Sunday, 29 January 2017

Reaping Death

Chuck has us writing about rebellion... I thought this would be easy. It wasn't. I hope this works out; it was more difficult than I thought. 


It’s been so long since I dodged my Reaper – 1996 in fact – and he’s been following me around for a good part of my life.
I’ve dreamed about him. I’ve watched him while driving past car accidents as he reaped those poor unfortunate people who lost their lives.
Nobody else can see him but the ones about to die – and, well, me – and it’s a creepy thing to admit that I see the Horseman himself every day. But he’s not scary or freaky. He’s just an old dude in a suit with an ivory walking cane. He could be any old dude walking down the street; but he had a kind of dignity about him... there’s something in his stride that says: ‘Don’t screw with me.’

And when you dodge your Reaper, and you survive accidents, diseases and other major health issues, you feel kind of weird. It’s as though you’re out of step with a line dance – and you just can’t catch back up again, no matter how much your try. The only thing you can do is stand on the sidelines and watch until the party ends.

But the party doesn’t end.

Life is the party you’ve come to – the party you’ve crashed – and you never get back into the step of it. You either feel as though you’re three steps ahead or five steps behind. You’re never in time with anyone there.

It’s really depressing.

This brings me to tonight’s events.

The accident on the bridge wasn’t my fault. But I was in the car when my Reaper showed up in the backseat with me, grabbed my hand and got me the fuck outa there just before the shit really hit the fan.
“I knew you were going to try and survive again... and it would put out the natural order again.” His voice reached my ears as the wail of the sirens filled the air, along with the acrid smoke from the fire.
“You didn’t want me dodging you again?”
“No. But you’ve seen me many times and it seems, Amy that you’re not scared of me.” He rested his hands on his cane, one on top of the other, and sighed, “That is a good thing; and I am headhunting for somebody new to train.”
“My other Reapers are old-fashioned and I need some new, young-looking ones who don’t frighten people.” He smiled as the fire crew put out the flames and the police stopped traffic. Looking up, Death watched with fascination as the search lights moved over the accident scene, “It’s time to leave.”

Time moved on and Death trained me to Reap.

It’s not hard. 

You wait for a person to be ready. 

They are usually on the list – as every Human is given a certain number of years to live – and you stand nearby to wait until it’s their time. Even criminals are reaped the same way as innocent people.

It’s amazing what a touch can do.

I did notice that Death never let me touch him though.
Then, one day, he brought me to a place I knew. It was one of my old stomping grounds, where I used to visit an old friend.
“This is the ultimate test for you.” He said, “There’s a person inside that house who’s about to die.” He pointed to red brick house. The yard was overgrown with weeds and it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned up in years, “You know that person really well. And I want you to Reap them. You will be able to work on your own then.”
The next minute, we were inside the house watching a woman with long, lanky hair fixing herself up some heroin. She tied off her arm, found a well-used vein and stuck the needle in.
As she did, I caught a glimpse of her eyes; and I knew who she was!  I turned away.
I just couldn’t watch as the sounds of her overdosing reached my ears – the stench of her shitting herself and vomiting filled the room as her last heartbeat sounded in the ether has haunted me.  I ... just ... tears filled my eyes, “You bastard!”
“What?” he asked, “You will be reaping people you know in the end anyway. And besides, you have been looking for her. Reap her!”
I looked at the lifeless body as the needle fell out of her hand and onto the crappy carpet, touched her clammy wrist and... “Oh god, no...”
“What in the hell am I doing here?” her voice asked behind me.
I stood and looked at her. She was just as she had been when she was in her thirties, “You died.”
“Amy?” she asked, “I couldn’t have... not really... what happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
Death stood by me, “Tell her how she died.”
“You were on drugs.” I whispered.
“No way!” she shook her head, then I moved out of the way to show her her body, “That can’t be me.”
“I’m afraid it is.” I said, “But it’s time you went ... you have somewhere to be.” I held out my hand, “Come with me.”

I led my friend away from the corpse with Death by our side. At least I know she’s at peace. The moment she was across – the moment the light vanished. I looked at the Horseman.
He knew exactly what I had going through my mind as he raised his cane high and it morphed into a scythe, “I know what you’re thinking girl! Nobody can reap me!”
“Nobody but your protégé.” I said as I pressed my palm to his forehead with one hand and grabbed a hold of the handle of the scythe with the other. Lightning flashed as our powers clashed against each other!
I raised the scythe high as he smiled, “You kill me, who will be the next Horseman?”
“Who else? Me.” 


  1. Nice take on the prompt! Master/apprentice is a clash I don't see too often in contemporary fiction, it it was used to good effect here. A very Supernatural-esque feeling to the story.

    1. Oh! Thank you so much! I was going for the 'Supernatural-style' with Death described that way. And I always wondered what would happen if somebody did rebel against him... would they become the next Horseman - the next Death (like here in the story) - or would everyone be stuck in the viel? I mainly thought to write something like this because 'Supernatural' is starting up again next week. :D