[ WP ] After another depressing day of harvesting souls , you , the Grim Reaper , decide to commit suicide . What do you write in your note ?

To whoever reads this, 
 
 I failed again. Nothing about that admission is very exciting. Maybe it is to you, once you learn I am the Grim Reaper. Collector of souls. The raggy hood that greets you when you die. `` Oh my, the conscious embodiment of death!'' It is actually rather boring. Believe me, it would be far more exciting to write a note of my successes, but that is not possible for me. 
 
 Not for what I do. 
 
 Life inherently exists to see itself preserved. Survival is the base purpose of life, you see? Then it fails to do so at some point. So there I am by the bottom step, standing on the exploded remains of a carton of milk to tell that old man, `` You should have watched your step.'' Then he shrugs and says, `` at least folks will attend *my* funeral service for a change!'' 
 
 And he laughed. An odd soul. 
 
 His life failed to continue, yet at the end of it all, there is humor. Relief. As fun as the varieties and spices of life can be for the living, there are souls like the old man who smile, once it all ends. I found that exciting. *Very* exciting. I felt... inspired. 
 
 So I tried to kill myself. Again. 
 
 As you can see, I failed to do so. Now I write another entry in the long list of suicide attempts, once again moved by the passing of odd souls, and their second'first words.' Souls move on. I do not, nor will I ever. Nothing about that admission is very exciting. It is a boredom I am inspired to cure once and a while. 
 
 Yet here I am, writing another suicide note in my little book. The living prefer to write these before they do so, for obvious reasons. I like writing them afterwards. The failed attempt has a flavor unique to the soul who inspired me. Almond couches. Concrete dairy. Salty laughs. I think I am addicted. 
 
 This book commemorates eternally commemorates the odds souls and my failed suicides. Maybe this will not last for an eternity. Another may replace me. Hopefully you, the reader. For now though, I continue to commit these words, in the hopes that whoever reads this will know that though I failed, I continue trying. 
 
 You, if you are my replacement, should never stop trying. It is a futile effort, but that is something I have begun to appreciate recently. Why? Because life inherently exists to see itself preserved. As Death, we are there to greet them when they fail. See? We develop understanding, and appreciation for mortality in a way that is unique to immortals. 
 
 So, fail sometimes. And fail again. It is not very exciting, but as I have said in previous suicide notes, it is my belief that the attempts, despite the inherent failure, is important. So too does life inherently fail to be preserved. And in that belief, there is an idea of mine. An important one. 
 
 Someday, a soul will pass. A *very* odd soul. One so strange, and mortal, and unique, that I will not get a chance to commemorate their first words into my book. 
 
 Because I will have *succeeded* in dying. By then, you, the reader, will have replaced me and found my book. My little book of failed suicides and odd souls. 
 
 Now that is something I find *very* exciting. That is all for now though. I have the funeral of an odd soul to attend. 
 
 Best regards, 
 
 The Grim Reaper.
