By D. S. Johnson

I met, last night, an avatar of Death
He woke me rapping, gently, on my door
His hands were long and cold, as was his breath;
His eyes were deep as oceans, maybe more

“My son, I seek a fire and a friend,
Someone to whom my woes may be revealed”
I sat him in a chair and made to tend
The fire when he proffered scroll, unsealed

A chill I felt like none before as I
Saw artfully my name inscribed in red
He took my hand and looked me in the eye,
Said “By midnight, my son, you shall be dead”

I choked a scream and swallowed back my tears,
I struggled for what seemed eternity;
To face, like this, the darkest of my fears
Was much too cruel a twist of destiny

“What, now, can I be expected to do?
By what method may I still save myself?”
“There is but one path open yet to you
But should you walk it, you may lose your health”

“What care I, health, if life I still may live?”
He closed his eyes and loosed a twisted curse
“These rules, not mine, are no less mine to give
To live this life, not die, may well be worse”

Unheeded then, his words now chill my soul
Though soul is not a thing I now possess
Never again shall I be halfway whole
This soulless husk, a shadow is, or less