death follows.

The only thing we can be sure about in life is that it will end. All life eventually ends at some point. We can't fight it, that's just how things go. It's just easier to accept fate and ignore the complications of life and favor its end instead. There is no escaping death. There is no escaping the inevitable. There is no escaping me.
I have existed since the dawn of time, yet still, mortals fear me. I have collected millions of souls, yet they hope I'll overlook them. One person, in particular, was especially good at this; a woman named Katrina. She had been escaping my clutches ever since she was eight years old.
She was the spitting image of an angel. Her family lovingly nicknamed her 'Kitty'. I don't often remember how these people looked when they were alive, but I think Kitty will forever be stuck in my mind. Her hair was crafted from pure light and her eyes reflected the ocean. Her spirit was stronger than wildfire. I instantly knew she would be tough to catch.
She had a brother - Larry. He was two years older and Kitty absolutely adored him. When their parents left them alone, they would never stop playing with each other. That is where our story begins.
One fateful day in Hemmingford Home, Nebraska would be the site where Kitty's life changed forever. It was November of 1960 and the frost bit the air tougher than a snake. Kitty and Larry were playing in the barn. I remember sitting up in the lofty rafters as they climbed a ladder and jumped from the beams into mounds of soft hay. It was such a dangerous game for two children to play, but the laughter never dimmed and the smiles never faded.
At least, until the sound of wood snapping pierced the quiet day. Kitty had been taking her turn and the old ladder gave out beneath her. Her blood curdling shriek pierced the quiet air and her brother was quickly distraught as well. His quick thinking caused him to pile hay underneath Kitty and she fell safely from the ladder.
That was the first time Kitty escaped me. I had been sitting there, waiting for her to fall and hit the aging wood planks. She was supposed to die, but she only walked away with a broken ankle. From that day on, I watched Kitty with a sharp gaze, never letting her veer far from my sight. I was not going to mess up again.
The memory of that day soon turned to dust. Katrina and Larry carried on with their lives. They graduated from high school and moved away from Hemmingford Home. They were both meant for greater things than dusty plains and broad skies.
Kitty transformed herself into a pageant queen and flung herself into her first marriage. She was young and hopeful, he was twice her age and stank of stale cigarettes. He suppressed her radiant light with every undermining comment and outburst. I carefully watched her all throughout this, as she stopped speaking her mind and brightening the entire room with a single smile. She stopped dancing around their house and playing cheery music when she cooked. Her husband beat her when she failed to give him a son, which snuffed out her light completely. She came close to dying then, she was so ready to just give up and hope life eventually got better.
Kitty left the deadbeat and immediately wrote her brother. She poured her heart into every word on all ten pages. She begged him to come to see her in Los Angeles, but he was too busy with law school. Every heartbreak was slowly killing her, poisoning her from within and spreading throughout her whole body.
Then she married again. This time, he was her age and truly loved her for a while. After her first marriage, I watched Kitty even closer. He was good to her, he treated her as well as any gentleman should. But then he loved his bottle of whiskey more than he ever loved her. Every bouquet of flowers or late nights spent talking were replaced with harsh blows and drunken slurs. Eventually, she sought help. I could tell she was tired of not fighting back, of taking every punch. He went to jail and she got a restraining order against him. It felt natural to see her be strong, to be in control. She may have lost the battle but she had won the war.
I sat in her apartment as she wrote Larry again. Her words had a hardened edge to them, she nearly ripped the paper several times. Kitty sounded cynical and angry. Long gone was the glowing angel who lit up a room when she entered.
Larry's new excuse had been that he was too busy with work. It nearly tore Kitty to shreds.
"Is it really too much to ask?" she yelled that night. She paused as if hoping Larry would answer her.
Eventually, Kitty stopped writing him. She stopped talking to anyone, really. Those days, I trailed her as she walked the streets and sat alone in her apartment.
It wasn't too much of a surprise the day she stood atop the insurance building. She had aged significantly over the years. The gleam in her hair was gone, the sparkle in her eyes long faded, she slouched when she walked and held her head down. Years of mistreatment scarred her face. The blustering wind whipped her face and froze the single tear sliding down her cheek.
Her death made the local paper. The headline screamed details of how she leaped off of that insurance building. In the provided photo she seemed almost peaceful. Kitty was finally able to rest.
It felt like I had finally won. Kitty had been running from me ever since she was a child and now I had suddenly won. Of course, I never thought she deserved all the pain she endured. I never smiled as either husband relentlessly beat her down. It never brought me joy when her spirit dimmed. Death may not be pleasant, it may be slightly harsh, but death is not the voice of reason or justice. Death does not discriminate against the innocent or the damned. It does not search to make every death justifiable. I do not think people deserve to die.
But that being said, you cannot outrun Death and expect to get away with it