Death's Prologue

Death:

Enters, lights shift, fog continues

They call me the Grim Reaper for a reason.
Imagine spending all your time
and when I say time, I mean all time, eternity, forever,
only seeing the end of things.
It’s boring. Imagine a life where nothing surprises you.

Life, (sighs/laughs). I miss so much by missing life.
I never get to be the life of the party.
I’ll never have a once in a lifetime experience.
I can’t bet my life.
I couldn’t do it to save my life.
No one ever tells me to have a nice life.

I hardly ever get any appreciation.
Why don’t you tell one another to have a nice death once in awhile?
It’s even more important you know.

By the way, I come here often.
This place is a damned-near soul assembly line.
Yep. It was a courthouse, jail and hangin’ ground.
They hung people in a closet by the kitchen, behind you there.
Every now and then one was innocent. I got to keep those.
He hates that.

We were busiest after the War.
Nothing breeds mortal sin like a reconstruction.
The Devil didn’t hate that a bit.
He delighted in the South’s devastation.
He loved it so much, in fact,

he made this place his Richmond home.
Here at Gallery 5, the Devil is Judge, Hangman and Coroner.
Once people were hung here, they hung here.
They’d die, then realize they’d been in Hell all along.

You are their demons.
You are their tormentors.
Mortal sin, that’s what does you in.
When Judge Devil comes, I hope he doesn’t find you guilty.