Then a man appeared.
Beside his truck he stood, outside his door.
Right out of nowhere, he was there.
And dressed up real nice too. A suit he wore; a shiny black, with a black tie.
He looked . . . morbid? Yes, he looked morbid. His face pale, drawn.

He had awoke to the sun, as he had done for years.

It had stole through the window and warmed his cheek as he dreamed.
It felt good, to wake up with the sun on your face. But not to him,
because he he had lost that feeling,
that certain connection with nature,
many, many years ago.

So instead of being bright and cheery,
he repeated his normal morning of anger and grumbled his way out of bed,
thinking,

Why Lord?
Why must you make me continue like this?
In this horrible world?
Let me die!

Eggs he ate.
And he hated them the same as he always did each morning.

The dog, however,
he kicked harder today.

He dressed,
then walked.

His finger,
the usual one of course,
he gave to the mailman who greeted him with his daily smile and,
as always,
laughed.

Mr. Mailman called him a crazy 'ol codger too,
same as always.

The walk was brief today, however,
for his chest pained him so.

It was now twelve.
His nap over.
Time for Twilight Zone.
Again, same as always.

It was now one,
Twilight Zone was over.

Up he stood.
And ate lunch,
chili dog and fries.
And bitterness too, for dessert.
He remembered thinking,

Why Lord?
Why must you make me continue like this?
In this horrible world?
Let me die!

His truck, he drove.
To his sons house. And Jane's house.
That was his daughter-in-law, Jane.

The grand kids were there,
as usual.
And they shunned him,
as always.

They ate dinner,
which was nice.
But not to him. He hated it,
much like he did every day.

He napped then, for he was tired.
So on the couch he lay,
just like every other day.

But troubled sleep awoke him,
and to his truck he went.
Goodbye, farewell.
So long,
Jane.

The front door,
he closed.

The sun was gone,
so it was dark out.
Clear sky above, with a moon-- somewhat . . . blue?
Yes,
it was blue.

My oh my, how strange that is!

Inside his truck he sat,
after getting in, of course.
The door he slammed.

Then he paused. The moon he stared, and again he thought,

Why Lord?
Why must you make me continue like this?
In this horrible world?
Please, let me die!

Then a man appeared.
Beside his truck he stood, outside his door.
Right out of nowhere, he was there.
And dressed up real nice too. A suit he wore; a shiny black, with a black tie.
He looked . . . morbid? Yes, he looked morbid. His face pale, drawn.

He was Death.

His arm,
shadowy,
did reach into the truck.

The old man,
grew afraid.

Through the old man's chest Death's hand passed,
and grasped.

His heart.

And,
with a clenching fist,
stilled it.

Death smiled. "All you ever had to do, was say please."