Friday - The Naked face of Death

[ninanevermore]

Today on the drive into work, the sky was so hazy that the sun looked like a full moon as it tried to feebly shine it's way through the clouds. I could look right at it without hurting my eyes. This was a relief from the way it usually shines in my eyes and blinds me in the morning.

As I drove by The Ferris Wheel, I noticed the Carney with his back to me. Then, as I braked to a stop at the red light, he turned around to face me and my jaw dropped in astonishment.

The Angel of Death has shaved off his mustache.

I must have made a face, because he touched his upper lip self consciously and half smiled. He took out his cigarette and pursed his lips as he exhaled his smoke, kind of like a kiss.

I was about to roll down my window and shout at him to grow it back when the light changed and I had to drive off before the other drivers started to honk at me. It's just as well. I have avoided having an actual conversation with death for years now, and it's never a good day to start one.

His face now looks naked to me. I don't like it. Who wants to looks at Death's naked face?

Comments

[ignusfaatus.livejournal.com]

what a flirt he is

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I have no idea why he flirts with me, though. Not only am I married, I wouldn't be interested in him if I were single.

Largely this is on account of what his job is; I'm bothered by both the fact that he's a carney and that he kills people.

I'm shallow in this way.

[goingincirclez.livejournal.com]

Well, at least you can say "I stared death in the face and won".

I've often thought that the scariest personifactions of "death" are not as the classic "goateed devil", "grim reaper" or "hellish mutant", but as the everyday joe with something to hide beneath the veneer. Like a mafia hitman... looks like a respectable businessman and then POW.

It's always the ones you don't suspect.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

The gathering of souls, the culling of lives, is grunt work. Death is working class, not white collar. Death gets his hands dirty. He drinks, he smokes, he has tattoos, and he used to have a mustache.

I really do miss the mustache.

[deese.livejournal.com]

Ah, death wants to kiss you. But he's self-conscious. Keep him on his toes, girl.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I always try to. :)