No matter how the faces of death changed, it’s still, DEATH, just the same, translated…
Every morn, there would always be a fresh bouquet of flowers that was right there, in the middle of the roads, sometimes, it’s lilies, sometimes, jasmines, and from time to time, there are, roses. Nobody knew, who brought them, only known, that about a month ago, that, was when the flowers started showing up.
As the pedestrians passed by the cross sections, they were all in awe, at how beautiful, how fresh the flowers are, but, nobody DARED picked them up, including the street sweepers. Fearing, that if they’d picked up the flowers, they will be cursed by accidents, or, gotten into unnecessary troubles. And, inside everybody’s minds, there’s endless amount of fear, aloofness, and suspicions.
They’d rather just leave the flowers to wither away by the day, changed colors, to becoming rotten. In the end, the entire road was filled up with the scents of rottenness, and, nobody put the flowers to their final place of rest. God had, pushed aside the clouds, took a long breath, and, ordered Death to return to Its usual looks, changed the flowers in its hands, back into the sharpened scythe, and, took everything back, giving those souls that’s died, their final moments of mercy upon death.
toward the end…
So, this just shows, how people are often the ones, who’d caused the miseries in their own lives, and, from this short prose you can see how the people’s mindsets changed, and, it’d because that humans here were driven by their fears, that had caused them their own unfortunate ends…
and finally…
