Death. Is there anything more poetic? A full stop, a period, the final page in a book full of winding twists and turns. It is the one thing we all have in common, yet we all are fearful of it. The final moments are the best part. You reflect. You decide if your existence was worth it. You realize, during your final breath, if your contributions made to the planet will stand the test of time. If you were useful.
I am not afraid. I have no reason to be afraid. I can be taken from this place, and know that I touched the hearts of hundreds, been the savior to many. I once didn't believe. I was the pure embodiment of evil. But I could change. But they are all evil. If they don't believe then they are worthless.
During life I declared myself a role model; a savior if you will, to all the evil in this world. Many didn't believe me. They called me crazy. As I aged I stopped listening to them; some cannot be saved. The people who looked up to me, however, were the only people who would listen. They would follow me, fulfill my orders. They were the purest beings on this planet.
Some tried to stop me. Pulled away the followers, labeled me a cultist; a satanist. But what they don't know is that they are the satanists. The sinners. The filth. I had to burn them. Burn them all. I had to cleanse them.
But now I am old and gray. I am ill, and only my most loyal followers are at my side. The rest had all abandoned the very being they had been worshiping. Idiots. They are clearly not worthy. So as I lay here, drawing my last breath, I know two things are going to happen.
I am going to a better place.
And they are coming with me.