Hello.
.
It's nice to meet you.
.
My name is… well, it's not important.
.
And this is the way I died.
.
It wasn't a significant day at all. Not that significance would provide much comfort, but I remember a rather bland, ever so slightly boring day. It was chilly and
dark, but starkly beautiful. I was in Carrick-on-Shannon during the month of March, twenty-first century earth. Lovely year. Not sure why I was in Ireland, but I
remember wanting to leave before that one saint's holiday, with all the potatoes. Rotten things, potatoes. In some regions of Clum I believe they are poisonous.
But even though the day was lovely, the air crisp, and the atmosphere comfortable, (I had taken on a native accent, with much difficulty) there was an ever
present feeling that permeated the air. A sense of foreboding if you will. Were someone to come up to me and outright tell me that I was to die, I might have
believed them. However, that may or may not have had something to do with that man. He was standing in the corner of the market, watching, when I first saw
him. His face was sad, his dark hair ruffling in the wind, as he stood observing. His blue eyes were dark with thoughts, but nothing escaped his scrutiny. Finally, he
seemed to feel my gaze, and he turned ever so slightly to catch my eye. He smiled. His face was still sad, but he smiled just the same. I never knew how he could
portray two different emotions at once. I moved toward him, but as I passed a venders stand (rotten things, potatoes) the building across the way exploded with a
flash of violet light. The windows blew out toward me, mercilessly slicing my arm and hands as I scrambled for cover. People ran and screamed, panicked and
desperate, trampling all in their path. Despite the terror, I couldn't help but rejoice as the cart of potatoes behind me was viciously destroyed in the wake of the
stampede. That thought snapped me to my senses, and I moved toward the now burning building, which I determined was a family-owned restaurant. No one
appeared to be inside, and the fire was only licking at the bricks and frame. The inside was gone. Literally, gone. The tables, the people, the floor. They had all
disappeared leaving the empty building with a mud floor. This absolutely odd sequence of events left me with only one thing to say.
.
"Well, crap. Here we go, again."