(WP) Don’t Fear the Reaper

(WP) Don’t Fear the Reaper

               Reapers
are not curious beings by nature; it is not our way.

               We are
chosen to reap souls, and we do it, with little to no questions asked.

               I don’t
mind my job; it keeps me busy and gives me glimpses of the human world that I
left behind, too soon, too young.

               But, of
course, as with all things, our trade has rules.

               We
cannot interfere. We cannot let our emotions rule our hearts, regardless of
what we see. And lastly, each soul is assigned to a reaper, and only that reaper can take that soul to its
afterlife.

               Whoever
rules us demands it, and we are more than happy to comply.

               But I’d
be lying if I said that sometimes there aren’t… Complications.

               Occasionally,
a reaper will be so moved by emotion that mistakes happen, and things will have
to be fixed. Or there’s a paperwork mix up and the people upstairs will be
dealing with a pileup.

               But in
all my years of Reaping, I’ve never seen circumstances such as these.

               I sit
at my desk, reading the file for what seems like the hundredth time. Something
feels off, and I can’t just ignore my gut. We may seem apathetic to people who
don’t know us or our trade, but we really do care.

               It
takes a strong soul to ferry souls to their afterlives, wherever they are.

               But
this just screams of bad news.

               **

               I stay
in my office for most of the night, poring over every single detail. It’s a
good thing that we don’t need sleep after we’re dead, because it’s been at least
two days since I slept. Or ate anything.

               Gage Cafferty. Died at 9 AM, 2/14/17. Cause
of death: Three gunshot wounds to the chest, exiting a gas station. Saw a
robbery in progress and attempted to intervene; was shot by the suspect, who is,
as of now, unidentified. Ran out with all the money in the cash register,
leaving Cafferty bleeding out on the floor. An ambulance was called, but he was
announced dead at the scene.

               My name
is under this entry in bright red, the scarlet color indicating that I was
running late on reaping the poor soul. But I just can’t take him to the
afterlife without answers. It all seems too neat, too scripted, too well-put
together.

               Remember
when I said that reapers aren’t curious beings? I guess you could say that I’m
the exception to the rule.

               Justice
was out of my hands, but I don’t want to just sweep it under the rug and pretend
it never happened.

               Too
many of my friends, my family, colleagues: They tend to turn a blind eye to the
horrors that humanity has wrought, claiming that they only deal with the
aftermath.

               But how
does that help anyone, in the long run? Sure, we bring peace to souls and
deliver them safely to where they’ll spend the rest of their existence.

               But the
yawning, gaping hole where my all too human heart should lie is telling me
different.

               I can’t
just stand by and watch things happen anymore.

               I have
to change things. And I’ll start with Gage Cafferty’s soul.

               **