Everyone saw death. That was just the way it was. People would inflict it too. Irritated hands would swat a fly, pluck weeds out of the garden–roots and all. Knives tore into the flesh of animals and people alike, frantic and determined. Life devoured other life to keep living. After all, there cannot be life without death.

There was the slight splash of footsteps and the dull thud of raindrops on fabric. He wore a heavy black boots with black winter-looking cloak that filled your field of vision. Death was looking and holding an umbrella.

He was tall, taller than you at least, beautiful and handsome, almost unnaturally so. His black hair framed his face, frizzy with the humidity, making his skin seem almost perfect bone porcelain white. He was wearing all black, jean, cloak, boots, even Death's umbrella was black. The only thing he wore of color was the two silver chains decorating his black cloak.

"Hello, we finally meet." Death greeted with an emotionless, yet gentle tone.