When Death stopped for me, I eagerly took his hand.
I almost missed my chance because I was not looking for him. No one was. No one expected him to show up and no one wanted him too . . . well, almost no one.
He must have sensed my exhaustion, this boy representing death that pulled me down a rabbit hole I never thought I’d be able to enter. I tried to ignore him, but he approached me anyway. He could sense my desire, the bone-crippling weight I’d carried since the day science had made its largest advancement, inching ahead of God, fate, or whoever controlled mortality. Man now controlled death and modern medicine held no limits. But the moment death was out of reach, I wanted it more than anything. So, when he reached out to me, I reached back.
