Dear People of Earth

To the people of Earth,

I am not sorry. 

We might as well get that out of the way. It's difficult for me to stay sane anyway, let alone the fact that a vast collection of intelligent beings hate me. I understand that. I would hate me too. 

But I'm still not sorry.

My line of work has two sides. I'm sorry to say that you're still stuck on one end, and it's difficult to be wise when life is all you know. Not that I know everything--I'm just being obedient. 

Maybe I should clarify. I'm not sorry for the people I take. I consider them lucky. I wish I could die, I wish I could stop, I wish I could rest. I'm in a sea of faces, but none of them see me, even though they all know me. I'm on the other side of a one way mirror, analyzing all you do. I'm taking notes.

But to those people who are left behind, I'm sorry. Often I wish I could say something to you, or at least let you know I'm watching your pain, but that is not allowed. It's hard not to look at you, with your weak knees and your drooping heart. The bewilderment of those left behind is enough to send anyone over the edge, and it happens again, and again, and again.

The people I like the most are the ones that aren't afraid of me, and weren't afraid of me. I like the people with stories. I like it when they understand that he who doesn't fear death dies only once. These people never regret. These are the people that keep me sane with their stories of life.

I know I sounded callous earlier, but please believe me when I say that I'm not a callous person. It is not my choice. I do not seek people out. I am merely a result. 

Though it's difficult to understand, I have faith in you and the human race.

I wish you the best of luck on your journey, and I bid you farewell until we meet for that personal, final time.

--Death