Ok, so all of my poetry is posted so I figured I should put up my stories. This, and others which I will post on here, are in the persona of Death or the Grim Reaper watching these people die, and he keeps a sort of journal explaining what happened to them. And when they finally do kick the bucket, they see him because it is their time to go, but to other people it just looks like their eyes have glazed over and they have died. That's what I meant by "Her eyes meeting my own." And as always, criticism of any kind are welcome and appreciated.
