Sitting in the eerie stillness of the room, with the gentle hum of the computer in the distance and the rasping wheeze of the dying woman to my left. It’s a strange feeling to realize that you have to say some kind of final goodbye.
What words are you supposed to use? What thoughts needs be expressed?
“I’m lost,” I whispered into the sad loneliness.
“No you’re not.”
I jerked in surprise and turned to see a man posed in the open doorway, his face cast in shadow. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice coming out weaker than I wanted.
“I am Death,” he replied.
I scoffed. “Seriously. Who are you?”
“I am Death.” He drifted slowly into the room. My eyes traveled down his tall, Ichabod frame. He was dressed all in black, though his boots had silver spurs. I felt a creeping chill go up my spine. There was something about him… something that made my skin prickle and my eyes water.
“You’re lying,” I said, though my voice came out unsure. “Why are you here?”
“I have a job to do,” he said. His face… his face was hard to see in the dimness, though his eyes burned like coals–dark with a hidden core of smouldering heat. I thought I could see the flames of Hell.
“You’re scaring me.” Involuntary tears trickled down my cheeks and I couldn’t stop them if I tried.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded so sad.
“Are you here to take my mother?” I asked, glancing at the bed across the room. I could still hear her wheezing gasps for breath. I had prayed so hard for her to stop making that sound, and now… “Please don’t hurt her.”
“I’m not here for her,” he said. There was no warning, he was just suddenly across the room, standing so close his jacket brushed my knee. His hand was like ice on my shoulder. “I’ve come for you.”
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