My own little attempt at a tribute to Terry Pratchett’s passing.
A Journey Home
A sombre light shines as Terry follows DEATH along grey sands. They do not speak; all that needs to be said has been said. Time passes and they come to a simple door of unvarnished wood and stop.
Terry turns to DEATH, “What is on the other side,”
MANY HAVE ASKED THAT QUESTION
Terry smiles, “I know, I wrote those words.”
Death reaches out places his skeletal hand on the door and gentle pushes.
I AM PERMITTED TO ANSWER
The door silently swings open, revealing a great expanse of blackness and flickering lights, contrasting against the greyness around them. One light brighter than the others moves towards them, or they are drawn to it.
Turning Terry looks up into the face of DEATH who raises his hand and places it on his shoulder. A smile, without skin or muscle spreads across DEATH’s face, reaching up to the sparkling blue stars that are his eyes.
Warm sunlight shines onto the sands as the view through the door changes, showing a sun hanging over of an impossible, foolish and incredible world. Mountains, Seas and Cities are bathed in its light. Heroes, Villains and every wondrous thing in-between thrive and live in a world supported by four giant elephants swimming though the universe on the shell of an immense turtle.
Clouds rush by as they draw closer to a City, called by some the greatest City in the multiverse, a river winding its lumpish way through its heart. A smell unique, foreign, but familiar rides through the door, strong, brazen and shameless in its own glory.
“Does it always smell like this?”
I AM TOLD ONLY ON THE GOOD DAYS
The scene in the doorway settles on a man, dressed head to toe in black. He faces away from them looking out of a large window in an oblong office. A small dog sleeps in a basket sleeps beside a desk.
“Gentlemen, please come in,” he calls out without turning.
YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT
Together Terry and DEATH step into the room, as the door closes behind them.
DEATH nods to the Patrician, who inclines his head, “Please do not let me detain you,”
The stars that are DEATH’s eyes flare.
Reaching into his robs he removes a gold hourglass and raises it to his face. The glass of the timer is black and only the sound of sand running can be heard.
BLACK ON BLACK, BUT DEATH COMES TO ALL
The Patrician walks to his desk and sits, placing his elbows on the desk steepling his fingers, “Yes, I am told that is usually the case,”
Placing the hourglass back into his rob DEATH turns to Terry.
DO YOU LIKE CURRYS, MR PRATCHETT?
“Terry smiles, “Yes, I do.”
I AM AT YOUR DISPOSAL NIGHT AND DAY.
DEATH inclines his head and his gone.
Removing his hat Terry turns to the Patrician, who smiles and offers the chair facing his, “Welcome home Mr Pratchett. May I offer you the second best seat?