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Three Kings

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Three kings sat in blue twilight, their guns leaning on their thrones like sceptres. Wind howled outside begging for entrance, the sound of water drops resonating from the walls. The lonely emissary entered without fanfare, a red-blue star spangled flag wrapped around her figure. She was bearing gifts and her mantle dragged along on blood-soaked carpet.

She came to halt before the third king and gently placed the crown on the man’s head. Her finger-bones brushed against his hair. Death smiled gently and cold at Lugo.
“I didn't kill them,“ the soldier whispered. His voice was hoarse, but he was no longer pulling at the noose around his neck, wasn't fighting for a breath of air.
Death nodded.
“I could have! Hells sake, I could have just pulled the trigger...“ The man flinched and touched his throat. „But they were right... had to die.“
Death agreed.
Lugo looked around the hall and grinned.
“Here we are, my friends,“ The man laughed sharply. „You fuckers joined me to burn in hell?“
Death shook her head and placed a finger on his lips. With the dead man silenced, the dripping of the water was the only sound disrupting the quiet.

Death turned around and headed for the second king. A crown awaited him as well, no less heavy and thorny as the other one. Adams opened slowly his eyes, wiping away the blood from his forehead. Death looked at the soldier, crying black oily tears and smiling all the same.
„I should have killed him sooner. Before we became killers.“
Death pointed out the paradox within his statement.
„I don't care, for God's fucking sake! What we have done...there is nothing worse. If I had ended Martin when he just went crazy, I could have saved thousands of lives. If I had accidentally shot him at the beginning, I’d have saved almost everyone.“
Wrath took refuge in his clenched fists, but Adams' voice was only bitter and tired.
„Instead, the blind lead the blind and we all drank deep of the guilt. Why Walker? Did you get your answer?“
Death stroked calmly his eyelids, shutting them forever.

The last one remained. Death slowly approached him, bearing a serene majestic gift. Walker trembled under its weight moaning in pain. Mouth curved in despair and behind his eyes... shards of an unbearable truth.
„My King. You have come.“
He nodded. What else was there to say.
„You have gathered everyone you could inside my palace. Do not weep. They are no longer suffering.“
Walker interrupted the liar, but Death raised her hand in denial.
„No, my King. It is your fault. Not mine.”
The man was silent.
„You do not have to believe me. But... I am sorry too. Your fate…”
Exhaustion answered in Walker's place.
„Peace. You deserve peace.“
Death kissed Walker's forehead with gray lips, then crumbling and falling. Her form became sand and sand was all there ever was.