I wait.  Formless yet conscious, just beyond the edge of reality.  I know I have a role to fulfil.  The passage of time has no meaning for me yet, but my time will come.  Nothing can remain static forever.  All things change and, when the change comes, I will be ready.

There is a shift in the ether.  Even in the nameless void, I can feel it.  Something is stirring.  A curiosity and a desire that may lead to my release.  The potentiality alters my form and my nature, bringing me closer to being.  With it, comes an impatience that has me pushing at the boundaries of creation.  My sense of imminent freedom builds.

I have a purpose.  My achievements will be great, so great as to dwarf any that have come before.  My impact upon the universe will be so all-consuming, so catastrophic, that nothing will ever be the same again.  My presence will change the very nature of existence for all creatures that currently, or will ever, walk the earth.

Far beyond the reach of my senses, another great entity works towards its own ends.  I cannot assist from my prison, but I know those ends will result in my birth.  I yearn to influence the outcome, though I am confident it is inevitable.  What little knowledge I possess in my non-corporeal state tells me this is so.  A seed has been sown, an idea brought into existence.  One little thought, one small question.  That is all it takes to start the process.

And yet, I want desperately to be involved.  I am tired of waiting.  I want to take my place in the grand tapestry and start weaving my own part of it.  What happens at this juncture will be debated and talked about for all eternity, and I want an integral role in that tale when it is told.  My greatness deserves adulation, and will inspire awe and terror for every generation to come.

At last, the tempter is victorious.  The fruit is taken, tasted.  Knowledge bursts forth into a mind ripe for conquest.  As a child unwittingly walks into danger during play, the new sinners revel in their desires without thought for the consequences.  And those children open the door and welcome me in.  I ride out into the world and doom follows in my wake.  I am their punishment for disobedience, I am the price paid for their sin, I am the end of all things.  

I am Death.

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This won second prize in the February Short Fiction Contest on Michael Brookes’ blog, The Cult of Me.