Millions of words go unspoken each day, trapped in our throats, swallowed and drowned in the depths of our stomachs. These words become forgotten, lost to the world. Millions of words are forgotten each day.

8,134 lives have been claimed so far today. Though I won't burden you with the details of them all, one thing is certain: these people will fade into nothing. They will be forgotten over time.

Death is not what you might expect. It is everything you believe it is not. It's cotton candy clouds, melted chocolate, dancing shadows, and your favorite song. It exists in the middle, the beginning, and the end. Death is always alive.

Helplessly drifting through the sky, each soul finds its destination. Death guides these lost souls.

Gunpowder scatters across the crimson-stained sidewalk, carried by a gust of wind. The streets are empty and silent. Amidst it all, a man lies, the unspoken words resurfacing and choking him. He manages to utter just one question, "Who are you?"

In the blink of an eye, I swiftly seize his soul and respond, "I am death."