[ WP ] Each morning , every human on Earth must pray their Reasons for not dying that day to the God of Death . If the Reasons are sufficient , that person will go on living , potentially forever . However , you are the longest living human by far , and people now hunt you in order to hear your Reasons .

*Dear Merciful One, I beg of you to grant me one more day under your watchful benevolence for I am... I need to... I must go to work in order to recieve a salary so that my family does n't starve... * 
 
 An old excuse, but one I had n't used in a while. I feel a trickle of sweat drop down my brow, but I feel that familiar tremor after the judgement has passed and breathe a little better. Another day. 
 
 I'm 52 years old. When I was a younger I barely had to think about all the things I wanted to live for: girls, sports, learning new things, new experiences, getting to see the future, etc. It was easy back then, but now that I'd done all those things I'd reached that turning point in my life where there were fewer and fewer things to look forward to. 
 
 And yet I must live, or my family of seven will starve. A valid excuse, but a boring one, and if there's one thing the Merciful One can not stand it's repetition. 
 
 Today I see the man. The oldest man who has ever lived. He is 219 years old. He lives alone in the top floor of a private hospital where he is attended to day and night by a fleet of doctors and nurses. Many seek his counsel on the topic of longevity, but all who have spoken with him so far have left disappointed. 
 
 How can such a man not want to share his knowledge with the world, so that all can reap the benefits of long life? I am angry, but I mask it well as I enter the hospital. It is very hard to get an appointment with him, and I should count myself lucky that I get one at all. It is said that he has not spoken to anyone in twelve years. 
 
 When the elevator doors opened I smelled his husk, and the dry rattling of his breath from the otherside of the corridoor. I followed the dispassionate nurse who led me to his bed, and I saw what looked like a withered child contemplating the agony of his existence. 
 
 He took notice of me in a detached kind of way, and closing his eyes, resigned himself to a conversation. `` Assk....'' he whispered. 
 
 I cleared my throat, and keeping my tone even and neutral asked the question that so many before me had asked: `` How do you do it? What reason do you give to the Merciful One above that lets him grant you such a long life?'' 
 
 His eyes remained shut, and for a moment I thought he'd fallen asleep, or worse. Then suddenly he choked and coughed, a faint spittle of blood decorating his gown in a manner that seemed to suggest that it was not his first time. 
 
 Drawing breath, the old man answered me, and the words said that day I would take to my grave: 
 
 `` It makes him happy... to watch me suffer...''
