A Perfect Circle

If Death had been able to look out from underneath its deep-set cowl, Dylan may have been perceptive enough to detect a slightly raised eyebrow of confusion. In all these years of reaping souls, this was a first.

"What do you mean, 'I won't go'? I don't get it."

Dylan had done nothing wrong, as far as he could recall. "Exactly what I mean, your Gruesomeness. I won't go. Why should I?"

"It is your time. And when it is your time--it is your time." Death wasn't usually the one to stammer in these situations.

"Oh," Dylan responded thoughtfully. "I see the problem here, your Hideousness. I see the point on which we are hung-up. On which we disagree. Time."

Death raised its other eyebrow. It waited for an explanation. Time was its sister, and it knew her well.

Dylan continued. "You see, your Repulsiveness, time gives shape to the universe. It is what the physicists often describe as the fourth dimension. It reaches out, through and around space, until it comes back around."

Death listened. If anything, patience was Death's virtue.

"Time is circular, your Offensiveness. As is the universe. So, you see, there is no end to a circle. And since there is no end, there is no reason for me to go with you." Dylan seemed pleased in the reasonableness of his logic.

A grey mist appeared near the two figures. An endless echo emanated from within. "What's taking so long? Let's get moving."

Death spoke from beneath its cowl, "As you can see, my dear human, my sister is not a circle. And Time--waits for no one."

Dylan's face dropped. Fear replaced certainty. "Oh," was all he could muster as Death touched his shoulder and both were encircled by mist.