Death took a walk around the meadow. He added a dash of chill to the wind. Lush green, dancing grasses and full-bloomed violets, turned a withered brown. Death smiled. This is how he liked it.
******
Buried deep into the earth, a group of seedlings were making plans to re-decorate their meadow which Death just destroyed.
This 55-fiction is being posted in reply to The Solitary Writer's challenge to write an allegory on Death.
