It was a dark room. Or, rather, darkness surrounded me; the figures at its center were easily visible. There was a man - older than myself - speaking. Addressing me. Asking questions.

I was standing back to back with another man. I had the impression of him; of who - or what - he was. Either I couldn't see his face or didn't want to; though I felt strongly that his "face" would be bare and skeletal.

The talking man inquired, "Who is this?"

Despite my initial feelings, I experienced a sense of relief or of comfort, and I responded without hesitation.

"This is my friend, and I will meet him someday."

I met death in a dream.