Death and the Miser

They say you can’t buy your way into heaven. The person who made that saying up must’ve been poor–and religious. I’ve never been either.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I make my own living and I don’t mooch off of others, so to speak.

I don’t count my blessings in gold though–not that I’ve ever counted my blessings.

What I do know is that death comes to everyone, rich or poor–and I should know.

You see, it’s only in those final moments that you see how a person really is, what they’re really made of and what they’ve done with their lives.

Those who’ve lived a bad life try to confess their sins in their last dying breaths, as if that would save their eternal soul.

For the fortunate few who’ve lived good lives and have done nothing wrong, they are relatively ready for death, so long as it’s painless.

To me, it’s all the same.

Like I said, I’m not religious and I’m not the one doing the judging. I’m just doing my job.

I go from place to place, person to person, young or old–and I do my business. The funniest case I ever had was way back in the day…

Some guy tried to buy me off, he said he had all the gold in the kingdom and would get more if I wanted some.

I said to him, “Look pal, I’m not interested. Gold is no use to me.”

He blubbered and started to rant that he wasn’t ready for death… yadda, yadda, I’ve heard the whole bit.

I only nodded and said, “Hey look, I’ll make you a deal. If it makes you feel any better, you can give your gold to people who really need it.”

So the man praised me and sent someone in, to make a note of it, some guy named Bosch.

After that was done I went up to the man, I think he was called Miser somebody, and reached out my hand for him.

He hesitated and asked, “Is this it then?”

I replied, “Hey, it’s not so bad and it’s relatively quick.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“I’ll shake on it.” I told him.

He took my hand and that was that.

That was some five hundred years ago and I’m still here doing my job. It never ends, even in this bad economy. I’ll always have a job.

I’m Death after all.

Hieronymus Bosch

Leave comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked with *.