Dear Death,
I wonder if you know how much trouble you stir up; how much distress you cause. I often wonder why you don't decide to die. Surely choosing who gets to live and who gets to die is tiresome task; one that makes you feel guilty, makes you wonder if you've made the right decision? And, you know, half the time you make the wrong decision and you ruin peoples lives.
And what about suicides? Do you manipulate people into thinking they must die; convince them they should join you and succumb to your clutches? Killing one person is often the easiest way of ruining a whole family, a whole circle of people. You change lives for the worse, change them in a way so they can't be unchanged, so they can never be the same. I dream about you, Death, I wonder when you'll come knocking at my door; when you'll come to take me to-
Wait. Heaven and hell. Do they exist, Death? Or are they simply a ploy you've created to make people think joining you isn't scary? And if there is no heaven and hell, what do you do with all the souls of the people you end the lives of? I have so many questions I want to ask you, so many things I want to find out about the way your seemingly evil little brain works. Do you even have a brain? I know so little about you, so little about the thing that will one day strip me of everything I have; everything I am.
I really don't understand you, death. The only thing I know is that I suppose, in a way, what you do is right. People have to die or no-one would ever be born. I just don't understand why you'd take healthy young men and women, even children. I don't understand how you can feel morally right about taking these people away. Then again, I doubt you have many morals. It would be pretty hard to stick to any morals if you had a title like Death and a job of choosing who'll die next.
Checky