Death has been raped, as usual, in front of everyone. No one comes to help her. She lay in the center of the road, with her clothes torn and strewn around, naked. Passersby wonder where has building of aristocrats, who ran an NGO for orphan Deaths, disappeared. Some of them glances at her and passes her by. A few of them stands on their ground, unsure of what they are seeing: an image of their mother, sister, or daughter or simply a sex object. Within minute’s time, she will be a sensation. Her blurry naked video will be telecasted on new channels and spread out on newspapers. Then, whatever had happened to her will become a taboo to talk, which in turn make her a taboo as well. She sobs. No one approaches her for a long time.
An elderly gentleman shades her eyes and put his patched coat over her. Then, he pulls her up and wraps the coat around her. As it is fated, she is still bleeding. She lit up, instantly as she has been touched. Fire emanates from the patched coat. A fire engulfs the elderly gentleman. He vanishes from the spot. Naked death walks away, taking the memory of incident with her.
Death’s childhood wasn’t unique either: her parents had been dead before she could understand the word ‘parents.’ The Living took advantage of Death ever since. She couldn’t do anything for she wasn’t aware about the power deep inside her. The blood that spurted out of her on her thirteenth birthday gave her power to burn. She burned down her own hut, her only possession, and the rapists alive. Then, she was ready to snatch the life out of Living, whenever they forcefully bled her, like those aristocratic NGOs.