[ WP ] Death appears at your door , he just wants to talk .

`` You better not have brought the boom box.'' She glared at him coldly. 
 
 She paused allowing her eyes to cut into his with great intensity, allowing her gaze to linger far longer than he expected anyone to glare at him. Nobody usually stares death in the face and lives to write about it. Today that would change. 
 
 In these moments, he could have sworn she could see the naked, trembling inner-child and the soulless-void nobody else seemed to look deep enough notice. This made Death feel uneasy and she could see it written all over his face. 
 
 Apprehensively, she allowed him in, motioning him through the doorway. He began to step into the foyer, she raised her hand to stop him at the chest, causing him to lose his balance slightly as her motion had precariously positioned and halted him inside the door frame, `` —No boom box—no bullshit... and take off the hood, where is your etiquette? Do n't you have a casual outfit?'' Her hand fell, allowing him into the house. 
 
 If Death had been a dog who had been given a sharp reprimand for piddling on the carpet, his tail would have been tucked tucked tightly between his legs. He shuffled himself inside, pulling his hood off as she requested. She closed the door, following closely behind him he felt the discomfort of her eyes burning, searing, holes into his back. Once he reached the sofas, he turned to looked for her for direction—he looked so defeated—the man was exhausted, confused. 
 
 `` Sit.'' She pointed to the black leather sectional, still staring at him intensely. She did not trust Death, even when it was obvious he felt smaller and more willing to compromise than he ever had. Death never had to apologize before for his behavior and it was safe to say that Death was *very much* out of his element. 
 
 `` What is it you want? You ca n't kill me—you know that by now, hopefully. You killed my pets, you crashed my ex's car while he was driving it, on purpose. You are remorseless. You are reckless—with an R not a W. You are cruel, and you do n't think about the consequences of your actions. You are lucky I let you in, today. I swear to God, if you try anything stupid, it wont work and you're gon na feel even worse about your whole... whatever it is you do that does n't work on me. I know your boss, met him when I was 24. We already made a deal. If you had *listened* to me when I mentioned it *maybe* we could have saved ourselves some trouble.'' 
 
 He hung his head, arms folded neatly between his knees on the edge of the couch. He sat tensely and remained silent, and that silence permeated the living room each time a natural pause fell within her speech. After so much pointless torment, she deeply enjoyed the discomfort it caused Death. 
 
 The situational irony of where he had been instructed to sit was not lost on him. She loved irony, he remembered that quite well from the first few chats they had. He knew she did it on purpose. 
 
 The room swarmed with an unsurmountable and awkward tension, and it kept building. He knew the third degree was coming. He had mentally prepared himself for it the whole ride over on that silly pale horse that probably was taking a huge dump in her yard right that very moment, just like the huge dump he took on her entire life. She should have requested no boom box, no *horseshit*, she thought, but it was a little late for that. 
 
 `` You know what?'' She continued, `` I respect you for showing up today, probably the most respect I've felt for you since we met. It's your turn to talk now, make it good and do n't disappoint me.'' 
 
 Death sat in silence. 
 
 `` Speak!'' She shouted at Death, `` You *hurt* me. You owe me an explanation.'' 
 
 She sat down in the arm chair returning to her calm, cold intensity. She was still staring at him as she pulled from her pocket a pack of cigarettes, one of which she lit, taking a long, satisfying, drag. Her usual `` sweet demeanor'' that had made him hang around and cause so much trouble in the first place had disappeared, entirely. He had never seen her this angry. 
 
 Defiantly, she exhaled a luxurious amount of cigarette smoke in his direction daring him to take out that stupid book and put a tick mark beside her name for the cigarette that deducted 5 minutes off her life. She was n't going to make this easy. She had every damn right to make this uncomfortable. That's why death had been avoiding this very moment for so long. 
 
 To her surprise, this time, he did not take out the book like he always had before and make that tick mark. Instead, he stayed still and silent until he took a few slow, deep breaths and Death finally lifted his head and spoke to her. 
 
 

