Dear humans, 

I know how much you fear me. You, who are stuck in your little lives, vibrating to the rhythm of your pseudo-spiritual ceremonies, so many excuses to drink and spend the money you spent months, locked in an office or even at home, to earn... 

Oh yes, you're so attached to your little insignificant existences, like molds to a rock. It's almost touching, you know. Sometimes, I even find myself observing you a little more closely... A bit like you would with an ant ! Marcel, going to Ginette's place for his weekly affair, before returning home where his emotionally dependent wife awaits him, as if nothing had happened... Jean-Claude, close to an alcoholic coma because of a contract with I don't know which big real estate developer that he didn't manage to get... 

Ah, when I see you going from objective to objective with no other aim than to boost your ego, I tell myself that I'm not in danger of losing my job any time soon !

 Because what is my role, my friends ? This question, I know, have been burning on your lips for so many millennia... I no longer count the works bearing my image, always with this mixture of fear, hatred and fascination of which you have the secret, you, humans. When I think it over, it's as if all your art revolves around the eternal, so unfair torment of my existence, isn't it ? 

Ultimately, everything in your limited minds only relates to this worry of knowing what will happen to you after the big jump, instead of focusing on your own life... Isn't it absurd ? 

Yet, my dear friends, let me answer you this : It's not what you think. Nothing that you can imagine, anyways. Because the reason for my existence lies in a beyond. In short, I would simply tell you that given your level of evolution, a veil of ignorance regarding the thousands of millions of lives of your soul is required to understand this present life with a wisdom you couldn't achieve without it. 

Your best friend, 

The Death