Death Becomes Him (Plot Narrative)
Matt sighed as he looked up at the sky above him, the stars twinkling brightly in the clear summer night. He was half through the season and still had no idea where he future lay. Traveling with Rebekah had been incredible, but he knew, in his heart that for every she showed him...that wasn't him. Every place they went didn't feel like home.
Maybe Mystic Falls was all he needed, even if it did seem to reek of failure to stay, to exist only in the small town. He had wanted so desperately for most of his life to get out, to run from it...but for what? What would he be running to?
Giving himself a wry smile he locked the door of the shop as he started down the sidewalk, nodding to those who were still out on this late night. Ever since the Grill had been taken over by zombies he had needed to find temporary employment elsewhere, and the mechanics shop had seemed an easy choice.
He had no idea how much he was going to come to regret that choice...
Her heard a clap of thunder and looked up again, into the clear black night sky, a frown crossing his lips. Shifting his bag higher on his shoulder, he quickened his pace, the dark side of Mystic Falls clear in his mind. He was a human...and that very often meant the lowest on the totem pole. A horses' neigh came from behind him and he paused, shifting and looking over his shoulder, the primitive part of his brain screaming for him to run.
Matt turned fully, blinking slowly at the sight before him. A horse did in fact stand there, glowing a sickly green in the moonlight, skeletal thin, appearing as if it shouldn't be able to hold itself up, let alone the rider it carried. The man...at least, Matt thought it was a man was swathed in a thick black cloak, not even his face visible, and in it's long, skeletal fingers, a scythe was raised, the bloodied blade shining in the light.
Around them, things were dying. Plants withered and decayed, sidewalks started to crack, moths fell from the air while street lights burst, flickering to death. Matt started backing away, before turning, running, wincing as he heard the sound of a horses shoes on cement.
Death twirled the scythe between his fingers, a flash in the night before he hugged the pole close to his body, angling it so that it wouldn't cause wind resistance as his horse started after the human, yellow green eyes focused on the back of the man who had seen him.
The air whistled as the blade of the scythe whipped through it suddenly, and Death kept riding, the world dying in his wake, leaving the headless corpse behind, blood staining the sidewalk, spreading quickly around both parts of Matt Donovan's body.