I was running. I was running from death, down the dark halls of Death's domain. Death was almost there, almost about to take my soul and life. I turned, and thought, "Why does my death have to be painful as a thorn? Why mus I fight it?" I kept going, running, fleeing from Death. But he followed. He folowed me until I could go no farther. I was about to fall from exaustion, and wanted to sit and rest. But he was close. I turned, and what I saw scarred me for life. It was Death, in all his terrible glory! I was about to give in to the feeling of despair, but I kept going, as I wasn't going to give up my life so willingly! Death was a horrible spirit, one who fed on thoughts of death and despair. I was at the end of the line, about to be stolen by Death, but I was not done yet. I pulled my old slingshot from my pocket, and when I thought I was going to die let the stones fly. I don't remember how many I unloaded at that terrible thing, undefinable by words he was so horrible, but I must have hit one too many o