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| Illustration by Alex Douglas - click to embiggen |
The
battlefield smouldered with bodies, steam rising from breath and wounds. Those
still living writhed and moaned, the dead lay still, detritus of grand mens’
foolish plans, littered carelessly across the churned mud like leaves in autumn
at the base of an old oak. Yet the invading hoards still marched forward.
“Who’s with me?” a defending soldier bellowed.
“Certainly you will catch your Death,” his fellows cravenly cried.
“I will catch my Death,” he roared, charging the enemy line alone.
They believed, rightly, that there was not one sole Death that came for us in turn but a Death for each living person. Countless Deaths each ready to slay us all, one for you, one for me. Out there waiting for us to find them, on the correct day and at a precise time. A coward will hide from their Death and a brave man may charge down his Death. You cannot know which decision led you to where you are finished.
You will catch (up to) your Death.
Now we say “You will catch your death,” to people standing round in the cold but we are no less wrong. They too will one day catch up to their Death.
“Who’s with me?” a defending soldier bellowed.
“Certainly you will catch your Death,” his fellows cravenly cried.
“I will catch my Death,” he roared, charging the enemy line alone.
They believed, rightly, that there was not one sole Death that came for us in turn but a Death for each living person. Countless Deaths each ready to slay us all, one for you, one for me. Out there waiting for us to find them, on the correct day and at a precise time. A coward will hide from their Death and a brave man may charge down his Death. You cannot know which decision led you to where you are finished.
You will catch (up to) your Death.
Now we say “You will catch your death,” to people standing round in the cold but we are no less wrong. They too will one day catch up to their Death.
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