Death and the Kitten

Here’s an excerpt:

“Shhhh,” hissed Death. He needed quiet while he worked.

“Death,” said Milo, who belatedly remembered the need to warn the family, “please, will you take me instead?”

Death laughed hollowly. “I’ve come for this child because she is so dearly loved. She is ripe with the fondness of her family.” At this, he regally pulled back his hood, revealing a pocked and gleaming skull that bore a heavy black crown. Unveiled, Death’s visage smoked and danced with flame. The crown was ringed with all the terrifying light and darkness of the lives he had claimed. Billions of points of pain and joy jutted from the blackness that encircled his head. However, its apex was unfulfilled: the hole at its center gaped, an empty mouth with a boundless appetite. The cat’s eyes bulged in terror.

“She will be the supreme jewel in my crown. Now, animal, let me work.” Death made to brush aside the cat.

“But without me,” pleaded Milo, “there would be no child. She is loved because I was loved.”

Read the full story in Birdland Journal.