I’m not sure how long I’ve been doing this. Everything back then was so hazy. But we’re all created for a purpose, and it so happens that my purpose is to end life. At first I relished my task, back when the world was wicked, back when things weren’t so complicated. No one is innocent, that is true, and everyone must perish. That is the way of things. The way it was Ordained. And I can’t refuse. How can I say no? The song that burns within me compels me to do it, as does my devotion to the cause. Everyone must perish. It is the Law. It is the Curse. Still, sometimes I can’t help but feel a little sorrow where my heart would be.
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Edit: This is a work of fiction, a short story interweaving journal articles from Death (like this post) and his many exploits.
