Death's first memory was forgetting everything. He remembered the feeling of the safety and comfort of knowing, draining out of him slowly enough for him to be aware of what he was losing and to anticipate the impending and unsettling emptiness he would soon be sentenced to.
Then the last drop of him dissipated, and for a long time, he sat in his hollow reservoir and felt nothing because there was nothing left to feel. Then a faucet at the top of the shaft opened up and water as slick as oil and as pitch as tar began filling up the reservoir fast enough for him to feel equally drowned from the water rising beneath him and the water pouring over him.
His only thought was "ירא, yārē, ya-REH." Christening fear with its oldest name.
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The Circadian Rhythm of Death
FantasyYour circadian clock is the internal metronome that beats out time for the life rhythms of your body. The rhythm of Death pulses to the same meter. Death was assigned to his post. He didn't choose it. God gave his most exhausting battles to his most...
