Conditional Reality

Death doesn’t think much about the latest trends. A black robe with a hood was good enough way back at the beginning and it still works now. Death is steady. Always has been. Death will go anywhere. It doesn’t matter. Death will ride a rocket into orbit, and tap at the tiles with the end of the scythe, giggling all the while. Sure, it’s gruesome work, but if you can’t take pleasure in your labors, then what’s the point? If the astronauts had heard that quiet tapping, they might have known. They might have decided to just stay up there.

Labels: Astronaut