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Description
Hi.

There's really no good way to start this narrative off. My story isn't exciting- at least not in the way you'd want. It's not funny or dramatic or sad. If anything, it's life. Human existance.

I guess in a way I've had an interesting life. I've seen many things most people could only dream of. Half of what I've done you couldn't even imagine, but it never ammounted to anything. I'm in jail. They're going to kill me very soon.

There's the biggest part of my narrative right there, out in the open. That was probably the part I was the most worried about, so I guess the rest of my story will be smooth sailing.

The worst part about being in jail is the people. Lecherous, degenerate members of society who don't deserve to breathe, let alone occupy the same space as me. They think the most disgusting thoughts, like snakes, twisting and curling around me until the very breath is forced out of my lungs and I cease to exist.

Or do I? If I have a soul, I've surely pushed it down so far inside me that it's struggling to exist.

At any rate, this is only the introduction to my narrative.

My name is Death.

This is my story.

Description
Hi.

There's really no good way to start this narrative off. My story isn't exciting- at least not in the way you'd want. It's not funny or dramatic or sad. If anything, it's life. Human existance.

I guess in a way I've had an interesting life. I've seen many things most people could only dream of. Half of what I've done you couldn't even imagine, but it never ammounted to anything. I'm in jail. They're going to kill me very soon.

There's the biggest part of my narrative right there, out in the open. That was probably the part I was the most worried about, so I guess the rest of my story will be smooth sailing.

The worst part about being in jail is the people. Lecherous, degenerate members of society who don't deserve to breathe, let alone occupy the same space as me. They think the most disgusting thoughts, like snakes, twisting and curling around me until the very breath is forced out of my lungs and I cease to exist.

Or do I? If I have a soul, I've surely pushed it down so far inside me that it's struggling to exist.

At any rate, this is only the introduction to my narrative.

My name is Death.

This is my story.