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56 Million.

56 Million.

Every single year, on average, 56 million people will die each year on Earth.

56 million motherfuckers.

Not me, man.

Not me.

Truth is, I’m terrified of dying – and they’ll tell you that this fear is completely normal, until you see some Red Bull-soaked psychopath fly a wingsuit over a volcano live on YouTube.

Then you suddenly feel like the minority, and you want nothing more than to remember that death is part of the process – without having a crippling panic episode.

Because that’s when I think about how easy it is for the carpet of life to be pulled out from underneath you.

Motherfuckin’ train derailment – you dead.

Motherfuckin’ airplane gets hit by a lightning bolt at thousands of feet in the air and breaks in half like a loaf of Italian – you dead dead.

And I get it, I’m not escaping it.

Nobody is – but I’ve still got things to do in this life, ya’dig?

I want to shag a few more women, meet the right one and then exclusively shag her, have a couple kids – and then eventually go out from something that would seem like an obvious occurrence through the latter stages of aging.

I want it on my time – when the dust of my adventure has cleared away – and not when someone or something else decides.

And eventhough I’m so goddamn committed to this life decision; I still toss and turn on a nightly basis over the fear that there’s going to be a spontaneous moment when this ticket of mine is going to be pulled away from me without my permission – before I was ready.

Because if you’re me, your company with a guy named Deathnote.

Ever heard of him? Yeah, he’s a shinigami.

Ever heard of that? Gods of Death. That’s what that shit means. Also, no big deal but, they carry these notebooks, right? And the funny thing about these notebooks is that they have specific names, death dates and causes of said death. Furthermore, they can – what? Rip pages out of the fucking calendar if they feel like they need to shorten a person’s time, and presumed only time, on Earth?

Precisely the case, yes.

But for as definitive death might be, what’s even more unbreakable?

Love.

And this behemoth is hunting down the source of what will ultimately prolong my uncle’s glorious life.

I may be scared shitless of death, but I fear not being there for the ones that matter the most far more.

And if I have an opportunity to get in the way of you creating further damage, even if that means that I have to face the fear that has buckled me since I was fuckin’ kneehigh to a grasshopper, then I will do whatever it takes.

Because in the end, death is going to greet us someway or somehow.

Are you going to be the one that keeps their door locked and hides out of view, in hopes that it’ll miraculously move onto the next house, or will you be present and available when that doorbell rings?

Well, you’ve rang my bell, Note.

And I’m here, baby.

Present… and available.

I won’t be added to that 56 million.

Not yet, at least.