The Daily Spur Presents….Death Is A Pretty Woman In Sneakers.

Death walked down the street. But this was no skeleton king in a shroud.


This time Death wore a pretty woman’s face, a knee-length cape and gown, and high-top sneakers. Death’s scythe was tucked out of sight. She would pull it out when needed.

Death walked down the street, carrying a lit match between her thumb and index finger. She held it horizontally. The flame seemed to have consumed the whole top half of the match already. But Death knew that it was safe. The flame would never reach the opposite end, for it was an eternal match.

She walked down the street, unseen and unnoticed until it was too late. But that was the way that Death always operated. People believed that they were invulnerable. They were young. They ate and drank and did all of the healthy things. They were beautiful. They were famous. They were so amazingly talented. They were indestructible forces of life.

They were all, of course, very wrong.

Death didn’t play favorites.

Death didn’t take away only the obscure and plain and ugly and unwanteds.

Death came for all, all in good time. But Death did not get any joy or amusement or any sense of victory when she took a soul. Nor did she get sad or angry about it, no matter the age of the person. All she felt was peaceful acceptance.

She knew that all that lives must inevitably die. For immortality did not exist in this world.

Immortality could only be gained by those who had died.

Death walked down the street in the guise of a pretty woman in a caped dress and high-top sneakers. She held a lit match in between her fingers.

Several people would leave with her by the end of the night.

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