Epilogue
To put it simply, I am death. None have avoided me, and none have befriended me. I’ve met many who awaited me, but never walked with me. I’ve met many who never sought me, yet had the misfortune of sharing my presence.
Some have tried to meet me. Desperately. Coincidentally, I’ve met more of them this past decade than I’ve ever met before. Have I become conscious of what I am? Of what I’ve done? It’s a perplexing cycle I cannot escape.
I suppose I never mentioned my name. But you won’t need it. Unless, of course, you wanted to befriend me. Throughout the centuries, I would be summoned some time before taking the soul of my victims. Though I did not appreciate having to meet them, I finished my task. None have avoided me; none can. This past year I’ve been quite busy. Every month it’d be a new one. But don’t get the wrong idea. During the World War, I’d be able to stretch my consciousness to reach every part of the earth. Now I’m forced to do so. Of course, I have a few minions here and there taking care of the elderly and what not, but I only appear to those who die the most gruesome of deaths.
During the time I spend with the victims, I can manipulate the memories of everyone around us, making it seem like I’m an ordinary person, and that they are the ones hallucinating. The sense of boredom makes me overdo it sometimes, and I end up toying with those unfortunate souls. In a way, I pity them. However, in another way, their despair causes me great pleasure. I don’t pity their fates, I pity them for having to bear with me for the short remainder of their lives. I also appear before those who have taken life. In a sense, we become connected, and they can see me long before their time comes.
