Afraid of death? Does the thought of your life being drained away by the reapers cold hand send you into bouts of tingling sweat?
Well man up, damn it. Or a least, that’s what I would be telling you, if I wasn’t horribly reminded of my cowardice just last night.
Snuggled up in bed, I heard a creak emerge from our hallway. All of a sudden, I was bombarded with terrifying thoughts.
A murderer had slipped in through the window, I reasoned, and I was merely moments from being hacked into human prosciutto through my tangle of bedsheets.
Rationality had clearly been thrown out of the window (it turned out to be someone going for a glass of water), but that didn’t stop me being half scared to death of er, death.
The most irking thing about all this though, was that I was always under the impression that my view of life was bleak. Like the values of a Goth, but without the wrist cutting or stupid hair.
But this non-existent threat puts it all in focus. I may think my life is worthless, but, illogically, I want to grasp onto it all the same.
It’s all to do with seeing what will happen next. Like a drama that only I find gripping and meaningful.
So even if my story ends up a crushingly dull life working in IT, where I suicidally smash my face into fleshy mush on a keyboard, it could be, to me, a poignant tragedy. Although most would see it as pure black comedy.
So anyway, death. It can be funny. But most of the time it’s terrifying. Even if you don’t want it to be. Despite what the Blue Oyster Cult say, It’s hard not to fear the reaper…
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