A gamer’s open letter to Death


Dear Ms. Reaper (If I may call you that;
for I don’t know if you’re betrothed),

I’ve hesitated to write this letter for years.
I fear that you’ve been deceived
for the better part of a century.
I’m not referring to the felines
who visit your graveyard eight times before dying,
Nor the lifelines of psychics and mediums
who reel in souls from the underworld
so they never leave their loved one’s minds.
No, it was me who’s cheated you
since I began my first life.

Ms. Reaper, we’ve circled around each other
as if we’re old boxers in the ring.
Or, more appropriately,
like I’m an orbiting penny
and you a hungry black hole.
Your gravity alone
should have sucked me into the void eventually,
and for a while,
it looked like you were succeeding.

However, it turns out
that whenever I was in mortal peril,
something swept in to keep me out
of the clutches of your super massive Dementor mouth.
I guess I wanted to start anew,
with a clean slate;
so I’d like to confess that you, Ms. Reaper,
were swindled out of an amazing soul.
Whether my salvation came from a mushroom or a fairy
(many of which I stashed in the bank or in bottles
in case you decided to claim me early),
I was only ever in true danger if my inventory were empty.

I know you’ve built up a reputation of horror over the centuries;
You’ve been called
A great friend
A vitality thief
A spirit vixen
A sad soul
A soulless
A succubus
A life stealer.
But Ms. Reaper, these names mean nothing
to someone who can save their own life
with the mere touch of a checkpoint.
Though I’ve lived many adventurous digital lifetimes,
(Some even say I’ve stayed dangerous in old age),
You’ve never terrified me as much as
A power outage.

Ms. Reaper, I’ve been thinking that you’re
probably rather lonely:
afraid to get close to anyone
because you’ll only lose them
(not to mention your delicate touch
will doom them to the underworld).
Maybe it’s been centuries
since you’ve gotten any affection;
That’s the problem with being immortal.

I may have a solution for your neglected love life.
I know somebody who doesn’t need
a heartbeat to keep breathing,
Who has a secret safe full of 1ups,
Who finds a shiny skull and hood rather appealing.

This being is sick of jumping the heads of evil creatures,
tired of defeating countless bosses
and through with completing the same missions
over and over and over and over again.
What I’m saying, Ms. Reaper,
is that I don’t want to spend my retirement alone.
So will you marry me?

2 thoughts on “A gamer’s open letter to Death

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