InsaneJournal

Death: Predictions
Death sits in the darkest corner of the cafe, nursing a zombie*. He is intrigued, fascinated even, by peoples ability to complicate an existence which, from his point of view, is momentary. But no one wants to hear this, so he is content to stay silent and listen. Perhaps he will learn something new. There is a soft rustling at his feet and a bone-white nose with brittle grey whiskers pokes out from under his robe. "SQUEAK!" it says. "YES, YES, OF COURSE. GO RIGHT AHEAD." The Death of Rats nods and, holding a small scythe in it's mouth, scurries off to the kitchen.

*It's not what you think. You're disgusting.