I was always fascinated with the concept of Death, i still am. You’re walking down the never ending road, and you die. It’s the road which is never ending, not you or anyone else. Given that everyone dies, we still feel the loss of death and are caught unaware when the grim reaper pays a visit.

Some have a longer lifespan, some have a shorter lifespan. Some swing between life and death, who never truly die. I wonder what death is. I think death is when the body stops functioning altogether. That way, i don’t have to rely on souls for an explanation.

But what is death really? Almost every civilization and culture fears death. Death is depicted as a dark, almost evil, unkind, rude, pompous and never-tiring entity. In my culture, death is depicted seated on a black buffalo. The buffalo moves as slow as time, but it reaches you nevertheless. Then there is the mythical river that one needs to cross and be witness to your Judgement. It all sounds so dark and gloomy. Poe didn’t write ‘Nevermore’ for the fun of it. The grim reaper is not designed to look like that for season’s sake. Death is designed like that as if to warn people against it.

To me, the concept of Death came as a learned realization. Maybe Death is a harvester of ripe fruits, or a scavenger, or just your everyday parent/guardian who is looking out for you.

Imagine; you’re a child playing out in the fields. There are other children playing, and there are other parents in their respective houses. It’s a bright day, and the breeze is only helping you get the most of the day. Carpe diem.

You suddenly fall down and get your kneecap scraped. Maybe someone pushed you, or you tripped over, or a stray football knocked you off balance. No one likes to get hurt intentionally. You see the now-white patch of skin get red, and blood starts to bubble over. The sight of your bloody knee and the singing pain gets you crying. Kids come to console you, but you’re inconsolable. You want your mother and father. You dash towards your house, lock the doors and bawl your pain to them. Your father is busy applying ointment to your injury, while your mother is cooing and whispering ‘it’ll be alright’ while holding your hands.

You feel better. But you’re mad at the ground for injuring your knee. You’re mad at the circumstances in which you fell. You’ve imagined that other kids laughed when you fell, and you’re mad at them for laughing. So you make that balloon face and decide you’ll never go play outside.

Your parents are happy as long as you’re happy. You’re inside your house, and are helping with chores. You sleep like there’s no worry. With time, the wounds heal. You no longer feel the pain. Mother is overjoyed to see you walk the way you used to. Father is proud that you’ve overcome your injury. You stealthily watch from the window and see the kids playing. No one misses you, no one does. But you know for sure that if you were to go out and play, they’ll be happy to have you on their team.

But what about your decision, promise? Promises are made to be broken, your father mutters as he holds the door open. Mother has made lemonade for the kids, and she calls them outside their house.

The kids come along and have a glass of cool lemonade. You’re standing with the kids now. Once the kids are refreshed, you tag along with them and go out playing.

Life does work like that sometimes. True, the Earth can be a terrible place to be in. There’s wars, famine, conflicts, inequality, what not. But surely you’d like to visit again, it’s your playground after all.