"What is the meaning of life? Why do we live?" That's how my writing started out. I was going to fill a notebook with all the thoughts, quotes, poems and short stories that are in my head. I am sitting here in my one room apartment with dirty dishes filling the sink, dirty clothes lying around, the bed unmade and the only light is from the candles burning. The melted wax trailing down the candles and on table tops, the kitchen counter and the floor. The ashtray on the table is overflowing with ashes and cigarette butts. A carton of clove cigarettes are lying nearby, half empty. I think I can finish off the carton before the night is over. I empty the ashtray onto the floor and light another clove from a new pack with my Zippo. I pick up my pen again and continue writing. The notebook is slowly filling up with each quote and poem. The time passing slowly.
3:48 is the readout on the digital alarm clock near the bed. The notebook is almost full. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I put out another cigarette. The footsteps are coming closer, down the hallway towards my apartment door. I light my next to last cigarette. The door slowly opens, creaking on the old, un oiled hinges. A draft of cold air enters with this being. The figure floats towards me and the door slowly closes behind it. A hand rest itself on my right shoulder causing me to stop writing. I notice that the hand is made up of old bones. I know that Death has come for me. I ask for a few more moments of time, just enough to finish my writing. The hand removes itself and the figure floats into the corner and waits. I start writing again. I'm on the last page. I light up my last clove cigarette. The black smoke filling my lungs for the last time.
The last line I write is: "Now you know what is going through my head, what is going through yours? What are your thoughts about life and death?" I close the notebook and leave it on the table with my pen resting on it. I put out my last cigarette in the once again overflowing ashtray.
I rise from the table, ashes and hardened wax cover it in places. I turn towards the figure in the corner. A cold wind making his black cloak swirl around him. The candlelight reflecting off of his sickle. Only his bony hands and his skull are seen. I approach the ominous figure. He spreads his wings. Wings that look like they belong to an angel that has long been dead. I embrace Death. I look around one last time and say a final silent good-bye to everything. We slowly rise off of the ground and we leave this tiny place that I once called home, smoke still hanging in the air. We leave everything behind, everything that was a part of my life, and we head towards what awaits me: Eternity.
