The difference between a good enemy and a good friend is vague at times. Death is both the dragon and the lady, it seems; something to conquer, and something that will make a man a man. My only way to heaven will be through death.
A friend of mine has said to me—and I’m not sure he was being flippant, though I’m not sure he is ever very serious—that science will conquer death; he will live forever, he tells me. I thought about it, and asked him if he wanted to be a vampire. He told me he likes the sun, but that’s not what I meant.
It seems to me that the sun phobia, even the blood drinking, is accidental to the type of existence a vampire lives; what my friend aspires to is undeath, not life. I feel an immediate repulsion at the idea of this material being perpetuated eternally. It’s not that I don’t hunger for eternity, but Adam died when he supped the forbidden fruit, for no more would he walk with God. An eternal death is no life at all; this death must die before I live.
Death is always sending me love notes, a surprise asthma attack, a strange creaking in my body, or this ever-present weariness I seemingly can’t escape. We struggle and fight, and death drives me on; I hope, death is driving me to heaven.
Tale Told 