In a world where death does not exist, sounds like joy, but people of this world are not as happy as you think they are. Since there is no death, people get to live till old age, get diseases, and they don't rest in peace.
In this world, there is a boy named La Morte. La Morte lives with his mother, but his mother is sick. She is suffering. In this world, people who are old at a point of suffering, unable to provide or function in society, are called "disposables." They are cramped in a long place. It is tall, made from iron. It is very tall in height, almost reaching the clouds. It goes on for eternity. Just because it goes on for eternity doesn't mean it isn't cramped. It is cramped but never full. It doesn't end. It is tight, painful—bodies of breathing humans on top of another, suffering for all of life, screaming in pain but not dying, suffocating in each other's rot, germs, and waste. Their suffering doesn't end there. There is no end to their suffering. There is no death, no end to their disease, no end to their sickness. There is no pinnacle of suffering. Most of these people didn't get to have a chance to see the dreams of heaven and hell—they saw suffering, the only option. The only option for them when someone has reached the point they can't function in society—they go here, so there can be space. They call this place "Life Beyond Eternal." They usually put people in this place by climbing a ladder to the top and throwing their body in it.
La Morte's mother is suffering, but La Morte doesn't want his mother to suffer like the rest. He promised his mother that he would find a way to end her suffering forever. (Me and you know what it means, but I can't say it as it doesn't exist in this world.) La Morte's mother vomited blood, reaching the pinnacle of suffering and beyond. La Morte tried to hide his mother. He tried to hide her from the villagers, but all that was futile in this moment as the villagers caught him. They were disgusted at him. They called him selfish, insulted him for hiding his mother who was taking space. (I want to ask a question—is the villagers in the wrong for doing this? Should we see the villagers as bad? They also had to give up a loved one like La Morte.) They dragged his mother in her silk red cloth. La Morte tried to stop them; he couldn't. The men were too big. They put the mother in the place "Life Beyond Eternal."
La Morte, devastated and sad, cursed the Creator for five days, crying, asking, "Why? Why?" La Morte went to meet the Creator, the one responsible for making this world. No one was allowed to meet the Creator. La Morte sneaked into the shrine. La Morte saw the Creator—a figure, a giant figure whose resemblance is that of a human, but he is not human. His body is covered in a black cloak; only his face is revealed. His face is a face only you can visualize. His body is hidden, looks bouncy like it has no defined form, but he can still sit in his big chair yet can still make terrifying emotions. Yet he still has large hands. He sits on a big chair made of rock but looks like metal—slick, clean metal. A terrifying sight to see. La Morte looks like a little ant compared to him. The Creator's head moved forward, looking down at La Morte, staring at him.
La Morte, crying, asked him, "Why do you do this? Why do you make us suffer?"
The Creator, angry, felt insulted, said to him, "Do you know how lucky you have it? Do you know how lucky you people are? I have seen thousands of occurrences, thousands of universes, but I created this one and made it eternal."
La Morte, angry, told him, "You make us suffer. What do you mean we are lucky? Why are you lying? Why do you do this?"
La Morte, filled with rage, took a knife from the Creator's shrine. La Morte didn't know what he was doing—stabbed the Creator. He tried to kill his Creator. The Creator, enraged, said, "You tried to kill your Creator? You dare try to kill He who made you, He who gave you eternal life!" (From our perspective, the Creator cannot clearly see his wrongdoing. He thinks he is right for making the world his way.)
The Creator, furious, tells La Morte, "I will grant you your wish. I will give you what you want. For if you cry to me and ask to be changed, I will not answer. I will only collect the souls you bring—the souls who will blame you for everything. 'Death, the one who took my loved one. Death, the one who took me. Death, the one who took my child.' I will name it that: 'Death,' after your name. Now you can end people's suffering."
The Creator gave La Morte his cloak and vanished. La Morte screamed—the scream of death, the scream that killed everybody on this earth. Then La Morte went outside and saw everybody dead. La Morte walked over their bodies, weeping, crying, but he believes this is right. He believes he is ending people's suffering.
La Morte roamed the earth for centuries till the next civilization made by the Creator came—the next humans. They all died. La Morte's presence killed them all. La Morte saw what had happened, crying over their bodies on the floor, hugging a child, "I can't… what have I done?" La Morte believes in death, but he has killed children that haven't even begun to reach close to suffering.
La Morte, seeing his presence causing suffering, decided to hide—to hide in loneliness. Wait, wait till the time someone was about to reach the pinnacle of suffering, to take them away. The souls La Morte took blame La Morte. They hate, waiting for him to join them once the universe is gone, so they can eat him for all of eternity. La Morte hears their cry. He knows they don't understand. This is what the Creator told him would happen: "The souls would blame you for all of eternity."
La Morte believes he is doing good. He hides his presence and only comes when someone is about to reach the pinnacle of suffering. He believes he is saving them before they reach a pain unimaginable, worse than him (Death).
La Morte cries to the Creator to end his own suffering. He has ended many; he wants mercy. Every day he hears the weeping, the cries of the souls he took. He feels stupid, used. People still suffer after death.
The Creator tells him, "This life is eternal. It doesn't end. I have to live the boredom of all eternity in nothingness. My creation doesn't get to be joyful, for I suffer; I must also make my creation suffer."
La Morte weeps, "What am I living in?"
The Creator tells La Morte, "You have to suffer because you are my creation."