High, high in the sky, there lay a kingdom.
In that kingdom, there lay a castle.
And in that castle lay a man.
So frail and weak, this man was.
Desiring only the sweet embrace of death.
But death did not come for him.
So long had he waited.
Years became decades. Decades became centuries, then millennia.
But still, he did not die.
The man had tempted fate, he had renounced life.
He had abandoned all worldly claims and even taunted the reaper.
Still, he did not die.
Forlorn and distraught, the man summoned his son,
And unto him, the son did come, as he always had.
The man asked, "Why do I not die?
I have stricken their fields and their livestock.
I have smote their wives, their children, and their loved ones.
Through plague and famine and war, they have known death.
I have abandoned them, treated them so coldly.
And despite this, still they praise my name.
Why can they not let me die?
They celebrate me, relish in me, these tiresome people.
Every day, my name is known to more of them, by the thousands.
Why will they not let me die?"
And the son replied, "Father,
You are too important to them. You have made them dependent.
That is why you cannot die.
They have forgotten how to live without you.
They cannot bear their lives without the thought of you.
They feel they cannot die."
"And what fate is that?" asked the father.
"They know not what they pine for, this wretched disease.
How I wish I could die.
Each day, I wake in pain. These old bones were not meant for this age.
Is such my curse that those who are mortal seek immortality?
That I, immortal, seek death?"
Replied the son, "Such is your fate, indeed, poor father.
You have doomed yourself with your love and affection.
Now your name will never die.
I pity you. The pain of my own death was but a fraction of that which you feel in life.
Death provides solace in closure.
This closure, you have been denied.
I weep for you, father, but you've only yourself to blame.
For so long as your subjects rejoice in your name and in my coming,
You shall never die."
"Leave me!" commanded the father.
His anger shook the heavens, rattled the cosmos, tore space,
But still he would not die.
Again he lay, alone in his chamber, too weak to move.
Still today, he waits there, crippled and lonesome.
He waits, he waits to die.
Written by Xelrog T. Apocalypse