Stripping Death

This was written for a contest that had a picture prompt. No winner was ever announced and the author who was running the contest no longer has a portfolio. Regardless, enjoy!



         Sometimes I wonder why I ever agreed to take this job. The whole, my father did it and his father before him and so on and so forth is just not a good enough reason. I've always hated my job and today was the worst day I've ever had, that's saying a lot for someone who's been around for a couple thousand years.

         It all started this morning when I went to collect the soul of some old guy with lung cancer. On my way into the hospital I passed his three kids, all of them standing in the parking lot sucking on cigarettes. Some people never learn. I pulled my cloak tight around my skeletal frame as I boarded the elevator and held my scythe out of harms way. The only things I ever liked about this job were the cloak and the scythe, they just exude cool.

         I waltzed into ICU and poked around looking for the old guy's room. Having been there many times it didn't take long to find him, but there are a couple nurses who are just too nice to look at for me to pass up the opportunity. Besides, if they can't see me then there isn't really a boy in the girl's locker room is there?

         I made my way into the guy's room just as his kids were returning from their nicotine fix. No one saw me, but then, no one does. No one that is except the people whose souls I've come to collect, small children, psychopaths and dogs. I slipped into the room right behind the "tar trio" and the old guy looked up at me and smiled. His kids thought he was smiling at them and responded with forced cheerfulness and false enthusiasm. The old guy looked at me and rolled his eyes, I had to laugh, no one appreciates death bed humor more than I do.

         Then I saw him, in the corner, sitting on the lap of the old guy's wife. Children aren't allowed in ICU because they're walking germ farms, but people sneak them in all the time. I stared at this kid, stared hard. I gave him my best death stare, the one that sends obnoxious Pomeranians running to their mommys to cower and piss themselves. The kid didn't even blink. He couldn't have been older than five or six, but I've come across a couple of three-year-olds that couldn't see me and one twelve-year-old and I had an interesting conversation on a rainy day in Baltimore back in 1962. There's no age limit to being able to see me, it's more of an innocence thing. Once you stop believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny then good old Thanatos goes invisible on you.

         I was pretty sure this kid couldn't see me so I ignored him and checked my watch. People are scheduled to die at certain times, don't ask me, I don't know. I'm told when, where and who, that's it. I do my job and don't ask questions. I learned a long time ago that asking questions doesn't get you answers, it just gets you in trouble with incarnations you don't want trouble with. Fate in particular, the fickle - never mind. I had about ten minutes so I stuck myself in a corner and watched the guy interact with his family. His wife was obviously distraught, but well distracted by the bundle of energy in her lap. The kids didn't seem to care, but I see that a lot and chalk it up to denial or guilt, often it's a little of both.

         About two minutes to deadline and the kids filed out of the room, coffee, cigarette, bathroom; didn't know, didn't care. The wife and grandkid stuck around, I usually prefer to do this without an audience but when the old guy looked over at me and nodded I knew he preferred it this way. Now, I may not like my job but I try to do right by folks whenever I can. Just because I'm the Grim Reaper doesn't mean I'm a bad guy.

         I lifted my scythe and approached the bed, it looks menacing but all the scythe does is separate the soul from the body. Then, the soul floats up into the air and disappears. I don't take them to their final destination, I just start them on their journey. Out of nowhere the little boy lept off his grandmother's lap screaming at me with all the force he could muster,

         "NO! LEAVE MY GRANDPA ALONE!"

         I swear, he ran right up to me and started kicking me in the shins. Or, he would have been kicking me in the shins if I had a corporeal form. As it was he was kicking the area my shins would have been. Nothing is more disconcerting than watching tiny little feet fly through your legs. It's just creepy.

         Grandma lunged from her chair, concern and confusion lining her face. Ignoring her and the boy who had to be the apple of someone's eye I did my job. I swung the scythe through the old guy's torso, freeing his soul and sending it on its merry way. I then turned away as the lines went flat and the beeping started. I don't get paid to watch people cry and tear their clothes, in fact, I don't get paid.

         Then the strangest thing of my two-thousand-plus-year-career. Somehow, I wish like hell I knew how and I intend to find out, but somehow the little five-year-old monster grabbed hold of my cloak.

         He grabbed it and pulled it off. Out of nowhere a puddle of black velvet lay at his feet as he glared up at me with murder in his eyes. I stood there, scythe in hand, even more naked than a newborn babe. The newly widowed woman didn't notice, too busy crying over her husband's corpse. The nurses rushed in and the little boy gathered my cloak up in his arms. Unnoticed in the rush he proceeded to leave the ICU, enter the waiting room and calmly push the down button on the elevator. I followed him in a stupor. If I could have looked shocked, I would have, but being only bones I have a distinct lack of ability in making facial expressions.

         I got on the elevator with him and we went all the way to the ground floor without making any stops or gaining any company. A fact of which I was quite glad. The whole time he said not a word, just clutched my cloak tight to his chest and stared at me, looking smug and full of himself.

         I followed him out of the hospital and across the parking lot to a small sedan. How a five-year-old could wander so far alone baffles me, but it happens everyday. Unfortunately I am all too well aware of that fact. The boy pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, somehow I doubt his parents gave him the car keys for safekeeping. He opened the trunk of the car and tossed my cloak inside. Pocketing the keys he smiled up at me. I really didn't like this kid.

         The boy skipped across the parking lot and back into the hospital, leaving me standing naked by the car. I would have happily opened the car and retrieved my cloak, but my lock-picking device was in one of my pockets. My only choice was to head home, and since all my tricky little devices were secreted in my cloak, including my portal opener, I had to get there the old fashioned way. I began to truly loathe the child. I absolutely loved my gadgets, they made me feel like James Bond, or Batman. Sighing I retracted my scythe and stuck it in between a couple of ribs, then walked towards the bike rack, hoping some fool had not locked up his bike.

         So here I am, pedaling my way to the nearest portal as the sun sets, painting the sky red. The moon is a scythe in the sky, and its shape calms me, I would smile if I could. From the branches of a dying oak a raven laughs at me. What a ridiculous sight, Death riding a bicycle. I ignore the bird and long for my cloak and my nifty gadgets. I'm behind on my job, and it will take me days to catch up. Fate is not going to be happy and will have a field day making me miserable. I am reminded of just how much I hate my job.