Last night, Death visited my bedside.
He was every bit as disturbing as you would think, yet oddly familiar and comforting.
He picked me up and carried me down a corridor with mutliple open doorways, shafts of light from these entrances cutting through the darkness.
We passed a few of the doorways and I saw glimpses and scenes of my past life. Memories–both bitter and sweet. Choices that were made and the consequences that followed them. An ordinary life, but extraordinary to me who experienced it.
He carried me in claw-like hands, to which I nestled within perfectly. His long black robes trailed behind him and obscurred his face. The cloth smelled earthy and reminded me of a pile of dead leaves after a good November rain.
I asked him how we knew which way to go, as he manuvered through the endless maze of doors and hallways.
He grunted and gestured to a reddish light a few paces ahead, “Him.”
The red spectre soldified and its shape resembled a woodland fox. It was like a living flame, its glowing face staring with an unreadable expression. Yet again, I am not frightened upon meeting this entity. In fact, I feel as though I have known it all my life.
“You’re lucky,” Death continues, “that one doesn’t come for everyone.”
Death moves forward, where he’s headed–I do not know. I doubt even he knows. Together we tread after the fox, away from life and dark and toward eternal light.