Death comes for us all. It was my turn. The large podium, shining from bones collected from the dead across centuries, ages, and eras, towered in front of me. In the center was a skull, void of expression.
Death leaned over the podium to look down at me; his black hood lacked a head, but it still stayed up, no face nor eyes, just an empty black hole looking at me. I couldn’t tell where his mouth was when he spoke, his voice deep, yet angelic.
“For the massacre of the Heavenly Realm, how do you plea?”
I grinned, “Guilty.”
— Follow Luka on Facebook and Twitter for more content and a look into Luka’s life!
Luka's Notebooks 