Now, children, what shall we have a story about?
“Soldiers!”
“Rainbows!”
Tricky. I know a story about the warriors but they are a bit different from soldiers. Will that do?
“Has it got a rainbow in it?”
Come to think about it, it has.
“Hooray!”
If you listen carefully and don’t interrupt, one day you might tell this story to your own children.
But first, I need that stick your waving about.
“Dylan’s been poking cow poo with that stick.”
Excellent! Because if it is two things Death can’t abide it is being storied, unless he plays the hero, which he never does, and the other thing is cow poo. He hates the stuff. I’ll need to touch a piece of wood when I tell the story, for luck.
Now, tell me, what does Death always carry?
“A stick?”
“Cow poo”
“A scythe?”
“A gun?”
“A warning?”
No, no, no. Death carries a net.
“Spiderman!”
No, Death’s net is made from the web of life...
“What’s that?”
It’s all around us. But you and I can just slip through without noticing.
No more interruptions, please.
One night, a long time ago, Death was trawling his net through the world trying to catch a very difficult old man who kept hiding from him. It was making Death cross and even worse, Death had a cold, well... flu actually, and he was very ill, almost at his own doorstep. Death was so cross he jumped down into the old man’s garden, stomped up the path but, before he could get into the old man’s house, he sneezed; all over the place! No hanky, nothing. Now, Death knew he shouldn't have done that, and quickly jumped back out of the garden and went home.
“Where are the soldiers?”
On their way.
“Where’s the rainbow”
No interrupting, please.
Now Death’s sneeze was a terrible thing. It hit the flowers first, making them droop. Then the birds started to cough, cats began to howl, dogs whimpered, cockerels stayed in their beds and hens became broody. Things had never been so bad.
Now, the old man, having escaped Death, leaped out of bed and began dancing around the garden. When he stopped to get his breath he noticed the drooping flowers and silent birds in the trees.
He went to ask the farmer, who took him to see his cows, a hundred, all sitting around, coughing and sneezing.
“Cow flu! It’s deadly.” said the farmer.
Then, it started to rain, in great buckets full, although the sun was still shining. And there it was...
A rainbow.
“Hooray!”
“Where are the soldiers?”
On their way. Shh!
But this was no ordinary rainbow. It was brighter than the old man had ever seen and it glowed from inside as it moved across the fields.
It stopped and inside there was a sudden swoosh and a noise, as if a pile of tin cans had slid down inside the rainbow. Then there were voices; orders being shouted a horse whinnying and then out between red and blue came a horse, a chrome horse ridden by a mounted rainbow warrior. Behind him came six rainbow foot soldiers, all wearing chainmail woven from the seven colours of the rainbow.
“Is this the soldier bit?”
Yes.
The mounted warrior spoke,
“The animals of Earth are sick, we have come to save them. But we need your help old man. Will you come with us, to death’s door? Put on this suit of rainbow armour to protect you.”
The old man did has he was asked and then back they went into the rainbow and up they climbed and then... down the other side, where it was all dark and gloomy. This was where Death lived.
“How can Death live?”
Because... erm... Death is... a twosome creature...
“What’s that?”
A creature with two forms.
“A transformer!”
Exactly!
“Wow!”
One of the warriors knocked on Death's door, with his spear.
The door creaked open and there was Death, holding his net and sniffing.
“We’ve come for the medicine to cure the sick animals.”
“Yes!” said the old man.
“You’re the old man I’ve been looking for,” said Death. “He is with us, and he is a rainbow warrior now.”
The warriors banged their spears on their rainbow shields.
“Do you think that I, the Grim Reaper, the face behind the final curtain, will give a bunch of fancy rainbow warriors with an old man, who should be in my net by now, medicine... for animals? I’m not a vet!”
The old man held up his stick, like a rainbow warrior’s spear, “The medicine, now. If you please!”
The rainbow warriors raised their spears over their shoulders. Aimed at Death.
“You can't kill me?” He bellowed, “Without Death there can be no life. And! In the midst of life,
there is... Death.”
Time stood still...
Death waited for the old man to melt beneath his withering gaze... but he stood upright, like a true rainbow warrior. Except he held a poo covered stick instead of a spear.
“What’s that smell... ugh! Cow pooh". Did I tell you that if their is one thing that Death can not stand it is cow poo?
"Yes."
“The medicine, if you please!”
Death sniffed, “Oh, all right. Up there!”
Above, the clouds unfolded, rain flooded down, drenching the warriors, washing away the chrome horse, the spears... everything.
The farmer pulled the old man from the remains of the muddy rainbow.
“Downpour’s cured the pigs, and the flowers have perked up.”
“And, listen," said the old man, "the birds are singing again.”
For many years after that, it was a green and pleasant land around here, sparrows and blackbirds singing, hedgerows full of flowers, bees buzzing, and children were allowed to play in streets.
“What happened to the old man?”
Death had taken him off his list. So he still lives in his house, with the big garden. Probably telling this story right now.
“Can I have my stick back, now?”
Sure. Not that end... oh, never mind.
“Is that the end of the story?”
Yes.
