Come with me.

Imagine being whisked away to the bottom of the ocean in the blink of an eye, the plunge itself dark and cold but meaningless in real time. The soft sand at the bottom gives way and sucks you down, this time slower. There is no more oxygen causing desperate panic. Your arms flail, attempting to stay above ground, though above you is what must be miles and miles of ocean water weighing down on you, encapsulated in darkness. You open your mouth, gasping for air and in that millisecond, liters of icy water flood your soft, warm lungs. And in that moment right before you die, I am there, awaiting the arrival of your soul.

Your three year old son has somehow gotten a hold of your shotgun which is fully loaded from the night you got drunk and shot holes in the fence. In one second that cannot be taken back, as you lunge toward him to remove the weapon, his little finger instinctively and accidentally pulls the trigger, sending you coiling backwards as though released from a circus cannon. Landing hard you look at your son then the smoking barrel before it registers that you have just been fatally wounded in the chest. The gaping wound is pumping out your warm, purple blood at a record pace and the coldness you feel is more like pins and needles deeply embedded in every spot of skin on your body. The air can’t come quick enough. Your body starts violent convulsions, opening your mouth wider but never enough oxygen. Your hands are covered in crimson, as is the lower half of your expiring body. The second last thing you see is your wife run into the room, shrieking at the absolute top pitch her voice has ever been. And in that moment as you take your last struggled breath, I am there, to escort your soul to eternity.

You are thrown out of an airplane and without parachute. At first, you tell yourself to wake up, for this must be a dream. But the terror becomes too real as the wind vector has your face practically blowing off. Arms outstretched, plummeting belly and face first, you reach for a cord but there’s nothing to grab let alone pull. This is it. Your embarrassing life flashes before your eyes. How could it end this way? The ground is coming at you so quick. And as you become one with the rock of Earth, your bones shatter while your face explodes against the unforgiving surface, I am there, to bring you to your final destination.

But I am not who you think I am. You see, you’ve lived long enough to question if heaven exists or if there is indeed a God. And if you have rejected that notion and lived your life how you chose to live it, higher power free, then you have believed the devil who has convinced the world he does not exist. You chose poorly in your unbelief. Your unbelief inadvertently had you selecting Satan and it is him who has met you at the end of each of these downfalls of existence.

And by then, it is too late.

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