“This sucks.” I think that’s the 10th time I’ve muttered that in this hour alone. To say that this new job sucks, is an understatement. Okay, my old gig might not have been one of the best jobs in the world but it sure beat this.
I touched my scythe to the shoulder of the crying girl in front of me. She stopped, sniffed a few times, and resumed eating. A few minutes ago, she was tearing her hair out of frustration, and making the sandwich in front of her wet with her tears, because she just saw her boyfriend with another girl.
Yep, I’m Death, and this is my new job. I kill love, dole out or end heartbreak. The job description varies.
Ever since they invented that miracle vaccine thing that prevents people from dying, mortal deaths have been ...err...infrequent.
And so for a few years my job got a bit boring. I was fine with it though. I got to travel around, see the world more, to finally take those few precious moments looking at the sunset, having time to smell the flowers, those kinds of things.
But the council was getting antsy as death tolls fell down, much like how it did when penicillin was invented a few years ago, that they decided that reapers like me didn’t need a break.
They decided that we low-level reapers should be still be “useful”.
You can’t argue with the bosses. Since the job description of a reaper includes bringing misery and pain, they decided to make us the bringers of heartbreak, which is its own kind of death. It makes a strange kind of sense, doesn’t it?
Well, it’s better than being a tooth fairy, imho.
So this is what I do now, I kill love, and unless they invent a vaccine against le amour, this is my job.
My new job is like my old job in a lot of ways. Every day is pretty much the same, I get a list of people I need to visit. I go near them, whisper in their ear, or tap them with my scythe and “voila!” they’re not in love anymore. I don’t know how they win the heartbreak lottery, I just have my orders, same MO with the old gig, and it’s nothing personal.
At least I try not to make it personal, in my line of work, it’s always tricky when you’re dealing with emotions and mortals. But dealing with humankind baggage, and making it personal, letting it affect you? It will make you go crazy. It’s actually rumoured that the last reaper who got “personal” with one of his cases ended up being mortal. Someone made a movie out of that a few years back. But honestly, eeewww! Who would want to be mortal?
The body hair, the fluids, the weird things that they do, the snotty diseases, getting visited by me----sheesh, I’m fine with being a non-corporeal being with the occasional vacation leave, and did I mention, the pay’s not bad. Eternal Life isn’t something to scoff about, even if the costume stinks.
Today’s shift is almost over and I’m down to my last visit. I look down at my list and I’m scheduled to visit “John”. He lives somewhere near the equator.
I sigh, the tropics again, pfft, this cowl is going to be terrible to wear. I wish the repear’s union would do something about appropriate atmospheric uniform changes, but as this get-up’s regulation uniform, I just close my eyes, and concentrate on “John”, and then poof.
Can I just say Nightcrawler’s got nothing on reaper teleportation powers? Sucks though that I can only do one hemisphere jump per day when this used to be a teleport all you can gig.
Anyway, I squint as I find myself in the middle of a dark room. I know it’s supposed to be noon here, but it’s like the middle of night in this room. The drapes are closed, and even using my reaper eyes, I can’t seem to find the boy.
