Death: the most impossible, undefeatable enemy. Truly and verily, he is the darkest, cruelest, vilest thing to have ever faced any man and he faces all of them. No one confronts him, no one interrupts him—his work is done in the shadows and he moves and stays where he pleases. From flowers, to stars, to men, all organic and inorganic things are swallowed up by this unfeeling monster who whispers to every living thing: dust to dust.

How could I ever face such a thing and live? There have been none and likely will be none that can face the man death and survive the fight. With one fell sweep, without exhausting himself in the slightest, Death robs the breath from all things, turns flesh to paper, and turns bone to pencil. It would seem that all things are perishable against time—including myself.

“The task that I have been given is one that I cannot accomplish.” The paper in my hand listing the details of this final assignment rests easy. I do not even shake with fear; I am aggravated by my utter defeat. Who could possibly overcome Death? How would you even find him? And once he is found, how do you conquer him? Has anyone ever brought the fight to him? Caused him to break a sweat? Unbutton his shirt?

“How many of my brothers and sisters have failed just the same as I?”

“All of them.”

“And how many of them lived through their failure?”

“None of them.”

My breath was taken. All my grief piled up over years and years of war—seeing so many of my peers, friends, and family killed for fighting something we thought was worth fighting for. This war could never be won, but we would throw ourselves upon the enemy begging for a small victory. Small lights of hope would pierce our hearts every now and then, giving us just enough strength to push forward until the next one of us would collapse under the unbearable weight of war. Then, we would look for the next sign that this was the good fight.

It was only me now. At least, until the next man could bear this burden. Who’s to say the next man isn’t able to accomplish my goal? Maybe I am the giant upon which my legacy stands upon. But, to think, of how impossible these odds were. My ambition and piety stood no chance against the endless cavern of Death’s hunger for human hearts. I could not think of even one option for relief, for comfort, for solace. I—and all of the ones I call dear and close—would lose.

Reader, do you stand any better chance than myself? Our days are numbered. Life, as they say, is short and what is keeping us breathing? Death, at any moment, could have any one of us. With or without reason, he takes and he brings something to nothing. Dust to dust. There must be a Way. Someone has said to us all, “bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,” but what are we to say back? A simple apology will not atone for the grief we’ve heaved upon Life. What way is there out of this maze?

“Do not fear. You’ve failed and if you try you’ll fail again, but there is One.”

“One what?”

“Another.”

“Another what?” I became more frustrated—even though irritation was against our creed.

“Another Way.”

“Pray, tell.”

“There is a Man—one you have not yet met. If you were to meet Him, He would tell you everything you ever did and calm every fear you’ve ever had.”

“Excuse me; is he able to conquer this quest?”

“In a way, He already has.”

“Who is he?” This question must be answered. If the Prophets were telling me of him, then he must be a true story, not just a fable. They would not and could not lie; therefore, this man must be a truth. A truth that changes everything about the war, about natural order, about life—even about daily routines and sleeping schedules. I must know who this man is, able to defeat death when no other man has succeeded.

“Who is he?” I asked once more, even though patience was part of our creed and demanding things was imprudent. I must know.

“You will see. For now, trust that He is coming soon. Behave accordingly. He was, is, and will ever be the king of our creed.”