What's The Scythe For?

I pass away and go to live with The Grim Reaper in the Under-World.

“You become a changed person when you face the Reaper and deny him your soul.” ― Martha Sweeney.

Chapter One.

I coughed as the grey fog engulfed me, the mist rolling and swirling, filling my lungs with its alien scent. “Where am I?” I quietly asked myself. “What happened?” I followed it up with. “Apologies,” said Death, “I’m trying to kick a bad habit.” He gave his vaporizer a mournful glance, before disappearing it within the endless folds of his black cloak. “Zev, is it?” Death asked. “Uh, yes?” I responded in confirmation, looking at Death's features, flesh-less skull, and black cloak. “You died saving a little old grandma from a mugging, I'm afraid, got deeply cut in artery and bled out before paramedics could arrive on the scene.” “So, what, I'm dead?” I asked, in disbelief. “Is the old woman okay?” Death chuckled, and simply said, “Enough with the questions, and come on a little walk with me.” Together we walked along a freeway, eight lanes of empty concrete that, as far as I could tell, ran endlessly to and past the horizon. There were no cars in sight, and their absence weighed on me. A road like this shouldn’t be so quiet, so peaceful�"it should be loud and bustling, full of people moving from A to be B. “Why a freeway?” I asked. “A freeway?” Death answered, in an inquisitive manner. “Yeah, a freeway. You know, the thing we’re walking on right now.” “Oh!” He said, finally following my train of thought. “We all see something different on the final journey.” “What do you see?” I followed up what he said by asking. Death turned away, his ancient as can be sockets staring into the empty plain around us. “Behind me, home. Ahead, the unknown. A gravel path, if you must know, leading into a dark forest.” “Where are we going?” I asked. “The end.” He replied. “The end of what? Of me?” “The end,” Death repeated simply. “Well aren’t you helpful,” I shot back, annoyed. “I like to think so,” he responded, and there was a finality to his tone that made me think silence was probably a good idea. We continued walking.

And walking.

Hours, it felt like. Days. Weeks.

Or seconds, maybe.

In the end, I had to talk, to fill the silence. “What’s the scythe for?” I finally asked. He threw a sidelong glance at me. “Protection,” he said, and for the first time his words were wrung with emotion. He was nervous, I realized, and it seemed it was contagious, for this realization made me worried as well. Whatever could scare Death itself should, and did, scare the s**t out of me. “From what!?” I asked, in a mixture of nervousness and other emotions. “Hooligans,” he replied, speaking the word quietly, almost reverently, like he was afraid that merely speaking it aloud would summon them. “Hooligans?” I asked, brief fear turning to confusion. “Hooligans,” he affirmed. “What?” I asked, not following. “There are three truths in this universe,” Death said, his tone lowering, seeming wise. “Life, me, and…Hooligans.” “You’re kidding.” I said, chuckling the faintest chuckle just in case this was all a clever ruse.

“I hate kidding,” He said, staring into me as if I wasn't even there. “It’s always tragic when a child passes before their time. Adults like you are better, of course, but old-people are the best option.” He stopped suddenly, holding his scythe up in both hands, like he was preparing to strike. He spun around, crouching down and searching for something in the endless expanse around us, and try as I might I couldn’t see what had caught his eye. “S**t.” He whispered. “S**t, s**t, s**t.” “What?” I asked, chuckling nervously. “Get down, Zev, get on the ground!” He cried out. I complied, dropping and crumpling as low as I could, next to him. “Oh god!” He called out, “Oh, f**k, they’re everywhere!” He screamed then, a blood curdling cry that chilled me to the core, and I couldn’t help but add my own shriek to his. Then he stopped just as suddenly as he’d started, and began laughing. I lifted my hands from where they’d been curled around my head, and looked at him.

He pointed at me, bellowing out in laughter. “Zev! You should have seen your face!”

“The hell, man!?” “Oh come on!” He said, jokingly. “It’s funny.” “Hooligans, god...Your generation cracks me up.”

“You scared the s**t out of me!” I said in annoyance and anger, punching him gently, yet a tad rough on the shoulder. “Well, you need to lighten up, Zev.” He said, his tone and face serious again. “You’re dead, okay? It's not like if anything did come they would be able to double kill you, seriously, your generation is so gullible! Everything’s over now. All your worries and concerns, fears, whatever�"it doesn’t matter anymore. You can just chill now, and enjoy the ride. “So what’s the scythe for then?” I asked, calming down after realizing there was nothing to fear. “Hmm? Oh, that.” As he started to tell a tale. Death held the scythe out, examining it thoughtfully. “Um, well, once upon a time there was a farmer, and that farmer, being a farmer, used a farming tool called a scythe. I'm the farmer, obviously, and I guess I kept it as a kind of anchor, something to remind me of home. By the way, a scythe is a terrible weapon�"did me absolutely no good at my own little end.” “What happened?” I asked, in curious fashion. “I walked into the forest. Turns out better for some than others, I’m afraid.” “Oh.” I said, a little let down at the anti-climatic response. “Man, the guy's are gonna love this. Hooligans, ha!” Death chortled. I shook my head. “I don’t think I like you very much.” Death’s mirth faded away, and he sighed, a constant hiss of air that whistled through the flesh less bones that made up his jaw. “Not many do, not many do.” He responded. “What did you mean by 'the guys?'” I asked. “Oh, y'know, some of my friends that I have in the Underworld, some dearly loved family members of yours from a few years ago to a few generations prior.” “Oh, and you know Onyx and Rufus?” He asked, knowing that would cheer me up. I suddenly teared up in happiness. “My dogs, you mean?” I asked, rubbing the tears away. “Yup.” He replied. “There's a party tonight, to celebrate your life even when it is all over. “Wow!” I replied in amusement. “Who's coming?” “Everybody.” He replied. “Everybody?” I asked. “Everybody.” He repeated, enjoying my happiness. “Stand back,” He suddenly said, standing in front of me, his hand preventing me from going further. “What, are you going to f**k with me again?” I asked, getting ready to be annoyed. “Because I don't care for that s**t at all.” “No, I'm waiting for the door to appear.” “What door? All I see is a highway.” I said, not following yet again. “Shh,” he whispered. Suddenly, through either black magic or by some miracle, a Gothic black door like the color of Death's cloak appeared. “Now what?” I asked. “You open it, and walk through.” He replied. “Don't worry�"I'll be right behind you.” So I went ahead and opened the door, walked through the black liquid that made up dark matter and fell into what felt like a bottomless pit. “Ahhh!” I yelled out as I plunged to, what would normally my untimely demise. “Aw, yeah!” Death proclaimed in an excited nature as he fell. Suddenly, a portal opened at the end of whatever this contraption was and I fell belly, chest, and face first on the floor. Death appeared, landing gently on his feet. “Gotta work on your landings, my man.” He said, patting me on the shoulder with his bone hand as I got up, writhing in pain and shock. Suddenly, I heard excited chatter and what sounded like two dogs barking. Family members alike ran up to me, crying and laughing at the same time, yelling out my name in a missed manner. Onyx and Rufus followed, pouncing on me and jumping straight to licking me on the face. “I told him about the Hooligans story I usually always tell the new-comers!” He said, bellowing out in another fit of laughter. “It gets them every time, I swear!” I got up, in complete awe of the Underworld. What I thought would be dystopian and not pleasant was a gigantic Gothic city. Every building had a black and purple glow to it, there were farmers markets almost at every turn, some selling meat for the carnivores, some vegetables for the vegetarians. There were zero homeless people as there was in Vancouver, BC (Canada) for everything was almost as if it was perfect. “Hey, Zev!” Death yelled a tad bit out, motioning for me to come over. “Protocol around here is to have you stay with me for 3 nights at my apartment until we can find you a residence.” “Uh, sounds good.” I awkwardly said, unsure of what Death in the not-so-flesh could be like as a roommate. “So, hop on my Harley and we'll blow this Popsicle stand.” Instantly, through dark matter energy a matte black Harley Davidson appeared out of thin air. Death hopped on and started to turn on Running With The Devil �" by Van Halen, on a black iPod, and to make it clear, not an iPhone. So, we headed out to his place, and what felt like 25 minutes we arrived. Death and I walked up to the apartment complex, and Death asked me a question. “You ready, dude?” “As ready as I'll ever be,” I replied. We entered the complex, walked up a few flights of stairs and got to his apartment. We both walked up to the apartment door and opened it. Instantly, a loud and thunderous boom of music blasted out from his speakers. It was Pour Some Sugar On Me �" By Def Leppard. “Oh, f**k yeah!” Death said happily. “One of my favorite tunes, and we got here exactly when it started to play!” “Come on in, Zev, make yourself at home.” I nodded and went inside. “Want a drink? Play on my PlayStation 4? Just relax?” He asked. “World's your oyster, buster brown.” I chuckled. “I don't drink booze, but you can go right ahead.” I replied. “Alright, more for me, then.” He said. He pulled out a bottle of dark matter whiskey. “What did you think, man? Thought I could drink actual liquid?” “Ha!” He chortled. He downed the dark matter, and burped. “Ah, s**t, that hits the spot.” So Death and I chatted, played some video games together, and I forgot I was even dead. I think I'm going to like it here.