For 40 years I have been an angel of death, a player in the violent game of war, a killer on a high pedestal I have ordered air strikes on innocent villages I have sent men to their deaths without remorse, and now karma has caught up with me. I sit here now in my study, alone with my reckless thoughts waiting for him, the real angel of death. I read about him in the news paper sometimes, about a ghost without a name or a face. He claims the lives of careless sinners and leaves without a trace. I have never seen this ghost, but I would be lying if I said I didn't feel his presence. I know I am next. I know he doesn't like to leave a mess, not unless he needs to.

I have spent the night burning the remainder of my papers and documents from my days as a general. Every classified file, every mission briefing was burned in my fireplace. If I am going to leave this world then I might as well clean up first. I ate dinner about 4 hours ago, my last meal. I called my son earlier today, its the last time we are going to speak so I made the most of it. Was on the phone to him for 3 hours, he wasn't sure why I kept wanting to drag the conversation out so long. He probably wont know the truth behind my death once its over, It will most likely be set up as suicide, or maybe my corpse will just be dumped into a river, leaving no evidence.

To tell you the truth I don't even feel any fear at this moment. I am ready to pay my long delayed debt to who ever will be at the gate of where ever it is I am going. I let my security team go home early today, I wouldn't want them in harms way. This is between me and him, or it, whatever it is that's coming for me. Its almost midnight and time feels like its slowing down. Then I hear it, a faint bump, the sound of a footstep out side my door. I left it unlocked for him, no need to waste his time. The handle turns and the door creaks open, the dark hallway hiding his features. A man steps forward out of the darkness and into the inviting light of my study. He is dressed for the occasion, a black suit and a crimson tie, a true professional if I ever saw one. He doesn't speak, he doesn't act straight away, he is in no rush. He knows I waited for him.

The angel of death stands before me. I don't know if he is from this world. He pulls out a gun and takes aim, and in my final moments I make no complaints.