The road to heaven

The road to heaven

swm0UazAwesome story of the eternal, suggestive:

- Are you a blacksmith?
The voice behind him sounded so unexpectedly that Vasily even started. In addition, he did not hear that the door to the workshop opened and someone went inside.
- Did you try to knock? - He answered rudely, being a bit angry both at himself and at the agile client.
- Knock? Hmm ... I did not try, - answered the voice.

Vasily grabbed a rag from the table and, wiping his overworked hands, slowly turned around, scrolling in his head the rebuke he was about to issue to the stranger’s face. But the words remained somewhere in his head, because in front of him stood a very unusual client.

- Could you straighten my braid? - the female, but slightly hoarse voice asked the guest.
- All Yes? The end? - rejecting the rag somewhere in the corner, the blacksmith sighed.
“Not everything, but much worse than before,” Death replied.
- It is logical, - agreed Vasily, - you can't argue. What do I need to do now?
“Straighten a scythe,” Death repeated patiently.
- And then?
- And then sharpen, if possible.

Vasily glanced at the braid.And indeed, several vycherbin were visible on the blade, and the blade itself was already going wave.
“This is understandable,” he nodded. “But what should I do?” To pray or to collect things? I'm just the first time, so to speak ...
- Aaaa ... You are about this, - the shoulders of Death shook in silent laughter, - no, I am not behind you. I just need to fix the braid. Can you?
- So I did not die? - imperceptibly feeling himself, the blacksmith asked.
- You know better. How are you feeling?
- Yes, it seems normal.
- No nausea, dizziness, pain?
“Nnn, no,” listening to his inner feelings, the smith said uncertainly.
“In that case, you have nothing to worry about,” Death answered, and handed him a scythe.

Taking her in, instantly stiffened hands, Vasily began to examine her from all sides. The business was there for half an hour, but the awareness of who will sit behind his back and wait for the end of the work automatically extended the deadline for at least a couple of hours.

Crossing with cotton feet, the blacksmith went to the anvil and picked up a hammer.

- You are ... Sit down. Will you not stand? - having invested in his voice all his hospitality and goodwill, suggested Vasily.

Death nodded and sat down on a bench, with her back to the wall.

* * *
The work was coming to an end. Straightening the blade, as far as it was possible, the blacksmith, taking a sharpening hand, looked at his visitor.

“You will forgive me for your frankness, but I just cannot believe that I am holding the subject in my hands, with which so many lives have been ditched!” No weapon in the world can match it. This is truly incredible.

Death, sitting on a bench in a relaxed position, and looking at the interior of the workshop, somehow noticeably tensed. The dark oval of the hood slowly turned toward the blacksmith.

- What did you say? She said softly.
- I said that I could not believe that I was holding a weapon in my hands, which ...
- Weapon? Did you say gun?
- Maybe I did not put it that way, just ...

Basil did not have time to finish. Death, leaping up with a lightning-fast movement, after a moment, was right in front of the blacksmith. The edges of the hood twitched slightly.

“How many people do you think I killed?” She hissed through her teeth.
“I ... I don't know,” Vasily squeezed out of himself, dropping his eyes to the floor.
- Answer! - Death grabbed his chin and lifted her head up - how much?
- N-I do not know ...
- How many? - She cried out straight in the face of a blacksmith.
- Yes, how do I know how many were there? - trying to look away, the blacksmith squeaked with his own voice.

Death let go of her chin and was silent for a few seconds. Then, hunched over, she returned to the bench and, sighing heavily, sat down.

- So you do not know how many were there? She said quietly, and, without waiting for an answer, she continued, "And what if I tell you that I never hear?" Never killed a single person. What do you say to that?
- But ... But how? ...
“I never killed people.” Why do I need this if you yourself are doing an excellent job with this mission? You yourself kill each other. You! You can kill for the sake of paperwork, for the sake of your anger and hatred, you can even kill just for fun. And when this becomes not enough for you, you arrange wars and kill each other with hundreds and thousands. You just like it. You are addicted to someone else's blood. And do you know what is the worst thing about all this? You can't admit it to yourself! It's easier for you to blame everything on me. ”She paused for a moment,“ Do you know how I was before? ” I was a beautiful girl, I met the souls of people with flowers and escorted them to the place where they were destined to be.I smiled at them and helped them forget about what happened to them. It was a long time ago ... Look what happened to me!

She screamed the last words and, jumping from the bench, dropped the hood from her head.

Before Basil's eyes, the face of a deep old woman appeared, wrinkled. Sparse gray hair hung tangled strands, the corners of cracked lips were unnaturally lowered down, exposing the lower teeth, curved fragments looking out from under the lips. But the most terrible were the eyes. Absolutely faded, nothing expressing eyes, stared at the blacksmith.

- Look at who I turned! Do you know why? - she took a step towards Basil.
“No,” he cuddled under her gaze, shook his head.
“Of course you don't,” she grinned. “You made me like this!” I saw how a mother kills her children, I saw how a brother kills a brother, I saw how a person in one day can kill a hundred, two hundred, three hundred other people! .. I sobbed, looking at it, I howled from lack of understanding, from the impossibility of what is happening, I screamed in horror ...

Eyes of Death gleamed.
“I changed my beautiful dress for these black clothes so that it wasn’t visible on the blood of the people I accompanied.I put on a hood so that people would not see my tears. I don't give them flowers anymore. You turned me into a monster. And then they accused me of all sins. Of course, it's so simple ... - she stared at the blacksmith with an unblinking look, - I see you off, I show the way, I don’t kill people ... Give me my scythe, you fool!

Pulling out his weapon from the hands of a blacksmith, Death turned and headed for the exit from the workshop.

- Can one question? - heard from behind.
“You want to ask, why do I need a braid then?” - Stopping at the open door, but without turning around, she asked.
- Yes.
- The road to heaven ... It has long been overgrown with grass.

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