In the taxi on the way home from the last great Opera to be performed before the Armageddon was due to erupt, the metaphysical white lump of clay shaped like a human, called Death slowly inhaled the soft fat scent of the taxi driver’s obvious cigarette before he’d had a passenger aboard and listened in silence along with the driver to a sad bluegrass song previously announced by the station announcer to be called Seashell Beach.
As they approached the edge of town the reception started to break, but neither complained about the static or crackle because what was left of the song underneath was so simply, beautiful. The driver, with his long mustached beaten face of an ex-armed forces man, was pulling a gentle con by taking Death past certain streets and turns which would have shortened the trip but it didn’t care much anymore. In a few days, due to the pressing of a button, all humans would exit this place. Hell would get flooded with Heaven only getting a slight boost in numbers, whilst Purgatory blablabla. It didn’t want to think about it anymore. Mainly due to the fact that it couldn’t do much to help. It was set for a dusty exit too, for when nothing is living, Death will die.