Nothing matters. Everyone is afraid. We're lucky we've even lived long enough to see today, and in another hundred years, none of us will be here. This one is kind of a bummer. Sorry.
Elizabethan revenge tragedy has its roots in Thomas Kyd's The Spanish Tragedy, arguably the first early modern play that has all the elements we've come to associate with the genre, viz. a character with a serious grievance against a dangerous foe, a play within a play, an angry ghost, and just so much gore, evident in Kristy and the Snobs in the form of all the sick burns and wicked cutdowns between our heroine and the titular snobs.
So much for revenge and justice, but what of death? Do we take comfort in a Heideggerian account, which tells us that we are all always, already being-unto-death? Or can we look to Sartre, who finds ways to humanize and individualize death, ripping some of its mystery and terror from it? It is not, perhaps, in the scope of this particular book, Kristy and the Snobs, to provide answers to these questions, but merely to point out that we are all but grains of sand in a vast desert; drops in an uncaring ocean; dwindling stars in a night sky whose primary characteristic is not light but darkness. RIP, Louie. We will never forget you.