He haunts the death infested places collecting the souls from each house with a flick of his wrist. His cloak sweeps the ground and billows behind him. Everyone fears him. Only the old who are near death, welcome him. Maybe even some of the young, though they’re afraid. He takes those we love, hate, envy. He deprives us of our desired, whether we have lost the moment of confession, friendship or revenge. He is merciless, heartless, cruel.
But it is inevitable. No matter how many bouquets of all kinds of flowers are given at a wedding, placed on a grave, given as a token of love; life is to be lived, and not regretted so that when the day comes, they can go on, happy. But always, in the end, Death always comes. He is indiscriminate yet gentle as he takes the souls. All anyone can do is remember their loved ones, hated ones, envied ones. Cherish what was lost, and go on with their lives so that they too can join Death when the time comes. So that they have nothing to regret. Because he always comes in the end. It is inevitable.