all snuggled up, clutching his eyelids to his chest like a fleshy teddy-bear and dreaming a glorious dream. Sadly, the 5 gallons of coffee had turned Death into a shivering, twitching, clanking pile of bones that couldn't sleep even if his life depended on it (which of course it didn't, because he was death after all.)
Death sighed and dragged his bones out of his bed, hitting his skull on the top bunk-bed as he did so,
"Y'know what?" said death to his eyelids, "why do I sleep on the lower half of a bunk-bed?"
His eyelids didn't answer - but they knew the truth which was...
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I have vestigial adventure elements
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