It was gone. Everything. The world, light, people, Belief, witches, wizards, Auditors, the great A'Tuin. The Being stood in the dark of a dead universe. WELL, I SUPPOSE IT'S TIME. And Death stacked the chairs, turned out the lights, and locked the door behind him.
I miss Terry Pratchett. His stories were wonderful. The Discworld were, and are, still some of my favorites. I thought of this story lying in bed, wondering about the sentence in his book where he talked about Death's job.