Pilot, My life story

"What is cold? - the state of the weather? Souls? Bodies?

I cannot answer this question because I don’t know it. From the very beginning of realizing my "life", I did not know how to answer this question and many similar ones. Although she herself tried to find the answer in the books, she could not do it. In one of the reference books or dictionaries, I found a definition, although it could not give me anything. But, probably, most often I asked myself another question: what is death? And she also did not understand, because she could not put herself in the place of others, she could not. Although I knew the answer. Death is me. All my adult life I have been engaged in taking away human souls and giving them to the darkness, then to the light, but more often to the first, because people are now rotten.

And don't even try to argue otherwise. Do not forget that I see you through.

As strange as it may sound, there was no earlier Hell and Paradise, but there was only darkness. Then, later, I appeared - their daughter, as it is now customary to say "an old woman with a scythe." Then people appeared, and only after them Hell. Paradise did not exist for a very long time, until one of them came face to face with me and was able to survive. He later founded Paradise, and began to collect there bright souls - angels. It wasn't strange or out of the ordinary. But I didn't care at all, because the angels and demons are still afraid of me. Each of them contains exactly the same soul as that of a person, but the bodies do not age, therefore they live. And I can take this soul, and then they will never have a chance to be reborn, so they do not like to deal with me. And when the angels take another soul with a "battle recaptured" from me, then they are deeply mistaken, because they won not because they were able, but because I allowed. And each time, with each damned soul, you first need to figure it out and determine where to put it. Perhaps it will settle in my shoulder bag at all? But this is not so important to me, they are not important to me, although in part they contain my strength. After all, the more they are in my bag, the stronger I am. True, no one knows about this, except for the father and mother. They are strange, my parents. One constantly sits in the premises of the modern world and thinks how to increase the income of a company that he does not need. And the second walks around the world of mortals, constantly looking for something, but still does not say what. Although I don't care about that either, because I am Death. And I don't need emotions, because they give me extra problems. "

Death's diary entry.

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