[ WP ] You are trying to convince Death out of suicide .

You saw him on your way home from work. If you had kept looking at your feet, avoiding the gaze of the strangers around you, you could have missed him. But no, a distracting wail that only you seemed able to hear drew your attention to a nearby building, and to the shadowy figure perched atop it. At first you thought he could just be one of those idiots who jump from building to building ( and generally cause more trouble than they should ), or someone admiring the gorgeous spread of pollution and anger that coated this fair city – however, when the wail sounded again, their intentions became clearer: 
 
 “ Fine then, just watch me die! See how you ’ ll do without me! ” 
 
 You look around, panic setting into your veins. Why is nobody else seeing this? Surely they just heard that scream? You sprint towards the building and up the stairs, hoping to catch him before he does anything stupid. 
 
 Upon arriving at the top, out of breath and expecting the worst, you find that the man is still shouting at the city – and surprisingly not dead. 
 
 “ Woe is meeeeee! My life was terrible, this is all awful, why is nobody paying attention to meee!? ” 
 
 “ Ahem. ” You clear your throat, causing the man to turn around. Well, less man and more skeletal figure of darkness and shadow. You start and begin to back away, until he begins to talk: 
 
 “ And I bet you can ’ t see me either. Oh woooeee, woe is me! The damned affliction, this wretched despair, oh misery, misery… ” 
 
 You feel puzzled. This thing does n't seem harmful – hell, it does n't even seem to know that you can see it! As long as you move away slowly, as if you did n't know it was there, it should n't try to eat you. 
 
 “ Now I shall return to my desolate sorrow, for it has been loneliness that shall have culled Death! ” 
 
 So… this thing was death? You begin to pity this poor melodramatic creature – you were lonely once, too. Well, you ’ re still lonely. 
 
 “ Hey, Death, is it? ” You call softly, as if you were trying not to spook a wild beast. The figure startles, turning back to face me with hunched shoulders and an air of confusion. 
 
 “ Why yes, but alas I shall no more be that hollow shell of a being – I shall be better, I shall be… ” He pauses for a moment, deep in thought – then he taps his bony fingers against his cloaked skull and shouts “ A Quokka! ” 
 
 “ What ’ s a quokka? ” 
 
 “ You don ’ t know what a quokka is? Why a quokka ’ s only the happiest damn animal on the planet! I don ’ t want to be death anymore; I want to be a quokka! ” 
 
 “ Do you have to die to be a quokka? ” 
 
 He pauses again. He comically scratches his skull with a slight scraping sound. 
 
 “ Probably? ” He clambers off of the ledge, and sits on the floor – you mirror him, and sit a little closer. 
 
 “ Now how much thought have you really put into this endeavor? ” 
 
 And so, giving the impression of a schoolchild who has been found stealing sweets, he mumbles “ Not much ”. 
 
 “ Now, that ’ s hardly any way to really go about this, is it? You've got to put some thought into this. ” 
 
 “ You don ’ t even know how hard it ’ s been for me, though! Do you understand how much stress I ’ m under? Being death is hard! I ’ d like to see you try… ” 
 
 “ Don ’ t go all ‘ Bruce Almighty ’ on me now, dude. You ’ re death, and you have to take responsibility for your actions. Nobody can do this job for you. Now think, are there any good points about your job? ” 
 
 “ No… ” He sulks. 
 
 “ C'mon, there ’ s got to be at least one. ” 
 
 “ Well, there ’ s free healthcare. ” 
 
 “ Well there we go! That ’ s a good point, is n't it? ” 
 
 “ But I ’ m dead, I don ’ t need healthcare. Not like the goddamn Easter Bunny – or should I say obese-ter bunny. ” He gives a small, half-hearted chuckle before bursting into a fit of tears. 
 
 “ Sorry. I guess I just can ’ t understand how this works. ” You say, shuffling closer to the hunched-over figure of Death and rubbing his back. 
 
 “ I just… Nobody likes me! Everybody likes God, and Santa, and there are even some nut jobs that love the Devil! But nobody likes me. They ’ re all scared of me. And, I mean, the rest of them are all pricks anyway, so I don ’ t understand why more people like them than me. That why I want to be a quokka. ” The wracking sobs have let up, and Death is now only giving off little hiccups. 
 
 `` Well, I ’ m sure a good start could be to make friends with… Santa. And God. Damn, this sounds so weird; I did not expect to be saying that today. ” 
 
 “ But I don ’ t wan na make friends with them! ” You see why the others don ’ t like him – Death acts like a stroppy child. 
 
 “ Well, have you thought about an attitude change? ” 
 
 “ No. I don ’ t want to change. ” 
 
 “ I thought you wanted to be better? ” 
 
 “ But that ’ s only after I ’ m re-dead. I can ’ t change now; I ’ ve gone too long with the same face. ” 
 
 “ What do you mean? There ’ ll be chaos without Death! ” 
 
 “ That ’ s why I want you to be Death for me. ” 
 
 You go silent. The suddenness of this offer seems overwhelming, and through knowledge of Death you begin to think upon of the nature of your own life. How you and Death are so similar. You hate your job, everyone hates you, you act childish and petty, and you realize that death and you were destined to meet. Your whole life has been destined for this moment. You can become Death itself. 
 
 “ Thank you. ”
