If The Reaper Tells You When You Will Die, How Will You React?

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The bile in the back of my throat burned as I swallowed it back down.

Today was my appointed day.

The day that I would pass from this life.

The Reaper told me so himself, that dark creature of the shadows – collector of the souls of the damned.

You can’t see him, but I did. Oh, how I wish I hadn’t.

Quieter than the silence of the grave, I crept into old lady Brennan’s house.

Planning to steal her fine silverware, I was.

She sat at the table; eyes locked into eternity.

The Reaper stroked her face with his boney hand. His breath spreading the mist of death upon her.

I froze in the doorway, unable to move, and his presence evaporated as Ms. Brennan’s head drooped.

I turned to run but found myself standing before that harbinger of oblivion.

Not a word did he utter.

An empty coldness shivered in my soul, darker than a starless night.

And I knew what no man should know – the day of my demise.

My limbs became weak and failed to hold my body upright.

The void wrapped itself around me, pulling me into the pit.

But I did not acquiesce.

One plan alone arose in my mind – cheat death himself.

Hide from the Reaper and live.

Someplace enclosed and dark, I found.

Crawled into Brennan’s airtight chest freezer, I did, and heard the latch click.

The air grows thin.

And I know, with my last breath, that his hand strokes my face.

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Shea Oliver

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