Dear Death,

First off, I’m not afraid of you. You cross my mind as quick as the wind and you’re gone in seconds. I can deal with a few seconds of fear. The type of fear that leaves you motionless, at a stand still, with nothing besides the air that is quickly leaving your body from your last breath. I see you in my life, just flashes, like ones from a camera. So bright and harsh, your lasting impact leaves me blind for a few moments. Then, you’re gone, yet I know you’ll come again.

I was taught that if you repeat something so many times it will lose its meaning. Death, death, death see nothing. The catch is you are something and you are lasting. You are that bad smell on the old couch, you are the reason kleenex is still in business, and you’re the reason that ditch digging is still being done. I’m appalled at your success rate, 100% guaranteed attendance in everyone’s life. Impressive, really, I thought you would have fucked up and missed at least one of us. Nope, I was wrong but there is still time. I have confidence in you, you always hit the winning shot.

Ironic that your winning shot is our final bullet. We’re constantly taking rounds from the gun of life, absorbing them with our vest of relief. I’ll never understand why you deem it’s necessary to use your kill shot on the young, on the good, or on families. God damn have some civility, then again why should you. It’s your job, to create the end. This may seem silly but I have a request. When you pull out the sniper, line up the crosshairs, and pull the trigger with the bullet intended for me; can you please do so when I’m alone? Can you do it in a fashion that will not cause collateral damage? The pain will be unbearable as is, I can handle it, the ones around me may not so let them be.

Crazy that I sat down to write you a letter. But I’ve always wanted to talk to you. I’ve always wanted stop by for a chat. The thing is that I don’t know where you reside or what you look like. But I’m positive I’ve seen you around. I’ve seen you in the newspaper and on the T.V. I’ve heard the screams and the cries you cause. I’m addressing you because I want to understand your purpose. I can’t figure you out, I’m a fairly intelligent guy and I can conceptualize most things, but you my friend have stumped me. I think it’s for the best that you stay unknown. If I knew who you were, if I knew what you looked like, then I would come after you. I feel like if you and I were to parley I may end up the on the wrong end of the sword.

I haven’t decided if I actually would enjoy a response. The idea of you is scary enough, but then, receiving a letter to reassure your existence and reason is something I would find comforting. I wrote this letter out of question and I believe that’s how I am going to end it. I don’t know anything about you, other than life having to come full circle. And on that point, I don’t see why we can’t question it. I see no wrong doing in questioning the unquestionable. So here I stand, on the platform of doubt, asking you for an answer or at the very least a quick burst of light into your darkness.

Yours Truly,

Life