Throughout the years, I have been called many things, “mighty” and “dreadful” the least of these. I have been reviled, feared, and avoided more times in my lifetime than any other creature that has walked the earth—and there have been many of those, all passing through my embrace at one point in time. I have not cherished the fleeting moments that I spent with your friends, relatives, or acquaintances, though. Rather, quite the opposite. I am in a constant state of dread, knowing that each passing moment means more work, more sadness, more fear.
Above all else, I wish this were not the case. Though I carry out my job calmly and efficiently, this does not mean I enjoy it, let alone am proud of it. I do not puff my chest each time I carry another soul from its earthly body. It costs me even more than it does you for me to collect those souls closest to you who truly disagree and feel that their time has not yet arrived. Do you think it easy to venture into battlefields or hospitals to collect my souls or that I would willingly give myself to this task? I come when the time is right: no sooner, no later. I have no choice in the matter.
As tiresome as my job is, it must be done, for I do in a way provide a form of solace. The sick, the wounded, the beaten down all find refuge in me in a way that has irrevocably eluded them on earth by the time I come calling. Peace and serenity are two gifts that I do possess, though few people take the time to consider this in between cursing me and doing everything in their power to keep me far away from everyone important to them. I do not blame them for this, as I too feel that my gifts are far outnumbered by the sorrow that is synonymous with my frequent visitations.
Thus, I find it difficult to decide whether those who doubt me are the most gullible of fools or the most sage of wise men. Whether or not the blissful escape of eternal rest is more than just a euphemism, though, even I cannot say for I alone have survived life’s millennia without having to fear my shadow. Though this has made my task easier, it has not made it any more pleasurable. I long for the day when I will be relieved of my heinous duties, but that end is not in sight for me. Though the souls that I take may indeed wake once more after I have collected them, I cannot believe that I will ever share this experience.
I am not meant to live as any normal soul who roams the earth does. I cannot partake of life’s cheap pleasures and thrills nor can I imagine the physical nature of pain, heartbreak, or loss. I am an entity designed to pick up the pieces once Life’s turn is done. It is not a job that I recommend, nor one that I will ever escape from. Until the universe’s last soul has breathed its final breath, I must persevere. Though I may not be nearly as mighty nor as dreadful as they say, I am the end. I am the slave of the reckless. I am the gateway to the beyond. I am Death. And I am immortal.
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