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June 9, 2009

Tuesday

Here, take my card

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I took the thin card from his hand and turned it over in mine as he walked out of the door. It read simply, ‘Death’. I didn’t take it as a literal meaning of course, he was an exterminator of sorts after all. And had I not invited him to see me? Surely Death would neither want nor need an invitation.

I pondered him that afternoon, remembering how easily I had told him my problem, and how he had told me some problems are apt to solve themselves, given time.

His horse had been pale, his demeanor cold, calm steel.

Posted by: Nicholas James at June 9, 2009 7:14 PM · Permalink