A finished one-shot from me! *gasp!*
Yes, yes, surpise, surprise.
What's ironic in this thing is that at the time I had written this, I had never even known about Sandman. This was about two years ago.
I just started reading Sandman a few months ago.
I only learned about the parallels when I was looking at my complete Creative Writing 'portfolio' I did as a final project for that class again. I took one read-through, then I realized, 'Holy crap, did I just write about Gaiman's Death, without knowing her?'. Mystic coincidence, that. So, after a few more touch-ups and smooth-downs, I present to you, this.
I'm thinking of putting in an Epilogue scene with Death and Dream. Should I?
<hr>
He stood upon a vast horizon covered in mist. The wispy shroud was so thick that, if he were to hold his hand in front of him, he would barely be able to discern its' features; any closer, and his palm would be touching his nose. And it was, he guessed, damnably cold too, judging from the way the warm air was expelled from each breath he took. Yet, the strangest thing was that the cold did not bother him. His instincts told him it was cold, yet his mind says it is not. To him, these conflicting senses of his irritated him.
Looking at it in hindsight though, he found that he rather liked the tranquil scenery, or lack thereof, given the current density of the fog around him. On a whim, he ran his hand through the mist, and watched with fascinated amusement as the shroud parted away, before they coalesced back together in a menagerie of swirling spirals, spinning and churning.
Then, a much more whimsical idea came to him, and decided to act upon it. With that said, he spun around, his arms all but flying with his centrifugal force. For the next few moments, he began to dance amidst the thick, white fog, and watched as the haze bent and swirled about him. Then, to his brief surprise, complex shapes began forming upon the ebbs and flows, moving along his own movement. It was more to his surprise when the shapes began moving on their own volition. He recognized the shape of Man, as well as animals that he knew by fact. But those easily faded, as the more fantastical creatures stayed, three in all. He recognized the horned majesty of the unicorn, the powerful countenance of the dragon, and the gallant gait of the griffin.
Each of the wispy shapes moved about him, around him, their mouths moving as if baying for his attention. His hands ran through each of them, as if to pet them, and the creatures responded in kind.
He chuckled, only to recoil in shock when the mists began shifting once again. This time, to his amazement, they began taking on forms that were much more familiar to him. He gaped as he recognized most, no, all of them; people he once cherished and loved. He recognized his grandmother, who died peacefully of old age, his cousin, who had been mowed down in a freak auto accident.
...His mother and father, who died in a fire that left only him and his siblings alone.
And among those, he knew other faces. He saw the faces of various uncles, with their jolly, grinning faces and their kind, laughing eyes. He saw his many aunts, speaking sharply and in hushed tones, as if discussing the latest gossip.
There were tears in his eyes as he looked at all of them, and they, in turn, looked back with open invitation. Now he knew why he was here.
As if he was expecting it now, the mist parted and cleared around him, at about 10 feet. From the edges he could still see his loved-ones, looking at him, smiling.
From the edge of the mist, a figure stepped out, a lone female. She was dressed in mourning black, and a veil that covered her face. But no matter what concealement, he knew for who she is. Her presence as she drew closer was not oppressing, nor ominous, nor grim. It was joyous, welcoming, and, even if he could not see it, he could sense her smiling at him, to which he smiled in return as she stopped some distance from him.
She eyed him closely, then took a step. He stood firm and unafraid.
She nodded, and took another step. He almost laughed in welcoming glee.
She was in front of him now, but he held his head and met the gaze hidden in that veil.
She seemed to giggle, and nodded to herself once again as she held out her hand to him. He reached out and clasped her hand. In a heartbeat, his hand began to lose color. In another instant, his arm was of the same pallor, and in a few more, his whole body. Now he clasped her hand as a misty figure, same as those of the loved ones waiting for him.
And now with them he joined. He stood beside his parents, and they all stood in watching, at the figure. She tilted her head, examining them, before she raised her hands. They, the misty figures embraced by Death, began spinning around her as she began dancing in tandem.
Madder and madder, faster and faster. Then, they began rising to the air, to the Heavens, still spinning to the beat as her dance. Higher and higher, they began fading, until they were gone, as if they are now part of the sky and the clouds.
He was the last one to fade. And alone with the woman in black, he gave her a smile, to which she smiled in return. Then, he was gone.
And the woman was alone in that small field, laughing in joyous reverie, dancing for all of existance. A dance that will span between here, and the Endless sky.
Yes, yes, surpise, surprise.
What's ironic in this thing is that at the time I had written this, I had never even known about Sandman. This was about two years ago.
I just started reading Sandman a few months ago.
I only learned about the parallels when I was looking at my complete Creative Writing 'portfolio' I did as a final project for that class again. I took one read-through, then I realized, 'Holy crap, did I just write about Gaiman's Death, without knowing her?'. Mystic coincidence, that. So, after a few more touch-ups and smooth-downs, I present to you, this.
I'm thinking of putting in an Epilogue scene with Death and Dream. Should I?
<hr>
He stood upon a vast horizon covered in mist. The wispy shroud was so thick that, if he were to hold his hand in front of him, he would barely be able to discern its' features; any closer, and his palm would be touching his nose. And it was, he guessed, damnably cold too, judging from the way the warm air was expelled from each breath he took. Yet, the strangest thing was that the cold did not bother him. His instincts told him it was cold, yet his mind says it is not. To him, these conflicting senses of his irritated him.
Looking at it in hindsight though, he found that he rather liked the tranquil scenery, or lack thereof, given the current density of the fog around him. On a whim, he ran his hand through the mist, and watched with fascinated amusement as the shroud parted away, before they coalesced back together in a menagerie of swirling spirals, spinning and churning.
Then, a much more whimsical idea came to him, and decided to act upon it. With that said, he spun around, his arms all but flying with his centrifugal force. For the next few moments, he began to dance amidst the thick, white fog, and watched as the haze bent and swirled about him. Then, to his brief surprise, complex shapes began forming upon the ebbs and flows, moving along his own movement. It was more to his surprise when the shapes began moving on their own volition. He recognized the shape of Man, as well as animals that he knew by fact. But those easily faded, as the more fantastical creatures stayed, three in all. He recognized the horned majesty of the unicorn, the powerful countenance of the dragon, and the gallant gait of the griffin.
Each of the wispy shapes moved about him, around him, their mouths moving as if baying for his attention. His hands ran through each of them, as if to pet them, and the creatures responded in kind.
He chuckled, only to recoil in shock when the mists began shifting once again. This time, to his amazement, they began taking on forms that were much more familiar to him. He gaped as he recognized most, no, all of them; people he once cherished and loved. He recognized his grandmother, who died peacefully of old age, his cousin, who had been mowed down in a freak auto accident.
...His mother and father, who died in a fire that left only him and his siblings alone.
And among those, he knew other faces. He saw the faces of various uncles, with their jolly, grinning faces and their kind, laughing eyes. He saw his many aunts, speaking sharply and in hushed tones, as if discussing the latest gossip.
There were tears in his eyes as he looked at all of them, and they, in turn, looked back with open invitation. Now he knew why he was here.
As if he was expecting it now, the mist parted and cleared around him, at about 10 feet. From the edges he could still see his loved-ones, looking at him, smiling.
From the edge of the mist, a figure stepped out, a lone female. She was dressed in mourning black, and a veil that covered her face. But no matter what concealement, he knew for who she is. Her presence as she drew closer was not oppressing, nor ominous, nor grim. It was joyous, welcoming, and, even if he could not see it, he could sense her smiling at him, to which he smiled in return as she stopped some distance from him.
She eyed him closely, then took a step. He stood firm and unafraid.
She nodded, and took another step. He almost laughed in welcoming glee.
She was in front of him now, but he held his head and met the gaze hidden in that veil.
She seemed to giggle, and nodded to herself once again as she held out her hand to him. He reached out and clasped her hand. In a heartbeat, his hand began to lose color. In another instant, his arm was of the same pallor, and in a few more, his whole body. Now he clasped her hand as a misty figure, same as those of the loved ones waiting for him.
And now with them he joined. He stood beside his parents, and they all stood in watching, at the figure. She tilted her head, examining them, before she raised her hands. They, the misty figures embraced by Death, began spinning around her as she began dancing in tandem.
Madder and madder, faster and faster. Then, they began rising to the air, to the Heavens, still spinning to the beat as her dance. Higher and higher, they began fading, until they were gone, as if they are now part of the sky and the clouds.
He was the last one to fade. And alone with the woman in black, he gave her a smile, to which she smiled in return. Then, he was gone.
And the woman was alone in that small field, laughing in joyous reverie, dancing for all of existance. A dance that will span between here, and the Endless sky.