The death drinks a nice cup of coffee while we born, reads the newspaper as we grow, eats a cookie while we graduate and gets very excited when we fall in love; she gets bored when we drown ourselves in the daily routine and drinks another cup of coffee while we reproduce our race, her fingers go pitter-patter against the table as we get our fist wrinkle, and there's when she finally stands up and shakes her robe, because she has gotten tired of waiting and since we are not going to where she is, she has decided to come for us, slowly but sure.
The end.
