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I last spoke with Death at Midnight.
There was no moon to light his way
only starlight
and the dim glow of a single fading streetlamp.
I felt the room grow cold as he walked in
all swagger and confidence
his hood drawn up to shadow his face.
He paused at the end of my bed
and looked at me
and once more he smiled.
You are not yet ready for me.
My words startled him and he cocked his head
peering into the darkness.
What do you mean? asked Death
wringing his hands uneasily.
I paused
long enough to let him wonder
how it could be
that I continue to resist him.
Then I smiled, and pointed to the open window
to the starlit sky
framed by the branches of winter-barren trees.
He followed my gaze and frowned
before turning back to question me.
What does the sky have to do with it?
I sat up then
set my feet on the floor
and I walked to stand before him.
Everything.
I replied, passing by him to stand before the window.
Death visited me again
but I refused to go with him
preferring to live.
And I knew he understood.

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