She was not the first person who thought she might escape death. Death was like soup during this time of her life, that had been left on a long table, far out of reach, and had gone cold.
She preferred Pop Tarts anyway–a better metaphor. Even out of reach she preferred to eat them sans toaster oven. She even liked frozen Eggo waffles. These were the foods of her college days, centuries ago, another world, marked by things that seemed more urgent than death, when eternal rest was simply boredom.