Fear Writes a Letter to Death

 

Dear Death,

The charm of your compatriot, Immortality eludes me at the best of times. Although Dickinson glorified the two of you as noble chaperones to every ascending (or descending) soul, I must confess that I can’t quite see eye to eye with futile attempts to delay the inevitability of that last breath.

Why does all life strive to ‘live’? ‘Living’- a blanket term, no doubt, for indulging in the most ill conceived pursuits be it shelling out exorbitant sums to jump off lethal heights, falling in love or drinking to one’s heart’s content (or one’s liver’s failure as you would put it).

Interestingly, the old Elizabethans believed that the liver was the seat of all emotion. I wonder then if the equivalent degree of intoxication i.e. to one’s ‘liver’s content’ expressed safe drinking levels, keeping in mind of course, that the liver wouldn’t be too happy about a binge whereas the heart (imbecile that it is) would render me invisible. I myself shudder to think how close the misrepresentation of linguistic evolution has brought living souls to you and by how much modern healthcare and my dear cousin, Prudence has managed to slow that ride down.

Forgive me for going off on a tangent. I meant to say, and I say this more for your sake than mine, this idea of ‘living’ is a farce. Living souls revel in maniacal thrills not in a bid to bridge the narrowing chasm that exists between them and you, but to cheat you, to elude you, to slip through your fingers.

It is not you they are entranced by. It is me. Think of the guns, the poison, the cancer sticks. I may not be centre stage, but it is me who draws the final curtain.

Deeds of Courage, Valiance and Stupidity are never fearless. The very Euphoria synonymous with such moments is not born of Joy or Freedom, but of Fear; the Fear that every moment may be one’s last. Death, it is not upon me to purge myself of Cowardice. I can almost envision you shaking your head saying “What a shame that every moment worth ‘living’ be characterised  by Fear.”

Until you snatch living souls from my clutches, I rule the Living. The living serve me.

I am the final act. You are the epilogue.

It is only where you begin that I cease to exist.

Until You do us part,

Fear

I wanted to play a prank on a few friends of mine. This letter was the result. It’s quite rough, but it was written in character. Fear starts off by being timid and beating around the bush and gradually gets bolder. It was to touch upon the fact that fear is the most potent of human feelings. It is not fear which saves us from Death, but Death from Fear.

 

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