Unnamed Journal Volume 2 Issue 6 - Page 7

I looked at Death more closely. All I could really see was a shroud with a hood. Even the sleeves were seemingly absent. A mass of flowing something, moving in wind I could not feel, was all that my eyes really showed me. There certainly weren't any skeletal hands holding a scythe. "Are you actually...you know..." I said. "What?" said Death. "Death," I said, feeling stupid. "That's not my name, but yeah. You can call me that. It's what I am to your kind." "You have a name?" "Yeah." "Can I know it?" "It's not a secret, but I'm not going to tell you." "You're not?" "No. You wouldn't get it, and I don't feel like explaining it. I'm working." "Okay," I said. I had another shot. I wasn't feeling the whiskey anymore. I wasn't feeling sober, and I wasn't feeling really drunk. My brain began to clue me in to the reality that I should not be