Death’s Hand by L. M. Mercer


Death’s Hand
By: L. M. Mercer

The black, ragged hand of Death reached out of the Mist and into our world.
An old lady gasped as the air grew still and cold around her hospital bed.
Her milky, sightless eyes searched the room as she feebly cried, "Who’s there?"
No answer came as that hand brushed her face and the old lady fell back, dead.
Suddenly a young woman appeared by the bed, translucent in the misty air.
Looking down at her withered body, the woman reached out and took Death’s hand.
Turning to her silent companion in the Mist, she said, "I have led a good life. I am ready."

About the Author

Even though she has been writing for some time, L. M. Mercer has never had her work viewed by the public at large. She had mainly used writing as a release for her stressful existence (never intending for others to read her poems), but was badgered into submitting some pieces by friend and coworker, Kevin Magnus, who told her to 'Stop wasting your talent'. While never admitting to him that she is very grateful for his badgering, she will henceforth share with us her talent, both lyrical and oft times somber, now that she is our newest contributor to the "World of Myth".

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