Brandy still listened to the story, as quiet as she could be. As the other people in the big old house by the sea gathered closer to me, Brandy seemed a bit isolated, so I made sure that I guided her closer to me.
The snow still made a beautiful, blinding white wall that brightened the great hall as it accumulated on the ground by the minute and made half moons on the window sills.
“If you have not been faced with the death of someone you love, you will be. That is just the way of the world. I have been told that death is a gift, though I am anxious to see what it will be like to think in eternity about what I have done here. I can only hope that what little impact I have had on this big dirt ball was not in vain. Witnessing a life taken so young only reminded me that the end would come, no matter how hard we try to fight it.”
The patrons looked at me with solemn eyes and I could not blame them. People don’t talk about death in everyday conversation. I don’t blame them, I rarely speak of the matter myself, and so I continued with the story.