The Watcher Dies

I’m tired, I find myself thinking. It feels as though I’m half-passed dead. Turns out…I am. I have died. Not one of my selves. I. Have. Died.

I: Is this the end?

Silence fills my empty non-tomb. I hear footsteps, delicate and yet filled with power — a paradox in sandals.

Grave-Keeper: Hello, Watcher. It’s been a minute.

I: Has it been that long?

Grave-Keeper: Looks like you died.

I: I am dead.

Grave-Keeper: You died. You’re not dead.

I do not respond. I do not know how to speak.

Grave-Keeper: I found your soul. C’mon, follow me.

So I got up and followed along behind the Grave-Keeper.