like fangs, her jaw clenching tight enough to cause blood to begin to build along the base. Something about it resembles the movement that Sound just made. “So then you must ask yourself, what then would she benefit from burying you alive? After all, isn’t it usually in death that you should depart?” 

Jane seems to grow impatient, shifting from side-to-side, before her face is gently turned by The Sound of Death. She becomes still, almost as if there is a moment of understanding transpiring between them. Death nods her head as the skull-faced woman becomes restless once again. 

“Now, Mr. Hopkins, I tried to convince her it had something to do with the legacy: to be crowned a queen, to show the world that you were the one true victor…” Jane starts to shake her head.

“…but she doesn’t listen.”

The Sound of Death watches as Jane, finally unable to contain herself, begins to shamble away, heading away from the beach and inland towards an expansive jungle. Her emerald eyes land back on the camera.

“And so I fear for you Donnie, I do, because even if you do disassemble her, she will rise time and time again. The grave has no grasp over her but you …you can already feel the grip pulling you its way. Try as you might to cement your name, slowly but surely, you will realize…that it would be better to battle the shifting sands of time than to try to bring Jane to rest.”

The camera pans to see Jane as she begins to grow distant. Death starts behind her, stepping back into the frame.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you Mr. Hopkins.”

She looks into the camera, her face grim.

“This moment? Though it may at times feel like an eternity, in the end, it will become nothing more than memory... a ghost, then a whisper - and all that will be left to tell the tale of the man who could have reigned as a king…”

She shakes her head, slowly turning after Jane Doe as she speaks.

“Will simply be an unmarked grave.”

The Sound of Death starts off once more. She is not as burdened as Jane, the loose white robe flowing behind her as she easily floats along the sands, following just behind her companion. The camera lingers on the two for just a moment longer before turning back towards the sea. The tide, just like time, comes just as it has before and the small, shallow hole which once held Jane has already begun to fade.

In the distance, a boat crests the horizon - a symbol of freedom for some…or of a future that may never come.

The scene fades to black.

“But most, like Chaos - Stopless - cool -
Without a Chance, or spar -
Or even a Report of Land -
To justify - Despair.”*

* From Emily Dickinson’s - It was not Death, for I stood up