I remember the last time I met Death.
We were on the ledge of a very tall building.
People on the street below.
Cars passing by.
And we were up here.
He didn’t have a scythe.
A pale horse.
Or a chessboard.
Just a man in a suit.
Checking his silver pocketwatch.
“Going to jump?” he asked me.
I thought it over.
“Not this time,” I said.
He snapped his watch shut, put it in his pocket, and went back to the void.
I sat there for a while, looking at the street below.
I thought about jumping.
Next time.