A stout man short of memory and a long of beard entered around nine am. He was latter than usual today, always coming in for a cup of coffee. Same fancy Columbian roast as always, no cream half sugar. Sometimes he would order some bacon or something small, which normally isn't sold by itself, but we take to all kinds. Perhaps I should clarify-- this was a rare occasion.
It wasn't long before the darkness came. It was like a warm sanguine blanket, death. Comfort in conformity. I can't say I was sad to die. I expected it much as I expect any other predictable event. My only surprises in life were the weather, really. I never watched the news, it was usually wrong anyway. Meteorologists my ass. I'd feel better with a stout Jamaican woman and some chicken bones from Church's. Well, “Chicken” bones, not even God it sure what it is, but I think he'd rather not take credit for that.
The most comfortable way, I have always felt, to sleep is in the nude. Under a warm blanket. Personally I've used a zipperable (and consequently un-zipperable) and made a nice warm blanket. It was purchased for reasons irrelevant and had since gained a hole, nevertheless it was warm and comfortable.
It is then fitting that I should die in a warm climate whilst naked. Albeit too most for my liking. I've always preferred the dryer times of year. That is to say, fall and winter. Summer I find much to hot and in my part of the world spring much to humid. Not to say I minded much. No, it was something to look forward to, much like death.
Had I disliked my climate that much I would have moved. Weather is the inconsistencies in the consistent climate. If you don't like what the weather should be, and to dislike the weather perhaps you are in the wrong place. In fact, location is one of my few regrets.
As I have said, I do not mind where i live, but thinking back, I would have liked to see more of the world while I could have. Not that any time is practical to go half way around the world to eat odd foods and butcher someone else's language which, like a flower, beautiful when properly treated. My respect for other languages prevented me from speaking the poorly. That is with two exceptions.
French and German. German just sounds so damn nutty one can't help but not take it seriously. Even Hitler's speeches become something humorous when you listen to only the audio and context. As for French, I do not believe it could be a natural language. It is simply too complicated to be born of human tongue. I guarantee you, if French is a natural language it was developed by Satan as part of some complicated plot most likely involving Carmen Sandiego.
That is to note that three characters all revered only because man allows them so (or fears what to come should he not believe) are referenced. That is not to say I am a man of religion, but I am also not a man without it. I am a man with enough of it to roll out of bed in the morning, but lacking in amounts sufficient to require everyone else believe it too. The only time I would ever encourage converting is if you are not satisfied with your present one.
So then, why embrace death? What could one hope to achieve by trying to beat it? That is the challenge the man who order coffee faced. He placed upon himself a curse to live forever. If you ask him, he'll tell you to drink a lot of water. Major historic events may not repeat exactly as written, but the details are often the same. It is in the details beauty lies, without unique details there is no beauty. Living forever robs the world of the reason to look at it and steals your sense of beauty. Something necessary to maintaining the soul.
If living forever removes the desire to do so, then would would be the point in it? Infinite chances to play gin rummy with the reaper himself. It is the only benefit.