Dialogue with Death
Death was born incorporeal, a kind of soul without a shell - by the Creator's design, or perhaps his mistake. And like a fallen angel, this soul had to kill to acquire temporary shelters - bodies. The choice was limitless: it could be anyone and anytime. Like a woman who changes outfits several times a day. However, it's not a fact that Death was a woman. And certainly not a banal old woman with a scythe. Imagine: under the guise of a young beauty, she takes the life of a rich man at the moment of his highest bliss. A beautiful death! The girl did her job, maybe even enjoyed it. And if not, well, the job is done. Onward, to a new body, a new image. One shouldn't blame Death for mass deaths due to wars, epidemics, or disasters. That's the Creator's domain. Death is merely his servant, occupied with trifles. Although sometimes he went beyond the scope. Perhaps, taking revenge on the Creator for his unfortunate birth. When the Creator slept, Death, with the assis...