I saw him in his black robe, sitting on a stump, running his bony finger along the scythe's blade.
He saw me stopped short in the clearing, and the empty sockets in his skull did little to betray his thoughts. Then he spoke.
"You missed it."
Responding to Death seemed like a sure way to seal my fate, but what else would I do, just walk by?
"Your time." He took a deep breath, which I remembered thinking was odd for a skeleton to do. Funny how we grasp onto the small details to make some sense of absurd things.
"You dropped your phone and pulled over, just as the truck--right on schedule, I might add-- was running a red light up ahead.
*You* should've been in the middle of that intersection by then. Guess you can thank texting and driving for saving your life."
Death laughed like sandpaper on steel.
I forgot how to form words, so the reaper filled the awkward silence.
"I'm not one for irony, but I guess there isn't much I can do now but wait."
Then he stood up, walked behind a tree, and never appeared past the other side.
That was a week ago.
I've been feeling pretty depressed since that meeting -- like I don't have any purpose left. That's silly, right? Everyone has a purpose. I just need to keep trying to find mine.
But it's odd, I keep having this nagging feeling of what I'm supposed to do next. I wonder if this is what they all felt -- everyone else that missed their time.
I think I'll kill myself tomorrow.