Death- Dr Grim, I am ready for my appointment

Journal Entry of Lucious Reeve:

Life is messed up. On my 18th Birthday I spat a puddle of blood. If you think that isnt enough it all ended up on my cake.

So yeah life: Is a clownish waiter juggling knives, guns and bombs. Throwing, shooting, exploding and then asking , "Would you want more sir?"
Splashes a poison for good measure, "Should I bring the bill,sir?"

Ah, the irony. And it is now, as I live and die, I felt I wasnt living life but going through it.
Repeating menial tasks everyday. That feeling of something being out of place. Going through the motions that are supposed to bring you joy.

Yet, nothing happens.
Like a favorite song stuck on repeat. You grow tired. And then you die.

Life with its sunrise illuminating, rain drops dripping, and the wind gushing on your face. Taking whole breath. And not feel empty inside.

But now here at my birthday (the day I die), surrounded by my friends and family. I speak my own eulogy,"I was and you are. Live."

Lucious Reeve Chronicles, age 18