road to paradise. Parable about why the Death scythe Bashny.Net

Site tells his readers a wonderful and instructive parable. Seven million five hundred fifty two thousand nine hundred two

Ytimg.com— are You a blacksmith?

A voice behind him rang out so suddenly that Basil even started. Besides, he didn't hear the door to the Studio opened and someone came inside.

— You knock tried? — rudely replied he, slightly angry, at himself, at the prompt of the client.

— Knock? Hmm... have Not tried it, — answered the voice.

Basil grabbed from a table a cloth and wiping work-worn hands, he slowly turned, thinking of the rebuke that he was going to give up in the face of this stranger. But the words remained somewhere in his head, because he faced a very unusual client.

— You could straighten me hair? female but slightly husky voice asked the guest.

— Everything, Yes? End? — throwing the rag somewhere in the corner, sighed the blacksmith.

— Not all, but much worse than before, was the answer.

— Logical, — agreed Vasily — will not argue. What am I supposed to do?

— Straightening the hair, patiently repeated the Death.

— And then?

— And then to sharpen, if possible.

Basil glanced at the scythe. Indeed, on the blade was visible a few fishermen, and the blade itself is gone.

"Yes," he nodded, — well, what am I to do? To pray or things to collect? I just for the first time, so to speak…

— And-and-and... of — Death shoulders shook in a silent laugh, — no, I'm not for you. I just spit you need to correct. Able?

— So I'm not dead? — discreetly fingering themselves, asked the blacksmith.

— You know better. How do you feel?

— Yes, like normal.

— No nausea, dizziness, pain?

— N-n-no, listening to their inner feelings, and hesitantly said the blacksmith.

In this case, you have nothing to worry about, was the answer, and handed him the scythe.

Taking it in, immediately stiffened hands, Basil began to examine her from all sides. Of Affairs there was half an hour, but knowing who will sit back and wait for the end of the work, automatically extended, at least for a couple of hours.

Crossing a cotton feet, the blacksmith walked over to the anvil and picked up the hammer.

You... have a Seat. Why would you stand?! — investing in your voice all his hospitality and kindness, offered Basil.

Death nodded and sat down on a bench, leaning back against the wall.

***

Work has come to an end. Straight a blade as possible, Smith took in hand knife, looked at his guest.

— Forgive me my frankness, but I just can't believe that holding the object, which has ruined so many lives! No weapon in the world can match him. This is truly incredible.

Death, sitting on a bench in a relaxed pose, and razglyadyvaya the interior of the Studio as a visibly stiffened. Oval dark hood turned slowly toward the blacksmith.

— What did you say? — she said softly.

— I said that I do not believe that holding a weapon that…

— Weapon? You said weapons?

— I can not put it simply…

Vasily did not have time to finish. Death, in a lightning movement, leaping up, after a moment, appeared directly in front of the blacksmith. The edge of the hood was trembling.

— What do you think how many people I killed? — she hissed through clenched teeth.

— I... I don't know — his eyes downcast to the floor, forced a Basil.

— Answer! Death grabbed him by the chin and raised his head up, — how much?

— N-don't know…

— What? she yelled straight into the face of the blacksmith.

— How do I know how many? — trying to avert his eyes, not his voice squeaked Smith.

Death let go of the chin and a few seconds fell silent. Then, hunched over, she returned to the bench and, with a heavy sigh, she sat up.

You don't know how many there were? — she said softly and without waiting for an answer, he continued, what if I told you that I never hear? Never killed a single person. What do you say?

— But... But what?…

— I never killed people. Why should I, if you do an excellent job with this mission? Do you kill each other. You! You can kill for pieces of paper, for the sake of your anger and hatred, you can even kill just for the sake of entertainment. And when you get that little, you're making war and killing each other in hundreds and thousands. You just like it. You are dependent on someone else's blood. And you know what sucks in all this? You are unable to admit it to myself! You find it easier to blame it all on me, — she paused, — you know what I was before? I was a beautiful girl, I met the souls of men with flowers, and followed them up where they're meant to be. I smiled at them and helped them to forget about what happened to them. It was a very long time... Look what happened to me!

The last words she shouted, and, jumping from the bench, dropped the hood.

Before the eyes of Basil appeared, full of wrinkles, deep face women. Rare gray hair hung in matted strands, the corners of chapped lips was unnaturally folded down, exposing the lower teeth, crooked shards out from under his lips. But the most terrifying were the eyes. Completely faded, expressionless eyes, staring at the blacksmith.

— Look what I've become! And you know why? she took a step toward Basil.

"No," curled under her gaze, he shook his head.

— Of course I do not know — she grinned, — you have made me so! I saw the mother killing their children, I saw how brother kills brother, I've seen people in one day can kill a hundred, two hundred, three hundred other people!.. I cried watching this, I was howling from a misunderstanding, from the impossibility of what is happening, I screamed in horror…

Death eyes sparkled.

— I changed my beautiful dress in these black clothes, so it was not visible blood of people I accompanied. I wore a hood so people could not see my tears. I don't give them flowers. You turned me into a monster. And then accused me of all sins. Of course, it's so easy... — she stared at the blacksmith's unblinking gaze, I accompany you, I show you the way, I don't kill people... Give me my scythe, you fool!

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

— Ask you a question. — was heard behind.

— Do you want to ask, why do I need braid? staying at the open door, but without turning, she asked.

— Yeah.

— The road to heaven... It has long been overgrown with grass.

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