Etykiety
But I'm me
Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
The light was brilliant, crystalline, in a black sky filled with stars.'Ah. There really is a desert. Does everyone get this?' said Brutha.
WHO KNOWS?
'And what is at the end of the desert?'
JUDGEMENT.
Brutha considered this.
'Which end?'
Death grinned and stepped aside.
What Brutha had thought was a rock in the sand was a hunched figure, sitting clutching its knees. It looked paralysed with fear.
He stared.
'Vorbis?' he said.
He looked at Death.
'But Vorbis died a hundred years ago!'
YES. HE HAD TO WALK IT ALL ALONE. ALL ALONE WITH HIMSELF. IF HE DARED.
'He's been here for a hundred years?'
POSSIBLY NOT. TIME IS DIFFERENT HERE. IT IS... MORE PERSONAL.
'Ah. You mean a hundred years can pass like a few seconds?'
A HUNDRED YEARS CAN PASS LIKE INFINITY.
The black-on-black eyes stared imploringly at Brutha, who reached out automatically, without thinking... and then hesitated.
HE WAS A MURDERER, said Death. AND A CREATOR OF MURDERERS. A TORTURER. WITHOUT PASSION. CRUEL. CALLOUS. COMPASSIONLESS.
'Yes. I know. He's Vorbis,' said Brutha. Vorbis changed people. Sometimes he changed them into dead people. But he always changed them. That was his triumph.
He sighed.
'But I'm me,' he said.
Vorbis stood up, uncertainly, and followed Brutha across the desert.
Death watched them walk away.
Kategorie: Death, sprawiedliwość, śmierć, człowieczeństwo,
Uciekinier wielkiego formatu
The Last Continent, Terry Pratchett
'Haven't you noticed that by running away you end up in more trouble?''Yes, but, you see, you can run away from that too,' said Rincewind. 'That's the beauty of the system. Dead is only for once, but running away is for ever.'
'Ah, but it is said that a coward dies a thousand deaths, while a hero dies only one.'
'Yes, but it's the important one.'