Death could not kill. It was outside his jurisdiction. He could not interfere. Oh yes, he could make a difference in the large scheme of things but individual lives were another matter. People must be allowed to play out their own lives; otherwise, it wasn't their lives anymore. Even when they chose to end it. True, humans were often the cause of their own demise, but it usually wasn't intentional.
Death has seen many suicides over the years. He never gets used to it. Sometimes they leave notes.
He reads every one.
He doesn't consider it an invasion of privacy. They wouldn't have left it behind if they didn't want someone to read it.
Death is consistently baffled by humanity, but sometimes there is a moment of clarity and he thinks he can almost understand. But this conundrum eludes him. At first he was insulted – they thought they could do a better job than him? Now it was just sad. Most of them were only lonely.
Death remembers his time as a mortal and the ever-present fear of the dwindling sand in his glass. He still remembers the hours alone watching his sand, his time slide away into the abyss and remembers a prisoner in his tower with only the sparrows for company. He stares at the body on the floor, lifeless by its own hand.
Death knows about true loneliness. Humans had no idea what they were leaving behind. He picked up the note and left it lying prominently outside the landlord's door. No need to let things sit for days. Death grabbed his scythe and saw himself out as silently as he came.
I imagine after his time in Reaper Man, Death would be confounded over the concept of suicide, seeing how hard he tried to hold on to life. This isn't supposed to be a commentary on suicide; it's a serious subject and I tried to treat it as such. This is only meant to be a meditation on how I think Death would view it.
