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A brush with Death

Under the dim light of a waxing moon, I walked along the old footbridge over a silent, dark river thames. The only sound, my footsteps echoed in the stillness, matching the sadness and loneliness weighing down my soul.

I stopped in the middle of the bridge, leaning over the rusty railing into the cold rushing waters below. My mind was a storm of regret and sadness, waves splashing and calling me to embrace them.

Out of the darkness, a presence emerged. A beautiful woman dressed in a flowing black cloak approached, moving with a calm, eerie grace. As she neared, I saw her eyes were dark and endless, like the night itself.

"Good evening," she said in a soft husky voice. "I am Death."

Fear gripped me tightly around my chest , but as I looked into her eyes, I felt a strange comfort.The sad and emptiness seemed less.

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