With Scythe in Hand

Life as the God of Death

Humans are strange creatures who mediate between genuis and insanity and who spend the rest of their lives living a facade. What they project to the world is a mere shadow of what they truly are. I care not about heaven or hell. For me they are nothing but worlds in which I travel. I ferry expired souls to their destinations. Some lie and tell me they don't deserve the pits of the underworld. I see through them. If a lie detector was personified, then that would be me - except that I'm not a person at all.

 

Most artists depict me as a skeleton draped with a heavy black cloak. Question: have they really seen me? Obviously not. I look nothing like a heap of bones. People about to die see me as a young man with raven hair. I stand in a black suit and calmly explain myself. I do carry a scythe if they struggle. No, it doesn't hurt! It's not even sharpened yet. It's used to end suffering. And, let's admit it, it looks cool with me. Imagine - tall, dark, and handsome with a scythe. Danger and good looks go together so well.

 

The hardest thing about my job is that I never have a vacation. People expire everyday, and if I'm not there to guide them to their respective places, they'd wander the world and I'd have a hard time looking for them. That's what got the old guy fired. He took a vacation without telling Him (the powers that be), and during that period, millions of souls got lost. He was fired, and until now he's looking for lost souls. Why do you think we have ghosts?

 

I'm a busy busy man. My schedule is full and I have numerous appointments today. I work twenty-four hours a day and receive numerous calls from people who want me to fetch them before their time is up. Suicidal mortals always take up much of my time. I'd like to stop them, but giving advice isn't part of my job description.

 

Sometimes I'd like to quit. But who else would hire me? I prefer not to be a demon. It's too hot down there. And they don't even roast anything edible. Another thing...demons are hideous. I don't want to be an angel either. They're required to take singing lessons, trumpet lessons, and attend anger management classes. And what are they wearing? Dresses?

 

Anyway, no other job requires a scythe in hand and a wardrobe full of black.

Author's Note

Another dose of dark humour. My favourite kind of humour.

Reviews

[Kaitlin W. Blaylock]

"they'd wonder the world" I believe you mean to say they'd wander the world. Wonder is when the mind asks a question of curiosity and explores every possible answer. Wander is when something is moving aimlessly about.

That is my only edit here, but I found this piece to be quite clever. Very nice work.