Death is one of those unexpected guests who shows up at your door. You know he is lurking in the shadows, waiting to make an appearance and collect his due. He comes like a thief in the night and steals lives. Sometimes, you do not see him coming, but you know he has been as his odorous stench lingers in the atmosphere, threatening the lives of the living.
He is as silent as the grave and craftier than a snake. When he moves in the dead of the night, all you can see on the morrow for miles on the horizon are corpses, withering away from his cold, austere touch.
He smiles devilishly as he adjusts the drawstrings on his hooded black cloak. Then, he tightens his long, slender and bony fingers around his scythe and marches forward, drawn to yet another human walking the fine line of life and death.
As he walks undeterred by the scorching heat and blistering cold, you can hear the crunch of bone and clang of bone against bone but, he keeps moving, indifferent to the fact that he is a haughty skeleton. He has no remorse, no soul, no regret, his only aim is to take life where he did not make it and create a bleak void worse than any black hole in the universe.
Confessions of Wannabeone 