I knew about the concept of the Grim Reaper. He was a well known term, well, in the western world. But the thought that the concept of the grim reaper applied to Africans as well never really ran through my mind.

He'd had the advantage of stealth. I'd never really know when he would appear in my room. He calmly stared at me from the corner of my room. I'd felt his stare on me when I wasn't looking. But I thought it was my imagination. It seemed absurd for something to surely be lurking in the dark corner of my room as though it had absorbed all the darkness of the room to that one corner.

I never saw him. And then one day I did.
Our formal meeting was quite normal. We met in my room. Nothing seemed suspicious, other than the fact that I simply caught him watching me in my room. He must have done it on purpose. I just felt the same eyes that had been on me every night and I turned like I did everytime, only to see him standing there, just watching.

I obviously jumped in surprise, screaming "Blood of Jesus" and he did nothing at first. I was surprised no one heard my scream. He simply watched me as I did him, him with curious eyes, me with cautious eyes.

He wore an obsidian cloak. It was thick and it covered his body from head to toe. It made him look out of place in our age and time. But the moment he dropped the hood of his cloak from his head, the first thing that struck me was his overwhelming beauty. With eyes like molten gold and hair as black as ebony. Lips as red as blood, and skin like ivory.

Then he unclasped and shrugged off his cloak completely. And excluding the fact of his otherworldly beauty, he seemed to fit in. From his black plain muscle shirt, black skinny jeans, to his leather boots. Combat boots.

He dressed human alright. His harsh beauty just didn't allow him look as human as he wanted. He caught the cloak and put it on the bed and we spoke ignoring the fact that he appeared from nowhere. We spoke like strangers merely meeting in the park. He introduced himself as Azrael.

The name Azrael was a name I loved, even before I had found out it's meaning, 'Help of God'. Maybe because of the man bearing the name. I had finally formally met him and hearing his name roll off his tongue like honey, was enough to convince me his name was beautiful.

However, the moment I realised who the name belonged to, or who it really represented, it brought a chill to my spine everytime I thought of it. But I never really stopped loving it.

The day I found out who he really was, I realised, that I'd seen him before. I just didn't realise or remember him after. I didn't think it was a coincidence. Coincidences were few and far between.