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I played with death for a long time. Now death is knocking hard on the door. I want to send it away. I want to scream at it to get the fuck away. To leave me alone. I don't want to play anymore, I tell it.
But death is deaf and blind. Like an animal, it uses its smell to track me down. It senses fear and fear is like an addicting elixir, and so death remains outside the door.
I hear it. It says: "Game Over. I've come to collect."
Like a wild, hungry wolf, death scrapes its sharp claws on the door and it doesn't give up.
You played for too long. Too long. The fun is over.
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