Death sat in a white Cadillac Eldorado, eating a rapidly cooling tamale.

Around him, the Darkness unleashed its fury upon all of creation. Death rolled his eyes. God’s shoddy handiwork kept crumbling, and he’d long since grown bored of finding ways to keep it all running as more and more parts fell off.

No, he was done. The little amoebas would fix their own mess, or perhaps not. He hardly cared at this point.

He shook his head. “Stabbed me with my own scythe. The absolute rudeness of that boy,” he murmured.



Death drove off into the sunset, unnamed horror swirling against his windshield. He was going to get some ice cream.

