Dear Death,

I know how I want to die. You may have other plans. Since I am a tiny mortal, you are free to disregard my wishes, of course. You can take me away at any time and with any method. No matter the case, I shall be prepared and unafraid. Still, I only ask that you listen to my request.

When I grow older, I will move away from my beloved America to a country that does not hold freedom so dear. I will speak the truth and gather enemies. This will catch up to me, as you know from your experiences with previous brave men and women, but that is the point. I want to die like Cicero.

This, of course, dictates that certain things will not happen. It assumes that I will not have to die Cicero’s death in America. I hope that does not come to pass, but if it is necessary, I still put forth my request to die in this manner. If indeed this happens, I hope that I die sooner rather than later, because that would mean that many years had passed in which I had not saved my country. A patriot’s death would only partially redeem myself from the shame.

The one thing I do not wish to do is live in exile, grow old, and watch my country morph into a terrible monster. However, Death, if that is your plan for me, so be it. I shall bear such a fate, stoically. Living alone. Writing, writing, writing. Cramming as much truth as I can into pages of work, until you come for me.

Yours always,
Shawn