Death Wish

Written for /r/writingprompts: "Write about a world where, on the day before someone's death, his/her greatest wish is granted right when it turns to that day."

"You know, the world's kinda gone to s**t a bit, Marty," Jamie spittled out between drinks. "I mean, ever since the Reaper instituted the 'Death Wish' policy, we'd get a few selfless parents that would wish for something for their kids, but it seems like ninety-nine percent of people have been wishing to never die. You really think the Reaper would've thought of that."

    Even though Jamie was a shot out from alcohol poisoning, he still knew what he was talking about. About ten years previous, the Reaper came out and announced in his first-ever public appearance in Madison Square Garden that he would grant each person one wish, the person's greatest wish, the day of his or her death. The first few were fairly selfless: life insurance enough to pay back all of the their family's debts, get kids through college, but it wasn't too much longer until people realized that their greatest wish was to never die. That's when the nursing homes started piling up, Alzheimer's and dementia patient rates started skyrocketing, jobs started disappearing, housing was all bought up, and all the social insurance went absolutely bankrupt, due to a crap economy and the influx of ancients.

    "We can find him, Marty. We can find the Reaper. And we can kick his soul-suckin' a*s for this s**t," Jamie stammered out, close to vomiting all over Marty.

    "Yeah, but c'mon, he's the REAPER. Kinda scary, no?" Marty responded, somewhat curious of Jamie's drunken response.

    "You don't fear the Reaper, Marty. That's how he gets ya. And then you wish to live forever and all of a sudden you DON'T wanna kick his a*s, which would be a damned shame, to be right honest," Jamie shot back, with a hint of a Cockney accent.

    Deep down, Marty knew Jamie was right: they had to go find and kick the Reaper's a*s, but how? The guy doesn't exactly live on Earth with all of the mortals. *Or does he?* Marty ponders, curious as to if the Reaper can be found in the yellow pages or the white pages. "So what do you propose we do to find the guy, Jamie?"

    "Simple: we stalk the local hospital for a guy about to keel over, we keep near the about-to-be-dead guy's bed, say were distant cousins or something, wait for the Reaper to appear, then kick his a*s back to whatever plane of existence he came from."

    For a drunk, Jamie was surprisingly articulate and well-thought-out in his plans. "Alright, but we have to be careful. Ever since people stopped dying, hospitals have been expanding and getting extremely crowded," Marty responded.

    "Which is why it'll be easy to sneak in. Think of it, everyone'll be distracted, so we can just sneak into some random room with some guy and the Reaper and then kick the Reaper's a*s. Wam bam, thank ya, ma'am."

    And so, Marty and Jamie wrote down a plan to kick that short-sighted soul-sucker's soon-to-be-singed a*s on a napkin. Marty wouldn't admit it outright, but he was amazed by drunk Jamie's cognitive abilities, because the plan was well thought-out.

    Two days later, the pair dressed casually and made their way to the St. Paul Mercy Hospital. Upon arrival, the pair noticed that the place was full of not only medical staff and patients, but of nuns, monks, and priests just as well. Slightly buzzed, Jamie made some passes at a pair of younger nuns, but quickly stopped after getting smacked with a clipboard. Following the crack to the cranium, Jamie came up with a genius new idea: disguise themselves as priests. *Immediate and easy access to all of the patients!* Jamie thought to himself. After telling Marty the plan, the pair immediately headed off to the nearest supply closet for spare clerical uniforms.

    After finding a pair in the fourth supply closet they checked, the pair quickly changed into their new work uniforms, and barreled out the door, lookly for terminally-ill patients. Finally, they found one.

    The old man, a Mr. Winston Edgar, had a very bad heart, and was doomed to die very soon. Marty and Jamie made their way to him to ask him a few questions. "Hi, Mr. Edgar, I'm Father Jameson, and this is Father McLane, and we're here to ask you a few questions before the Reaper arrives to ask you for your wish. First off, what is your wish?" Jamie asked him, trying to be as convincing as possible.

    "Take a wild f****n' guess, you turkies. I'm dying of a bad heart."

    "Now, Dad..."

    "Ann, I am not in the mood for this bullshit, and you know it."

    "New heart it is," Jamie pretended to scribble down onto a clipboard.

    "Now, sir, before you do make your wish, we want to let you know that we're with the 'Satan Sucks Squad' and are going to proceed to kick some unholy buttocks up in here."

    "What," the dying man shot back.

    Suddenly, there was a bright flash of smoke, and a ring of a deep and heavy bell. Marty and Jamie collapsed, having stood next to where it occured. Coughing and standing back up, they looked over and saw him.

    The Reaper.

    They all stared in awe of the tall, langly figure, completely covered in a black cloak, complete with a hood. The hands, although typically displayed in media as skeletal, were gloved.

    "Mr. Edgar, I am the Grim Reaper, and before I take your soul to be with me in the afterlife, you are entitled to one wish. You may say your wish now."

    Before Edgar could speak, the pair tackled the Reaper and beat him senseless. In between the punches, the Reaper finally spoke up, saying, "WHAT ON GOD'S GOOD GREEN EARTH IS GOING ON?"

    "YOUR IDIOTIC POLICY HAS FUCKED OVER EVERYTHING! THE WORLD IS EXTREMELY OVERCROWDED!"

    "Well, I'm sorry I'm trying to have some better PR! My job sucks and I hate it, but it's what I'm damned to, so I might as well as make the best of it. What the hell do you want me to do? Repeal the policy?"

    Jamie punched the figure again. "At least forbid asking to never die."

    "FINE!"

    "My wish is just for a better heart for the record," Edgar spoke up.

    "Granted," the Reaper replied, waving his gloved hand and healing his heart. "You have about 15 more years, give or take. Make the best of it."

    Marty and Jamie glared at the cloaked figure.

    "Here's what I'll do. I'll retroactively enforce the new footnote of the policy. Sound fair? No one gets it in the future either."

    "Fine. Now get lost before we kick your a*s again, hellspawn."

    Jamie finally looked over at Marty and said, "What does 'retroactively' mean?"

    "I'm not entirely sure. Mr. Edgar what does that mean?"

    Edgar stared at them with total disbelief. "It means everyone who ever wished that's gonna drop dead right about now."

    Marty and Jamie's eyes widened. Outside, of the building, they could hear car accidents, worried screams, and all kinds of fun stuff. "I think we did a very bad thing."

    "You think?"

    "I need a beer."

    "I know."

Reviews

[Ke11y]

This genre is not something I know much about, but I do enjoy a story well told no matter what genre it falls into. This is such a piece, well worked, gently paced, and a great conclusion. I truly enjoyed the reading. I'll definitely look up more of your work.

I especially like the banter: "Well, I'm sorry I'm trying to have some better PR! My job sucks and I hate it, but it's what I'm damned to, so I might as well as make the best of it. What the hell do you want me to do? Repeal the policy?"

Jamie punched the figure again. "At least forbid asking to never die."

Glad I came across this piece.

[Wonton]

Thanks for the more indepth review! This piece was well-received in /r/writingprompts as well.

[Marie]

I'm glad this was well received; it deserved to be. I read it twice and goe even more out of the the second time; more insight into the characters of Marty and Jamie.