Life is something I ususally never spend thought with. It is something that I usually try to keep out of throught. How long will I live, when will I die, by who's hand will my death be? And, last but the one that troubles me the most, will anyone care? Will they lift a finger to my aid, to my dying body when it happens? Or will they just walk away, perhaps even smile at my cold body when I am gone?
Avarage people do not think about thoughts like this, but it is something that must be said, something that must be discussed. Who will take your body, your mother, your father, you wife, or your child? My mother was gone long ago. Father only cares for money. A wife? Ha. A child even? My child would never have me near. Never.
Will I die in this battle? I will answer that question while I am combat with the enemy. Will I die in bed of old age? I shall think about it while I draw in the covers for warmth. Will I by a bandits hand? I will think about that when I am wresterling him down. Or will I die, just to die? I do not know when to think about that.
My time may come sooner, or later, but I, Gunther Breech, will know when I come upon death's hand. Maybe even the peple of Kippernium will be glad of my passing.