"It was spectacular!" Death
said in his gravelly voice after spending a night at the opera. He had hung
his black robe in his closet, rented a tuxedo from the nearest formal shop, and bought doubtful-smelling scent from a frightened salesgirl. That night, he
careened in on his steed, had it valet parked, muttered something about bad help, and took his seat as the curtain lifted. He hardly noticed the stares, nor the fact that quite a radius of seats around him was empty, although he would have wished to talk about the show with someone. He liked the opera anyway; his eyes peered through great mists of people at the stage, where fat women sang notes that startled angels. The huge chorus in
the background stood and sat, and stood and sat, which made Death quite dizzy; he had to hold tight to the armrest. As he left, the crowd melted before him;
he didn't hear the gasps from
a few pale souls; nor did he even have to wait for his horse.
"All in all it was
quite a nice evening" he said,
sighing nervously, as he tried to catch up on backlog awaiting him at work. But
"I suppose it was worth it"
his spectral voice intoned. And
"I don't think anybody