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A letter to Death...

Dear Death,

I’m the first to admit I’m crazy scared of you. I don’t care what kind you suggest - I’m still terrified. No. Matter. What. It’s simply really. I like this world. I know what’s here. Sure, it’s not the prettiest place, but hey -- I have a life here -- friends, family, a future. As for you, everything very vague, you know? Like what are my choices after? Is there an after? All the separate-from-self experience suggest completely different things. Not to mention Hollywood. And then there’s the part about not knowing when it will happen. Like will I be dead tomorrow or next week or in 80 years? Do you know? Like, do you have a planner that says ‘Tommy and Jane on Monday morning, and little Old Mary for lunch‘? That sounds creepy. I didn’t really mean it that way, but surely you must know? I’m starting to ramble now. I would appreciate it if you could take a minute or so out of your precious killing time to respond.

Ever terrified,

Penny Cartrite

Author's Note

Have at it. XD