Death comes for us all, Alabama. But for some, there are worse fates. Some of us will be dragged...screaming. Scratching. Clawing for any relief. Any purchase in the Earth they can find that might save them from the lake of fire that they have created for themselves.
Others will have their hearts ripped out. Their flesh rendered asunder by the legion of the damned.
And some will lie still. Perfectly frozen, unable to move. Their eyes wide -- unable to so much as blink. Their lips open and silent, as their final breath is drawn from them in a silent, unending scream.
No one escapes the Reaper. He offers no forgiveness. He feels no remorse. And he will come for you. But that time will come after our meeting.
Don't fear the end, Alabama. Pray for it. Embrace the sweet release that will come, once the game is over. The cold earth enveloping you. Rigor mortis setting in. The pain will all be over. Our time will be done. It will mean that I can't hurt you anymore.
And then. You will rest. In peace.