A little while ago I wrote and posted The Reaper, only to realise that it was sloppy and basic writing. I swore to rewrite it and make it better. Aka, I wanted to develop the scene and let it come alive.
Here I am now, with an “improved” version with 332 instead of 157 words. I hope it turned out to the better and I’m sure it would improve a lot with a few more editing rounds. So let me know what you think of this – the 1st – editing round, and your guess, how many more rounds I would need to make it all shiny.
see you are dying.”, says a voice from the other side of the little room.
The voice is now nearer and stops right opposite the bed. The men look at each other, while the first rays of the upcoming sun find their way through the thick curtains. Dust dances on them, but soon retires on the big wooden bed posts.
“Why don’t you sit and have a tea meanwhile? It won’t take too long.”, asks the dying one, coughs vehemently and adds in a hoarse voice. “The cups are fine porcelain from Chine. You can have them after I’m gone, if you would like to.”
The other man considers the offer shortly, taking a cup from the old nightstand and tuning it from one side to the other. It is a beautiful pattern that covers the thin porcelain, and even though he has lived that long it always amazes him that humans are capable of producing such fine arts. He carefully fills the cup with tea and looks again at the dying man.
“But that would mean I need to come back and collect them. Are you sure, this is what you want? Remember, your wife is still in best health.” He raises an eyebrow at the man in the bed and sips on his tea. It was delicious.
“Maybe not.” The dying one mumbles while looking down onto his bed covers. He hadn’t thought of Erica. It wasn’t her time. He had been reckless.
“I thought so.” The other replies and after a few more sips on his tea, he stands up, thanks the dying man for the invitation, pulls up his black hood and shoulders his scythe. “If you would be so kind and follow me now? It is time.”
The dying man sighs, “Finally.”, and slips away. Deeper into the soft pillows of his bed and into an endless blackness. The dancing dust would now also settle on until Erica come to refill his teapot.