I thought I knew my death. He grabbed my heart one day and squeezed tightly, banded fear wrapping its way around my body and terrorizing the air from my lungs. "Not..Like..This.." I would gasp, thinking that there must be some better way out. I would start to beg but it would soon be over. He'd release me and my body would give up. There would be nothing left to say.
I thought I knew my death. She would slip into the shadows some months before I thought my time was up. She would slowly take my memories for my own, replacing them with child's talk and nonsensical things. "Oh please, won't somebody help me." It would be a rhetoric, although I wouldn't know that then.
I thought I knew my death. He would seep into my skin and beneath my bones. Disease would spread through my veins, shutting me down. My very soul would ache, because cancerous ways could do cancerous things. He would wrap himself around my very voice, my heart, my tissue and my being. "Take me home." I would not want to go, but he would convince me there is a better place.
But I did not know my death. Instead of Them, she came. Her eyes were gentle and her breath was filled with compassion as she held me loosely. She did not have to force me to go, she knew I wanted to. Her face was warm but her hair was chilled, her lips frosted when she pressed a kiss to my cheek. She was silver, and cold. She promised me a death with no pain and I...went willingly.