[ WP ] You have been the Grim Reaper for the last 2000 years , and have always viewed and experienced the entire life of the person you 're to take the life of . You 've never shown mercy and have always collected the life when time ends . Until you experience the life of a sicky old man .

I am death. 
 
 Sounds like a cliché to open like that, huh? Well, frankly I do n't care. I'm literally death. I take the lives of people whose time has come, and I do it swiftly, fast with no remorse. I always see the long and prosperous lives of the unworthy, and the short and disease filled ones of the poor. I experience every single moment of their life beforehand, but it never changes my view, the job has got to be done. 
 
 The world is quite unfair, but my job is a moral greyzone because it's *necessary*. Without death there's no real life; what would you strive to be without a deadline? What would you want to do without an expiration date? How much time would you spend and cherish with your loved ones if there was no end? 
 
 That's where I come in as said, I make life worth living. 
 
 Steve Jobs, Leonardo Da Vinci, Muhammad Ali, all of them has been taken away by my hand. The thing that separates men and women like that is their understanding and acceptance of the natural order; their will and strength to fight, but their knowledge of when to stop. They accept the forthcoming and embraces the void. 
 
 Okay, forget everything I just told you know, every single thing. There was one time where I actually felt remorse, where I questioned myself and the natural order of things. 
 
 Here's a page I wrote from my memoir about that night: 
 
 The whole night felt different... There was something in the air, something undescribable. It was an ordinary night, but with a special fling to it. 
 
 Darkness filled every corner, and lit up the sidewalk did several lampposts. I stepped upon the bricks and mortar of the low stairs towards the wooden door. It had fine insignias and metal brackets covering it. 
 
 I flew right through it. 
 
 A well lit house welcomed me, the Reaper, and I gladly accepted it. I navigated myself through the house until I found my client; or my victim as most would call it. 
 
 `` Finally,'' the silhouette spoke, `` I've been waiting for you.'' 
 
 `` I assume you know who I am,'' I responded. 
 
 `` Oh, I'm sorry, hello mister Reaper,'' the old man let out. 
 
 `` And hello to you, fine gentleman.'' 
 
 `` You took your time, I awaited your arrival sixty years ago, I craved your arrival sixty years ago,'' the man said, coughing between words. 
 
 I wondered. Why did the man tell me this? And more importantly, why did I get intrigued? 
 
 `` Well, your time has come, and-'' I got interrupted. 
 
 `` Yeah, yeah, but everyone knows you have to sit and watch my entire life before you take me, it's common knowledge.'' 
 
 Is deaths deepest, darkest secret common knowledge nowadays? Well, time flies. 
 
 `` That's correct,'' I answered after a few moments. 
 
 I looked into his eyes, his oceanic blue eyes. I saw anger, despair, sorrow and pain. I did n't see a single flake of happiness; it was like the man was born in darkness, raised by the devil and adopted by a murderer. I saw his entire life, from the moment where he was born, to the one exactly now. 
 
 I saw his first day in school and I saw the first time he got bullied and cried himself to sleep. 
 
 I saw his first kiss and I saw the slaps from his mother. 
 
 I saw his first love and his cheating girlfriend and the broken heart that came with it. 
 
 His parents divorce, his cutting and low self-esteem. 
 
 The death of his both siblings and the murder of his dad. 
 
 The suicide of his mother and the following three attempts on himself. 
 
 The alcohol, the drugs and the long nights. 
 
 But in the abyss I was watching into, I saw a glimt of hope. 
 
 I saw a beatiful girl; her name was Barina. They met in a church, and he fell for her instantly. They moved in together, got a child and lived like a perfect couple. They made each other whole, they made each other complete. 
 
 It was a fairytale, and the man knew it. 
 
 But I also saw the blade of a knife; dripping blood and gunshot wounds. I saw his dead wife and child, and I saw the face of the murderer. 
 
 A hooded figure escaped the scene before the man came home from work. I witnessed the moment where he saw me capturing and taking his wife and child with me to the Realm, and I saw the same broken heart I've seen so many times before. 
 
 Me, Death, shook with pain and sorrow for the man; I'd never been so reluctant to bring someone with me as I was now. 
 
 I continued staring into his soul and I saw nothing but failed suicide attempts and tears; I saw nothing but misery. 
 
 I looked at a broken man, one so fundamentally broken that you would n't actually believe his story. Although he'd been destroyed, he was one of the most generous and warm-hearted men on this planet. He had given his inherited wealth to the ones who needed it more than him, he had always told the truth and always been good to everyone. He was truly larger than life itself. 
 
 `` Go on, I'm waiting,'' the man broke the silence corrupting the dark room. 
 
 `` I admire you,'' was the only thing I managed to squeeze out. 
 
 `` You say that to everyone, do n't you?'' 
 
 `` No. No, I do n't, you're special my friend. You're good.'' 
 
 A few moments of silence ensued. 
 
 `` I just want to die, I just want to be ridden of this plague called life,'' he said. 
 
 I saw a tear rolling down his wrinkled cheek. 
 
 `` This'plague' of yours, has saved countless souls from your faith; you have spread happiness, joy and liberating freedom to everyone you've crossed paths with.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, but it's all pointle-'' This time I interrupted him. 
 
 `` You know, I've actually taken a few of those people. I remember a young lady with the name of Barina.'' 
 
 `` You know her... I do n't want to get reminded,'' he said. 
 
 `` She told me about you, she told me about all the good things you did. She told me how you lightened her every moment and loved her every single step,'' I responded. 
 
 I saw the man trying to open his mouth but I continued talking. 
 
 `` I also remember a trubbled young fella. He died of gunshots to the chest, more specifically, police gunshots,'' I said. 
 
 After a few thougtful moments he said: `` No, it ca n't be...'' 
 
 `` Yes it can, the man who killed your family.'' 
 
 `` I, I...'' He got stuck on the first word,'' I... Forgive him,'' he cried, tears flying around the room, drenching his leather coat. 
 
 `` That's the only thing he wanted,'' I said, `` he only wanted your forgiving. He wa raised by an abusive father and mother, and took to crime early. He had no money and it was only supposed to be a robbery; he did n't count on the fact that your significant other and child was home.'' 
 
 The man cried, he cried long a mournful. 
 
 After an extended amount of time, the old and sick man opened his lips for the last time. He smiled and a tear of relief and joy bubbled down his torn face. 
 
 `` Jag är redo nu,'' was his last words.
