THE NIGHT DEATH ALMOST GAVE UP by Margaret Davis (2nd place, Flash, Feb25)

Sometimes, Death only whispers from the other side, promising escape and peace, and the soul comes dashing. Often, Death slouches down slightly in the armchair, with a bacon sandwich in one hand and feet up on the stool, grabbing with the other hand, to whip life away too abruptly for it to resist.

But this time, Death had to rise and stand tall with the best cloak on and hood up. Death arrived in Old Ma’s hospice room with wings fully outstretched, only to find Disease had been, ransacking as it went. It had stolen one ability after another until the rise and fall of resolute breath was all that remained. Death had to put one foot on the bed frame and use both hands, with all the angel might that could be mustered, heave and rip at Old Ma’s soul. She kicked back and got her foot on Death’s throat, screaming,

‘I’m not going. I am so much more than this, let me be me again!’

Death paused, breathless, sagging on the foot of the bed, with shining, dark wings that had filled the room, but now were crumpled.

Then, because Death only has one job, it mustered up a last effort. Divine sweat lashed as Death wrestled with every wisp of life and ushered it away. Old Ma’s soul could finally rest in peace, but she did not want to seem complicit.

While all this was happening, no one in the room heard a sound.