People hate me, they despise me.

The hate me for taking away those that they love.

They fear me for they know one day I’ll come knocking on their own door.

They hate that they fear me.

And that fuels their hate some more.

Then there are those that love me.

They long for me.

Those are the ones that scare me.

Since how could someone want _me_?

I am the one who chooses.

I am the one who decides, who lives, and who dies.

_Not even I love me._

Every day of my human life I walked the line between living, and death herself.

I enjoyed the thrill, the high.

But it came at a price, and one day I slipped, I fell.

Death appeared in front of me.

I asked her if she was real.

She told me she was, and she gave me a choice.

I could finally die at the gamble called life, or I could play the winning card I was not supposed to have been dealt.

I chose the later of course.

I was now, and forever till death did us part cursed to every day choose one who must die.

If I failed my new eternal task I would die my rightful death.

The death who turned me got to die peacefully.

As the years went on I found out that many deaths plauge this world.

And that we are all stripped of our identities left with only one purpose.

I chose to spend my days scouring the earth, finding the scum of the world.

I only chose the worst of the worst to take their last breaths.

Though there are some deaths who aren’t like me.

Those deaths consciousnesses have left, and they kill whomever whenever.

They’ll kill pilots just to see plane crash.

One day I found this one man.

He’s hit his wife, and his daughter many a cold winter night.

I decided it was he who must die.

A fair punishment for his crimes, and merely a transaction in my eyes.

So I waited till night, and I appeared in his home.

I searched the whole house but he was not there.

He and his wife were gone.

They had fled to a bar to drink away their financial problems.

There was not a soul in the house except for the daughter.

The time was slipping away.

There was only ten minutes until the clock hit twelve.

So I stood over the young girl sleeping in her bed, and knew if I did not choose her to die, then I would die myself.

So I gave her a choice, the one once given to me.

I explained it all, and yet she chose to become death.

I was prepared to switch our powers, to find peace at last.

But then I glanced up, I caught my reflection in her mirror.

I did not see the person whom I remembered.

I was once a handsome man, strong, and powerful.

But my muscles had withered away.

My face was hollow, and pale.

My hair was thin, and I lost a great deal of it.

I had become boney, and my flesh was tinted green.

My sunken eyes, widened in shock.

I could not do this to a little girl.

Make her choose between two versions of death.

She was young with a great deal of years yet to come.

She deserve to live life.

She was crying, tears streaming down her face.

Yet her expression remained one of confidence.

I took a step back, and told her not to worry.

I could not comfort her in my arms since I had no warmth, and my touch would kill her.

I told her not to fret since when she’ll awake from her slumber in the morning, she’ll remember this all as just a terribly troublesome dream.

And as the clock hit twelve, I turned away.

I felt the pain of death.

But what surprised me was the strange feeling of peace that weaved its way within it.

I did not escape the pain of death like the death who came before me.

But I earned the peace that came with it.