You sit silent on the bed, looking. Your friends and family who came to see you have just left. They just gave you your last birthday. You feel very calm, there are no waves inside, there is even some irony, they call this hospice care, you don't think so. Let me die in silence, like the leaves that fall in autumn. Terminal cancer makes your whole body ache, even the bones are suffused with acid. You lie down slowly, listening to the hum of the instruments that keep you alive, trying to numb yourself to sleep. Suddenly you hear the sound of very light footsteps, and the sound of clothes rubbing, you think it is the doctor to rounds, impatiently opened his eyes, but see in the side of the chair, sitting on a black, wearing a skull mask tall man. He played with an ominous dagger in his hand, saw you awake, raised his eyelids to look at you lazily, said: "good evening, how are you feeling?" Without waiting for an answer, he got up and looked at the calendar. Then he continued: “Until your death... Seven days. I am death, by the way.”