Death writes with a Purple Ballpoint Pen

0: I Digress

Dedicated to isotopics, my hometown buddy. Literally. 

Check out the picture of Anna along with the song 'Never be Like You' by Flume and Kai. 

0: I Digress

Angel of Death.

You probably imagined a tall, skeletal figure in a black hooded cloak carrying a scythe.

You definitely wouldn't think of a gangly, dark-haired teenage girl.

Looking so unexpected, that's where the true genius of our kind begins.

Our kind.

Such an elitist way of saying 'Angel of Death'.

But let's just move on.

Angels of Death – a mouthful, I know – don't walk around like we're headed to a lawn mowing party at the closest cemetery.

One, black hooded cloaks are tacky.

Two, they are way too impractical.

Three, they are just so a few centuries ago.

And, yes, I meant we.

As in the owner of the journal you're reading happens to be an Angel of Death.

Boo!

Now you're dead.

I'm kidding. You're not dead.

Or maybe you are and my joke went from funny to morbid real quick.

Anyhow.

Let's get one thing straight: Angels of Death actually can't kill people. In the same way that elves aren't short, Santa isn't fat – well, not that fat anyway – we aren't killers.

We definitely are one thing: loners.

I, Anna Walker, had the whole loner thing down to a science.

Okay, maybe not a complete science.

There are still people at school that I talk to – no man is an island after all, yada-yada-yada – but even they wouldn't hesitate to call me weird.

Everybody thought of my family as pleasant and mild-mannered ... but we knew they could tell there was something just a bit off-kilter.

Maybe it's something from millennia of evolution, but people – normal people – knew there was something about us – us being a collective word for the whole Angel of Death enterprise – that kept them at bay.

In the same way that you knew you shouldn't stick your hand in a lion's mouth or swim in shark-infested waters, there was a gut feeling telling you to not get too close to the people whose main job was to help you die – even if it was a role we hadn't played, directly anyway, in the last few hundred years.

The only two people I could whole-heartedly say were my friends lived halfway across the world; and, when it comes down to it, this was only because we were all in the same boat.

Kevin, Marie and I are going to be Angels of Death in a few years.

My best friends, however, have no problem with the whole having-your-life-planned-out-for-you arrangement. Why would they when they've already found their soulmates?

I've probably been the bitter third wheel for too long but I was the only who hates what destiny has in store for us.

Destiny.