“It’s intended to be a courtesy, really…” he explained as he stared into the black of his eyes in the reflection of his scythe. “Give you time to get you get your affairs in order…” “Is this a joke?” he asked, staring at the floor. “I’m sorry?” “Is this a joke?” he demanded. “A joke?” Death responded, turning to the man. “No, it isn’t. We’re discouraged from that sort of thing.” “This can’t…are you certain?” “Quite certain, yes.” He stared out the window, losing himself in such a way that he couldn’t really be looking at any one thing in particular. “Seven days…can I tell anyone?” “I mean, you can, I suppose. People never believe it though, at least not with the healthy ones. They’ll either laugh or get freaked out or treat you like a schizophrenic. Happened to Van Gogh, actually.” “No shit?” “Yeah. Really connected some dots when I heard that one.” “How will it happen?” he asked. “So, yeah, that’s where this gets a bit too Saw for my taste…” “What?” “Have you heard of ‘Would You Rather’?” “No.” “It’s like this game, someone raises two hypoth-“ “I know what the fuck it is. You cannot seriously be telling me that my death is a literal manifestation of the game ‘Would You Rather’.” “Yeah, I had a similar reaction when they told me…sort of makes you wonder what all those other deaths could have been though, right? Elvis’ other choice was a back-alley stabbing. Would’ve made the same choice, myself.” “Just tell me my options.” “Okay!” said Death, leaping up with an arguably ill-advised sense of showmanship. “Would yoooooouuuuuuu rather be eaten to death by a lion-sized duck, or a hundred duck-sized lions?” “Are you serious?” “No. That’s ridiculous. Tried to make a joke...lightens the mood sometimes ” “Aren’t jokes discouraged?” “Discouraged. Not forbidden. Aneurism or self-induced knife wound?” “Fuck.”