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Confessions of the Grim Reaper
Copyright © 2005-2007 by Aster Rose - All rights reserved		 

Confessions of the Grim Reaper
by Aster Rose
A cigarette is a strange and beautiful thing. Its white paper curls around a cylinder of toxic waste, ready to implant itself in your body and spread its venomous spores. Waiting for you to inhale its fumes and let it eat you from the inside out. Its slim, white, seductive figure hanging tantalizingly in front of your face, luring your lips to its deadly tip. But, dangerous as it is, does it really matter? Doesn’t everyone need to do something self-destructive on a daily basis? And is it all that bad of a thing if you are immune to its poison? If you have no lungs for the black tar to coat, but the nicotine still hooks you like a fishing worm? I thought this as I greedily eyed the only two cigarettes in my last box.

I leaned against the glass display window of a dollar store, my itchy, black robe hanging lopsidedly off my skeletal frame. Sighing, I replaced the cigarette box in a pocket. I needed to save them for another time, since my paycheck wouldn’t be coming for another couple days and I was completely broke. A little boy and his mother walked by, both of them dressed neatly, as if coming home from church. Only thing was, it was Saturday. The mother stopped to examine the window display of the shop adjacent to mine, and the little boy began to look around for something more interesting than window displays. Unfortunately, he spotted me. The boy’s eyes lit up in a way that I knew from experience meant I was his next subject to annoy. Hoping to scare him off, I cleared my throat and said in my deepest and spookiest voice, “I am the Grim Reaper!” It didn’t work. Instead, the child rushed over to his mother and began to tug at her indigo skirt.
“Mommy, Mommy! There’s a guy in a funny costume over there!” Kids. They don’t believe anything these days. The mother turned towards me with a stern look, hands on hips.
“I…am…the...Grim Reaper?” I said weakly.
“Hummph! Who do you think you are, scaring children like that?!” the angry mother glared at me, like a teacher catching a naughty student in the act. I shrank from her gaze, but since I was feeling mean, decided to give her a few good comebacks.
“I scared that kid? He was the one that scared me! Are you sure its even a child?! It looks like the monkey on the wing from the Twilight Zone!” I responded coolly. The mother looked aghast.
“The Twilight Zone?! How dare you fill my poor Jimmy’s ears with references to that heathen show!” Here the mother promptly slammed her hands over Jimmy’s ears.
“I am Talking Tina, and I don’t like you,” I said in a high-pitched falsetto voice. The mother pursed her lips.
“I ought to call the police on you! Scaring small children, pretending to be the Grim Reaper…,”
“But I am the Grim Reaper!” I said, wiggling a skeleton of a hand in her face. The mother stared at it in disgust.
“ Considering what they can do with costuming these days, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have an entire skeleton torso that looks realistic!” sniffed the mother.
I briefly considered throwing open my robe and exposing the glory of my bony ribcage, but that might be considered flashing, so I didn’t try it. Frustrated and annoyed I dug one of my last cigarettes out of my pocket, lit it with a match (I had lost my lighter) and began to smoke it. I immediately felt better.
“Disgusting! You smoke too! You’re setting a horrible example for children!” The mother held her nose and she bent down to Jimmy and said, “Don’t breathe in!” Jimmy immediately filled his cheeks with air, making him look like a chubby chipmunk. The mother then turned on her heel and stomped away dragging Jimmy with her. As she turned a corner I heard her muttering something about “bum” and “raving lunatic”. I chuckled, and finished my cigarette. Bored, I decided to go check my P.O. box.

At the post office I trudged over to my box, not really expecting anything to be there. Being the Grim Reaper, it’s not like I got much mail. I got junk like everyone else, occasional letters from Costumes Plus™, the store I worked for as a part time job, and sometimes stuff from Big G and Luce. Big G had sent me cards on all my birthdays, and usually for major holidays too, like Christmas. The only things Luce ever sent me were elaborate Halloween cards, which usually hid just as elaborate practical jokes. Today, there was only one letter in my box. The return address was unfamiliar, but I figured it was just some company trying to sell me something. I ripped open the envelope and extracted the letter. It read as follows:
Dear Mr. Reaper,

I am filing a lawsuit against you in superior court under the belief that you took my mother away from me and my family and also that you might be an indirect accessory in murder. My mother’s name was Marline Hernet, and she was in the hospital with leukemia. She would probably have died without your help, but there was always a chance, which you took away from her. On the night of March 9, 2006 I was sitting with my dear mother in her hospital room when there was a disturbance at the window. A figure clothed in a black robe and holding a scythe entered through the window without opening it. As this “thing” came closer I realized it had a skull for a face and gripped the scythe with a skeletal hand. My brain now recognized this figure as the legendary Grim Reaper. The Reaper leaned over my mother and pulled a wraith-like imitation of her out of her body. It then led this “ghost” of my mother to the window and out into the night. Suddenly all the lines on the various life-support machines went flat and when I felt her chest there was no breath. When the doctor rushed in moments later, he proclaimed her dead. Although, at first I kept what I had witnessed to myself, I realized that you had taken the life of my mother unnecessarily. I managed to track down your address and then took my case to a lawyer. I was able to convince him of my story, and he understood my concern. I think it very unfair for you to steal the lives of others as you do and hope you are brought to justice.
Sincerely,
Thomas Hernet
P.S. You shall soon receive a letter dictating the time, date, and location of the court hearing.



Marline Hernet. I searched through my mind, trying to remember her. It probably took myself longer than usual because it hadn’t been this particular part of myself that had taken her away. You see, since a person dies every thirteen seconds, and I have to take them all to their proper place, I am able to be in multiple places at once by, “splitting” myself or my soul (if I have one, which is unlikely) so that I have clones, only with my full memory and mind floating around everywhere. Finally I dug up a memory from the deep abyss that was my mind. Yes, Marline Hernet. She had been a white faced individual with blue-grey eyes. Her head was bald from chemotherapy and she looked weary and lonely. She couldn’t have been older than forty. It was sad, but I’d seen it a million times before. The only person I would ever feel truly sad for is Columbine…and I didn’t want to think about her. In the room, holding Marline’s hand was a young boy, probably about fourteen. This must be the Thomas Hernet who was suing me. The nerve! A fourteen year old boy was suing the great Grim Reaper! In anger, I began to stomp around the area near my box. Several of the customers stared at me and the manager ordered me to leave the post office. I left, still stomping.

I marched over to my current living space, an abandoned building that had been up for rent for the past four years. Browning ivy crept up the cement walls, seemingly in an everlasting race to get to the top. All the windows were broken and the floor was thick with dust. Here I had a few blankets that served as a bed and a large suitcase where I stashed my stuff. Yes, even though I am the great Grim Reaper, I live like a hobo. I threw the letter to the floor and flung myself on my three threadbare blankets. “This is so unfair,” I growled, “it’s not my fault! My job isn’t to kill people, it’s to take them where they need to go in the afterlife!” Suddenly a girl with dark hair wearing a black sweater and jeans floated through the wall.
She glanced at me and said, “What’s your problem?”
“Hello, Sabine,” I said then held up the letter for her to read. Sabine is what you humans call a ghost. It’s not like she has some horrible murder to avenge or anything, ghosts don’t work like that. Ghosts come about either when I somehow forget to take someone away or they choose to stay.
When I came to get Sabine she looked at me and said, “Can I stay here?” I told her of course she could, so she stayed. Most suicides do that. They either feel like they made the wrong choice and want to continue experiencing Earth, or they miss their families so much they follow them around. Sabine had jumped off the roof of the apartment complex she lived in because her mother was a druggie and her step-dad beat her and her mom. I, having gone out the same way Sabine did, could sympathize with her easily. Ghosts were much easier to talk to than people. I even spent some time with Hitler. He wasn’t all that bad of a guy, just crazy. In the end he finally couldn’t stand earth anymore and when I took him down to the fiery depths of Hell he looked almost happy. I still wear the red Nazi armband he wanted me to have on my left arm under the black robe.
“It was bound to happen sometime,” said Sabine in a cool, why-should-I-care tone. I snorted.
“As if. Humans don’t believe anything outside of what they want to believe. And why are kids allow to sue at an age when the can’t even vote?!” I said grumpily. Sabine shrugged.
“How should I know? I was sixteen when I died. I never got to vote. I never sued anyone either. Besides I don’t know why you’re so worried about this when you have more pressing matters, Bill.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“You are such an idiot sometimes. The psychiatrist you scheduled an appointment with tomorrow to help with your depression,” said Sabine.
“Dang it!” I yelled. I had completely forgotten.
“I don’t know why you’re getting help with depression of all things. We’re all depressed. We’re dead for God’s sake!” Sabine rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, well you haven’t been through what I’ve been through!” I snapped.
“Yeah, I’ve probably been through worse,” said Sabine coldly. I realized I had struck a painful spot. Another thing about ghosts, they’re extremely sensitive.
“Sabine! I’m sorry!” I shouted, but she had already floated back through the wall. With no one to talk to I sat, cross-legged, bored and miserable.

The next morning I stirred as the sun rose. The psychiatrist appointment was scheduled for nine, and it was still only six. So, I decided to go visit the cemetery. There was no one on the streets except for a few business people waiting at bus stops, and a homeless person or two reaching out their eager fingers for food or money. I had neither, so I walked past quickly. Carefully, I pushed open the ominous iron gates and walked into the graveyard. Knowing exactly where I was going I walked straight to a lonely grave in the far corner of the yard. It sat by itself, save for a withered rose by its base. Here I crouched, and the aching sadness within took over my body.
“Hello Columbine,” I whispered. I sat silent for awhile as if leaving time for her to give an answer even though I didn’t expect one. My eyes fell to the rose, looking neglected and melancholy. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you a new flower, my darling. A lot of stuff has come up lately and well…its cutting into my time spent here with you. Someone sued me for murder. Do you think I’m a murderer?” I knew that in real life Columbine would have smiled and said, “Of course not, dear,” but the silence closed in on me, brewing a sea of doubt.
I twisted the golden wedding band on my phalange. It was one of the few things I had left of her. A steady drizzle started up. I stood there, letting the rain trickle down my face in a parody of the tears I could not cry.

After hours of standing in the rain, I walked to the building where the psychiatrist had his offices. The receptionist peered at me over her pink framed glasses.
“And you would be…?” she asked.
“Errm…Bill Reaper. Sometimes called Grim,” I answered.
“Ah…I should have guessed,” muttered the receptionist and began tapping away at the computer keys. I sat down in an overly cushy chair and flipped through some of those pointless parent magazines.
Finally, a nurse opened a door beside the front desk and said, “Grim Reaper?” I hurried over.
“That would be me,” I said. The nurse nodded.
“Dr. Lester will see you now.” She led me to a room with two armchairs. I plopped down in one and made myself comfortable. The nurse left. After a few moments, Dr. Lester entered, thumbing through the contents of the folder. He was a short, squat man with thick brows and thin, grey hair. He wore a pair of bifocals and his face was oddly ape-like. Dr. Lester settled himself in the chair opposite me and folded his hands on his lap. Then he began.
“So, ah, Mr. Reaper, what seems to be the problem?” Dr, Lester paused, “Or should I call you Grim?”
“Bill,” I muttered, yanking my hood down over my face.
“Umm…excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that,” said Dr. Lester nervously, wringing his hands.
“Bill,” I repeated, rolling my eyes, or I would have if I had any, “Call me Bill.”
“Bill?! But why?”
“Cause that’s my real name, dang it!” I yelled. I took a cigarette out of my cloak, lit it, and began to puff at it furiously. It wasn’t till later that I realized it was my last one.
“Mr. Reaper?” asked Dr. Lester tentatively.
“BILL!” I shouted.
“Ok…ok…Bill. Now can you please put that cigarette out?!”
“Whatever,” I stubbed the cigarette out on my cloak and threw it in the trash.
“Thank you,” breathed Dr. Lester, “Now what’s wrong?”
“I’m depressed,” I say simply.
“Well I can see that,” he said, obviously exasperated, “I mean why are you depressed?”
“ Well I guess it all started with the plane crash……I was sitting on the lumpy sofa, being a total couch potato and watching the news. My wife, Columbine, had left that morning on a business trip to California. I wasn’t really paying any attention to the babbling reporter, just puffing on a cigarette and taking an occasional swig of vodka…,”
“Well, we’ve already pinned down two of your problems,” muttered Dr. Lester. I glared at him before returning to my story.
“Suddenly the reporter said something along the lines of, “…and Flight 159 is running out of fuel fast, and seems likely to crash over Topeka!”
“What the hell…” I remember saying. I sat up in surprise, dropping the liquor bottle to the floor, where it shattered, leaving a brownish stain on the carpet. Flight 159 was the flight Columbine was on! I didn’t believe it. The reporter’s words whistled past my ears, only a few settling into my brain. My eyes stared at the screen as it showed footage of the plane hitting the ground and exploding into orange flames. I sat there, stunned as I gaped at the TV…”
“So, you’re missing your wife? Well…” started Dr. Lester.
“ Stop interrupting! There’s more!” I snapped, “Anyway, I ran to the phone. Glass shards imbedded themselves in my feet but I didn’t notice the pain, I was that scared. I hurriedly called the airport but the line was busy. Confused and terrified I ran back to the living room to see if there was any more news on the crash. The reporter for the news kept on saying over and over, “No survivors have been found….no survivors have been found….,” In a panic, I threw on my coat and ran out to my car. I wasn’t even wearing shoes, so the grey concrete scratched my feet further. I got in the car and jammed the key into the ignition. I heard the wail of the engine start and began to drive. Finally I chugged up the driveway of Columbine’s parent’s house. To be honest, I had never been to fond of my parents-in-law, but I figured they had to know. But when I told them she was gone, they just didn’t seem to care. However, I wasn’t all that surprised. Her parents never seemed to care about Columbine, just the way she looked.

A few days later I got a call saying they had identified Columbine’s body. Two days after that I received another call that the body had arrived at the funeral home. So, I decided to pay my Columbine a visit. At the funeral home I was led to the preparation room. She was covered with a white linen sheet. I waited until they left, and then I whipped off the sheet to see what horrible things the plane crash had done to her. Poor, poor Columbine. Her beautiful black hair was burned off completely leaving a blotchy bald head. Her skin was patched with black and red and the prim, blue business suit she had so loathed wearing was in tatters. She smelled like burnt flesh. I rested my head on her chest, so longing to hear her heart beat. But there was none. I lifted up my head and kissed her on her cracked and blackened lips.
“ I love you, Columbine,” I whispered. Then I told the funeral home director to make preparations.

The day of the funeral dawned. I was dressed in an uncomfortable black suit and a striped tie. It was an open coffin funeral because that was what Columbine had requested. I stood to the side of the crowd passing by the coffin before the service started. Cicely, Columbine’s mother, waddled over to me on fat panty-hosed legs wearing a tight black, velvet dress and a hat with a veil.
“BILL! Come here, this instant!” she yelled. I reluctantly walked over to where she was standing near the coffin.
“What is my Columbine wearing?! She’s not even in a dress!” she shrieked, gesturing to the coffin. Columbine was dressed in a long-sleeved violet shirt, a pair of dark blue leggings, and socks with pictures of cows jumping over the moon on them. I smiled and lit a cigarette.
“Now why is she dressed like that?!” Cicely was on a rampage.
“They were her favorite clothes,” I said looking at Columbine’s body longingly.
“Her favorite clothes?! So? You’re supposed to be dressed nice for your funeral! I myself will wear my wedding dress!”
“She hated her wedding dress. She sold it to Good Will.”
“Hmmph! And why isn’t her face made up? She looks like some kind of prehistoric mummy! I’ve been told that these funeral people put on makeup or make wax masks of the face if it is disfigured!” Cicely crossed her arms.
“I asked them not to,” I answered simply.
“You asked them not to?! And why not?!” Cicely ground her teeth.
“Because then she wouldn’t be Columbine anymore.”
“Really. You are such an idiot. I should have never have let you do this all yourself. You ruined everything! Everything!” Cicely then turned to Pops and said, “Come on. We’re leaving!” Pops blinked in surprise as Cicely hauled him out of the churchyard. I watched them go. I could hardly believe two parents would leave their own child’s funeral. Tears began to spill out of my eyes again. I walked through the crowd and slid my hand into Columbine’s cold, dead one.
“Oh, Columbine…”
“So, your wife died and you’re depressed about it. This is a rather common case and I’m sure…” began Dr. Lester.
“Why do you keep interrupting?! Don’t you want to know how I became the Grim Reaper?” I asked.
“The Grim Reaper?! Mr. Reaper you can’t be…” I gave Dr. Lester a look that could probably have sliced him in half if looks could kill.
“I decided to commit suicide…” I started but Lester interrupted me again.
“You decided to commit suicide?! If you committed suicide then how…?”
“Just shut up and listen,” I growled, “I decided to commit suicide. The loss of Columbine was eating away at my heart, for she had been the only one that truly loved me. In my grief I felt suicide was my only choice. Knowing I would probably chicken out if I shot myself or jumped off a building I came to the conclusion that sleeping pills would be the best way to get out of this stupid world.

There was a bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. I took it out and brought it over to my bed along with a bottle of water. Not knowing how many I should take in order to kill me, I decided to just take the whole bottle. I dumped the orange bottle’s contents into my open palm and stuffed it into my mouth. I forced the bitter mass down my throat with the water. I almost gagged. Very soon after I took the pills I began to feel woozy and tired. It was kind of like being drunk. I slumped onto the pillows and my head lolled to one side. Then there was darkness.

What could have been minutes or hours later I groggily opened my eyes again. Two men were leaning over me. Was I still alive? Had it not worked? Then after I realized one of the guys was a punk in a black trench coat with a flaming red shirt underneath and blonde spiked hair, I understood who they were. I turned to the punk.
“You’re here to take me to Hell aren’t you, oh Satan?!” I whispered. Then I looked at the other man. He had a brownish goatee and was wearing a light blue business suit. “God, please be merciful! I don’t want to go to Hell!”
The man in the suit turned to the punk and said, “Big G, the humans are stereotyping again.” I blinked rapidly in confusion. Big G? It took me awhile to realize this was referring to God. But…hadn’t God just called the Devil, Big G? Wait a second….
“Yeah, I’m God,” said the punk, peering at me over his dark sunglasses, “if that hasn’t already registered in your ridiculous little brain.”
“And I am Satan, the Devil, Lucifer whatever you want to call me. You humans make way too many stereotypes. You don’t use your common sense either! I mean, seriously. I am Lucifer the angel who was so hot that Big G here, kicked me out of heaven…” said the man in the blue suit.
“That’s pushing it a bit, Luce,” said God. I immediately translated this into Lucifer. Funny, I never thought God and Satan would refer to each other by familiar nicknames. “There was also smuggling illegal drugs into heaven, fighting, threatening St. Peter, and the incident with the red paint.”
“Well, yes…but you mostly kicked me out because I was hotter than you. Anyway, why would I want to wear clothes like that?” said Lucifer gesturing at God’s outfit, “I mean, it hardly matches, it’s ragged, and that hair…my gosh!”
“And your point is?” God looked annoyed.
“God may be all-powerful, but he doesn’t have a lick of fashion sense!” Lucifer flashed a wicked grin.
God frowned and looked ready to give a smart remark but instead said, “I think we need to explain why we’re here. Obviously you’re dead. But the question is what happens to you?”
“I get to go to Paradise and live happily ever after?” I said hopefully. God shook his head.
“No. You see the fact that you committed suicide is a really bad mark on your record. Plus, you’ve smoked, you’re an alcoholic, you aren’t all that nice to those around you…”
“Yes, you’re quite cantankerous,” said Luce, looking evil.
“And a few other things. Normally none of this would prevent you from heaven, but like I said, suicide really marked you down.,” continued God.
“But none of that’s going to get you into Hell either. You haven’t done anything illegal, no serious crimes or anything. I mean come on. You didn’t even do drugs before you died. That’s pretty sad,” said Lucifer.
“So, um, what happens to me?” I asked nervously.
“Well…normally you would probably end up in Hell anyway, or be used as a messenger between realms. But Luce and I need you for a special job,” said God. I gulped.
“Which is?”
Lucifer leaned in so close I could smell the peppermint on his breath, “You get to be the Grim Reaper.”

“Ok. Now I’m done,” I said, catching my breath from all that talking. Dr. Lester just sat there and stared at me, eyes bulging.
Finally he said, “You’re obviously delusional.”
“What?!”
“You miss Columbine so much you think that you’re dead and are the Grim Reaper. It’s fascinating really. I’ll give you some medicine for the depression and some to help with your delusions. Goodbye for now!” said Dr. Lester as he shoved two prescriptions into my hand as he ushered me out the door. I was delusional? Goodness, I thought psychiatrists were paid to believe everything you said. Angry, I walked outside and back to the abandoned house where I threw the prescriptions on the blankets. I would never take his stupid pills! I stomped back outside and decided I should probably go to work at Costumes Plus™. It may seem strange that I work at a costume store, but it’s so I can earn cigarette money. Also, it’s a good way to blend in. It doesn’t seem all that strange that a person working at a costume store would be wearing a costume does it? I told the people working for Costumes Plus™ that I had had a terrible accident and my entire body was disfigured, so I always wear this costume. They, believed me for some reason. Today, Geraldine, the manager put me on cashier duty. Bored, I slouched behind the counter twiddling my bony thumbs. The little bells on the door rang. I looked up. A boy about ten walked in, and headed straight for the counter, obviously having spotted me.
“Not again,” I moaned under my breath.
“Hi!” said the boy cheerfully.
“Go away,” I said.
“Whoa! That’s a pretty neato Grim Reaper costume you’ve got there. Hey, do ya think you I could get one here?” said the boy happily.
“Sorry, kiddo. This one’s custom made,” I answered grumpily.
“Well, can I get a custom made one?” asked the kid, getting annoyed now.
“Look, kid. This store goes for quantity not quality. Now buzz off.”
“Why are you so cranky?” asked the kid.
“Cause I just got sued,” I muttered.
“You got sued?!” the boy’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes! Now buzz off!” I yelled. The boy walked out the door. Talk of suing made me remember something. If I was to go to a court hearing, I needed a lawyer. Problem was I was broke. Even when I got my paycheck, I would have what, like $200? And lawyers were like $2000? That meant I was going to have to be a lawyer for myself. Which meant research. Lots and lots of research. Aghhh! I went into the back room and wandered about the maze of cardboard boxes until I found Geraldine.
“Hey, Bill. I thought I heard some shouting. Know what that was all about?” asked Geraldine.
“Oh. Umm…a pile of boxes fell over and I got kind of angry and yelled a bit,” I lied hastily.
“Just so long as you’re not yelling at my customers,” she said retrieving a box from a high shelf.
“Never, Geraldine. Anyway, can I get off from work now? I realized I have a college essay I need to finish by tomorrow,” I said.
“I didn’t know you were still in college Bill,” said Geraldine.
“Err…high school dropout. Taking some college courses since I never went to it,” I said lying again. Geraldine nodded.
“In that case sure!”
“Thanks, Geraldine,” I murmured as I walked out the door.

The first place I went was the post office to see if the letter specifying the date, time, etc. of the hearing was there. And sure enough, it was. They were holding it in the State Superior Courts’ building on April 1, 2006 at 2:00 p.m. That was a week from now. A week to figure out how to convince this court that I’m just doing my job. Drat!

I headed over to the library to find Being a Lawyer for Dummies or something. The library, much to my dismay, only had thick 900 page books (bringing up unpleasant memories of Charles Dickens) on the subject of being your own lawyer, and I fell asleep after reading the first 20 pages of one. These genius level books were just not going to work for me. I guess I was just going to have to teach myself how to be a lawyer. I vaguely remembered being in a debate club in college and tried to recall something about it, but not much came up. Sighing, I went home and sat down on my ragged, stained blankets. I took the original letter from Thomas Hernet and began to make a list on the back of it of potential arguments. I realized that was about all the strategy I was going to use was to make arguments and to try to guess what the opposing party’s arguments would be. Then I could try to figure out how to counter their arguments. So I spent my week writing down arguments. Sabine helped some too since she had finally forgiven me for what I had. She claimed she had taken a class in debate in eighth grade so she offered some “helpful hints”.

Finally, the day of the court hearing arrived. I straightened the disgustingly colorful and polka-dotted tie I had dug out of a dumpster as I prepared to leave. I stuffed a pack of cigarettes into the pocket of my robe and started to walk out the door.
“There’s a hole in the back of your robe and your bony butt’s sticking out of it,” said Sabine’s voice.
“What!?” I shrieked, “Are you sure?”
“April Fools!” laughed Sabine.
“Ooh! I’ll get you for that!” I said. But Sabine was right. Today was April Fool’s Day. Maybe I could use that to my advantage somehow. I walked down to the Superior Courts building. It was a looming, grey prism, ominous and foreboding. I walked in. A man sitting behind a desk greeted me.
“Ah…Mr. Reaper, you are rather late,” he squinted at me, “um…is that what you’re wearing to court?”
“Yes,” I snapped, smoothing out my idiotic tie.
“Oh. Well in that case I’ll take you to where the hearing’s being held,” said the man. He led me to a pair of large, oaken double doors and pushed on them. They swung open and he shoved me inside. All heads turned toward me as the door slammed closed with a crash. A judge stood behind a large pedestal, wearing black ceremonial robes and a curled, white wig. In one of the first rows sat a tall, lanky boy with dishwater blonde hair and scabby knees. This must be Thomas Hernet. Beside him was a middle-aged man who had piercing hazel eyes and coke-bottle glasses. He must be the lawyer, my competition. The judge cleared his throat and rustled the papers in front of him.
“Erm…I’m here?” I said, straightening my tie for the umpteenth time.
“Indeed. You are rather late, Mr. Reaper,” said the judge peering down at me with a hint of contempt twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Umm…yeah. I had some trouble with my, ah, living partner,” I answered nervously. The judge frowned. I reminded myself to yell at Sabine later for her little April Fool’s joke.
“You’re married?” he said, brows furrowing.
“No. She’s my step-second cousin once removed,” I lied. Me and Sabine married?! G-ross.
“Really,” said the judge, leaning forward, “I believe we should begin. I am Judge Nilats. This a case of Thomas Hernet suing Grim Reaper under the pretense that Mr. Reaper may be an indirect accessory to the murder of Marline Hernet or took her away, unnecessarily, from her family. Mr. Reaper, please take a front-row seat in the bench across the aisle from the opposing party.” I slid into the wooden pew and shot a few glares at Thomas. “The lawyer for Mr. Hernet is John Temwef and Mr. Reaper I presume you are being a lawyer for yourself?” he peered at me over his glasses again. It was starting to get really annoying.
“Umm-hmm,” I muttered.
“Didn’t quite catch that,’ said Judge Nilats.
“Yes,” I said, drumming my fingers on the back of the pew.
“Good! Now we may begin. Call the first witness!” Hernet came up to a shorter pedestal beside Nilat’s and swore on the Bible to tell the truth and nothing but the truth…blah, blah, blah. He then basically recounted the story he had told in his letter to me.
When he was done, Nilat’s said, “Now Mr. Reaper let’s hear your side of the story.” I walked up to the pedestal and a man brought out the Bible.
“I can’t swear on that,” I said quickly. The judge cocked his head at me.
“Well, we have a Koran, can you swear on that?’ asked Nilats.
“Hell, no. I’m damned. I can’t swear on a holy book,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Well, what can you swear on then?” asked the judge, looking annoyed.
Slipping off by golden wedding band I placed it on the pedestal. “This is my wedding ring. It is the most important thing in the world to me. I will swear on it.”
“Ok,” said the judge, rolling his eyes.
I placed my skeletal hand on the ring and said, “I swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”
“Now then, begin,” said the judge.
“My side of the story is basically the same as “Mr. Hernet’s”, so I’m not going to bother telling it. First thing you can’t blame me for doing my job. Big G and Luce…..I mean God in Heaven and Satan in Hell, ordered me to be the Grim Reaper. I am nothing but a deceased mortal. Who am I to defy the words of divine entities? I know most of you in here are probably Christians, would you say no if God asked you to be the Grim Reaper? I don’t think so. Secondly, I think all charges for being an indirect accessory to murder should be dismissed. Marline Hernet died of leukemia and leukemia alone. The job of the Grim Reaper is simply to take souls to where they need to go. Not to kill them.”
‘Mr. Metri is this true?” asked Judge Nilats. A small bespectacled man with a bald pate hurriedly stood up.
“Yes, your honor. My research has shown that officially the Grim Reaper is to take souls to either Heaven or Hell, nothing more,” said Mr. Metri hurriedly, as he chewed violently on his bottom lip.
“I see. In that case all indirect murder charges are dismissed!” said the judge, “Go on, Mr. Reaper.”
“Also, I don’t understand what the big deal is all about. I mean, Marline got a straight ticket to Heaven, it’s not like she went anyplace bad. Besides I didn’t “unnecessarily” take her away from her family. Even if there was no Grim Reaper, Marline would have still died at the exact same time. She was naturally taken from you, by death, not stolen away by me! Errr…that’s all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reaper” enunciated Judge Nilats. As I walked down the steps to go back to my seat I felt something fall out of my pocket. Gasps erupted from the crowd as they leaned out of the benches to see what it was. Then accusing cries started up.
“Devil worshipper!”
“He sold his soul to Satan!” With a gulp I looked down to the maple wood floor, already suspecting what was there. It was a letter from Luce, and at the bottom, scrawled in Luce’s large, loopy, hand were the numbers 666.
“Oh crap!” I said, closing my eyes.
“Silence in the court!” the judge slammed down his gavel.
“Mr. Reaper…Mr. Reaper…MR. REAPER!?”
“Yes?” I groaned.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” yelled Judge Nilats
“Umm…umm…,” I had to think fast, “April Fools!” Everyone just stared at me.
Finally, the judge spoke, “That was a rather serious and not funny joke. Bringing Satanic propaganda to a court of law. Hmmph! Mr. Temwef, you may speak now.” I could see the disgust in the judge’s eyes, regarding me as some kind of Satan loving freak. My hopes sunk. Mr. Temwef walked to the pedestal and followed through the whole swearing on the Bible ritual.
Then he said, “I hardly think you can believe this fool. He offers no evidence whatsoever that he didn’t unnecessarily take away Marline Hernet when we have plenty that he did. She’s dead for one, we have a witness to seeing her soul be stolen, kidnapped if you will, by this maniac, and in fact Mr. Reaper actually admits that he took away her soul. Of course he claims that if he hadn’t been around she would still have died, but what proof do we have that? He ended her life! How is death not “unnecessary”? This man is obviously just a blundering a idiot trying to cover up his crime!” It was short, it was sweet, it was simple. The crowd ate it up and so did the judge. I sat there, afraid as the judge decided his verdict. I already knew what was going to happen. I could see the bias in the judge’s face from the letter incident.
“I have decided that Mr. Reaper is guilty. His punishment will be a fine of $10,000, as well as 30 hours of community service,” said Nilats thoughtfully. $10,000? I didn’t have that much! It was like four years worth of money!
“Dismissed!” said Nilats. I trudged out the door, ripping off the tie and throwing it to the floor where it was trampled. In a daze I lit a cigarette and began to inhale its noxious fumes that caressed me in a loving embrace. It wasn’t just the money. From now on my life was going to be nothing but a bunch of lawsuits. I couldn’t live like that! As I walked, two women started to flank me. One was young with a tight bun and wearing a red dress and the other an old woman with liver-spotted hands, a flowered hat, and blue–tinted hair.
“So, Luce, what do I do now?!” I asked the granny.
The woman in the red dress said, “Bill, dear, you’re getting us mixed up again. Big G why are you looking like someone’s grandmother? You know for the rest of the day I’m going to call you Biddy G!”
“Oh, so you’re God?” I asked the granny. She nodded. “What am I going to do now?! I don’t have the money to pay the fine and my life’s just going to be lawsuit, after lawsuit….”
“Hold it now. Who said you were staying on Earth?” asked God.
“Wait…huh? I’m not staying on Earth?!” I asked, feeling very confused. Luce shook her head.
“This Grim Reaper job, it’s kind of like community service. You’ve paid off all the things you’ve done. You got a second chance, Bill. Now you get to go to Heaven,” said Luce.
“I get to go to Heaven?” I asked. Finally my dreams had come true. I was to see her again…
“Yes, now let’s go!” said Big G and he grabbed hold of my hand and began to levitate into the air. I gaped in surprise, my cigarette dropping out of the corner of my mouth.

“Here we are!” said God as we stopped in from of a landscape made of clouds. On a cloud-bed sat a set of golden gates, glinting in the sunlight. God let go of my hand and I ran onto the clouds, laughing. I ran to the gates as they swung open, feeling my body become light and airy like a wisp of smoke. A figure stood outlined in the gateway. She had dark hair and socks with pictures of cows jumping over the moon.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, smiling. I skipped toward her, knowing I had finally found the unreachable Paradise.

God sat at the conference table chewing on the end of a pen as Lucifer propped his feet on the table and hummed to himself.
“ This really is quite a dilemma,” said Big G.
“Yeah. Bill ended up all happy and stuff but we need another Grim Reaper!” sighed Luce.
“And it’s not like we’re going to get another case like Bill anytime soon either. In-between people don’t pop up that often,” grumbled Big G.
“Wait a second…are you thinking what I’m thinking?!” said Luce.
“I doubt it,” said Big G, “tell me your brilliant idea.” Lucifer leaned over to whisper it to Big G. A nasty smile spread over God’s face and he said, “You’re right! He did cause the problem! But, he’s not dead.”
Lucifer rubbed his hands together gleefully, “When has that ever stopped us before?”

Judge Nilats was in his study. He was tired from the day’s case and was happy to get a rest. Suddenly, a blinding light flashed before his eyes. There was a red goat-like creature with horns and a pointed tail and a tall man with a flowing blue robe and white beard standing before him. Nilats went as white as a sheet.
“Oh, dear…,” started the judge, but he was so surprised he couldn’t go on for a moment. “God and Satan? Why are you here? Am I dead? Have I done something wrong?” God and Lucifer leaned close to the judge’s face and grinned.

End of Story - Pick another one

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