How did he end up here? Arthur sat on the ground, his thighs sinking into the wet soil beneath him. Well, they would have, if Arthur had still been alive. He felt nothing beneath him, nothing at all, except for a dull ache where his heart would’ve been. Crumpled yellowing leaves littered his tombstone, almost as though it were a cruel joke from God that he should fall with the leaves. Arthur took a deep breath, imagining the crisp autumn air filling his lungs.

“What’s the ‘S’ stand for?”

Arthur nearly jumped, but it was hard to be scared of things once you were dead. Instead, he turned and took in the sight before him. A young boy, with black, feathered hair and silver eyes stared at him. Arthur wasn’t sure what Death looked like, but he hadn’t expected this.

“Simon.” He answered. Death cocked his head,

“And the epitaph?” The boy asked, “Why’d you choose that?”