Sweet Release of Death

Companion

[Death's POV]

Now would be perfect.

I could kill him now and save myself the trouble of hearing him lament about his mishaps and misfortunes. Giving him the privilege of what is practically immortality may have been the most moronic thing I have done during my time in the human realm. I could have chosen anybody else, but of course I chose the hot-headed dullard with a bastard complex beyond human comprehension.

Now here I am, standing in the dark, glaring at his sleeping figure across the bedroom, ruminating on what to do. Technically, I have no need for him as a trophy any more. His morality has clawed its way back to the surface, and he no longer has a skewed perspective on the world—which is what drew me to him in the first place. Another trophy for the collection. Yet, he is a trophy no longer.

Killing him would be rather easy; smash in his head, pulverize his ribcage, or I could...strangle him. Wrap my fingers around his throat and crush his windpipe—it would only take a minute or so. It is plausible.

I am Death—although I do not usually do the killing...this will be an interesting experience.

I approach his sleeping figure silently. His features are relaxed, peaceful even, as he sleeps. I have never done this before, but I have seen it done many times by...others. How difficult can killing someone be?

His neck is thicker than I thought. I can barely get my fingers around it. His skin is warm in a way I cannot describe. The pulse from his carotid arteries is steady under my fingers, it is...soothing in a way? Perhaps I should not go through with this.

No. I have committed to this.

I...

I am doing it. Now.

Right. Now.

I squeeze his neck. My knuckles feel weak for whatever reason, but I have to press on. The soft sound of Jeff releasing the tiniest exhale makes me shiver. Soon there will no longer be any more exhales coming from him. Somehow, this realization makes me feel...heavy in my chest.

Suddenly, hands fervently grasp my wrists and nails dig hard into my skin, making me bleed. Jeff swings his bent legs out towards me and connects a kick to my chest with both feet, sending me stumbling backwards. As I regained my footing, I watched Jeff withdraw his dagger from its sheath at his thigh and brandish it in my direction. His black eyes were ablaze like burning hot coals in a hearth. I was almost impressed with the ferocity of his gaze, even when it faded to make way for realization. And then those dark, vacuous eyes blazed even more ferociously.

"What—" Jeff took in a sharp breath, his empty hand rubbing his throat, "—the fuck were you doing?"

I paused for a moment. What kind of asinine question is that? "I was trying to kill you...? It seems obvious enough."

"Any other day, I would put up with your blunt and sarcastic honesty, but I'm not exactly in the best of moods now, because, well, I don't know—you tried to fucking kill me in my SLEEP!"

"Well...you were sleeping so soundly I did not think you were even going to wake up—."

"That's not the issue here!"

"I suppose I could have used a quicker method. Perhaps I will pay a visit to this town's, what is the place called again...Walmart...to purchase a firearm."

"I—first of all, a Walmart? Really? Second—STILL NOT THE FUCKING ISSUE!"

"Then what, pray tell, is the 'fucking' issue?"