God… I feel real siiick. Fever maybe?
School’s starting well… tomorrow, actually, since it’s midnight now…
Anyways, i talked with a friend bout how boring a reaper’s life is (probably…). After all, boredom’s the worst company. I made my version of it… posting a part o’ it here. btw, she writes her own version too… *headbang*
It’s probably real, real REAL bad, but comments please? i like writing things for fun…
The Bored Ones;
He yawned in boredom as the wife of the dead man started sobbing in the middle of the funeral speech. He was leaning leisurely against the railing placed around the cemetery. Hey, nobody could see him. Why should he be polite? It’s not like he was actually invited here anyway.
He looked up, he sun was hot today. He wore all black, a common sight for funerals. But it’s not like he was visible to everyone there. He wondered for the nth time why people can stand wearing black in a hot day like this, even if it was a funeral. Well, the rule didn’t apply to him there.
Nearing the end of the speech, he started walking through the mourning crowd nonchalantly, towards the dead body inside the over-decorated and nailed casket. His hand easily went past the lid, pulling out a struggling translucent form, a spirit of the dead. He had grabbed the dead guy’s neck, no wonder the dead guy was clawing his hands.
He released his grip on the guy’s neck, the dead guy fell on his knees and panted for air. Spirits didn’t need to breathe, but they still did. Habit, maybe? He himself wasn’t breathing at all.
“Time’s up, dead guy. You gotta go now.” He said to the spirit, who was on his late fifties.
“Can’t I stay longer? My funeral is not yet over.” The spirit protested.
Noticing a black thread from the back of the spirit and going inside the casket, he realized he forgot to cut the thread connecting the body and the spirit. That could be fixed. Easily.
He willed his black scythe to appear, and it did, held by his right hand. The dead guy’s spirit tensed marginally. Probably thinking his head would be diced or something, oh he would love to do that, since usually he didn’t get to. Nope, sadly, that’s not his job. If it was, he wouldn’t hate this job for the boredom of it.
“W-what are you doing with that— that scythe?” The spirit questioned, his voice quivering. He could almost see the dead guy paling. He snorted inwardly at the thought, as if the whitest being could get any whiter.
Instead of replying, he raised the scythe above his head for dramatic effects and when it went down, the dead spirit whimpered. Hell, he was only cutting the thread! Why does everyone who sees him lifting his scythe ALWAYS cry or scream or whimper (or shriek, he remembered many girls shrieking)? But it is fun to scare ’em a little, his mind piped in. And he agreed.
As soon as the spirit realized he was not hurt, the spirit looked at him hesitantly.
“Think I’m gonna cut your head off? You’re already dead, why should I do that?” He mocked, the blade of the scythe glinted behind him in the hot sun though nobody noticed. The spirit didn’t reply, but he noticed the spirit nearly frowned at him. “Now c’mon.” He said, and grabbed the spirit’s neck again. Of course, the spirit struggled again. He stifled an exasperated groan.
“You’re friggin’ dead. You don’t NEED air.” He said, “It’s a little uncomfortable, but get over it. You’re going with me like this, and I’ll rip off your mouth if you whine.”
The spirit stopped struggling, then he saw the realization on the spirit’s face. Still clutching the dead guy’s neck, he walked to the gates of the cemetery. But before he was fully out, he felt someone was staring at him. Intently.
One of those kids, his mind helpfully supplied. He looked around, searching for a dumbfounded face. The person, a female teen, was right behind him. She wore a plain black blouse and a knee-length skirt. Good-girl type, probably. A relative of the dead guy whom he was choking maybe? He never saw a girl like that around the neighborhood.
He gave her a sardonic smirk, then he walked out without looking back.
He is definitely telling his reaper-friends about the girl. Who knows, she might be fun to annoy. A few days free from boredom, any reaper would kill for that.
Since i don’t have an y idea of what they actually do… yeah…
Don’t you dare put this on any of your pages and say it’s yours yaddayaddayadda. I’ll haunt you for life. And I mean it.
F*ck, it’s not good, but it’s what I write, not you. so if you’re planning to rip this off, go grab a pillow and drown damnit…