The Reaper's Token

Death Wants a Break

My eyes slowly opened and closed. At first, I thought I was in a fog but then realized that I was under a sheet. By the feel of it, I was face-up on top of a cold, hard table. Sluggishly, I pulled the sheet down to my waist and struggled to sit up. Looking around, I noticed another chrome table and a wall full of square, chrome doors.

Where am I?! I thought as I collapsed back down on the table with a sigh.

"Is being dead really all that tiring?" Asked an ominous voice at the other end of my sheet.

I sat bolt upright and stared at the figure. He was leaning against a wall about 3 yards from my feet. He wore a hooded, black leather jacket. The brim of the hood dipped forward in front, obscuring his face. My first thought was 'Cool.' I couldn't help myself. I know that I should have been terrified, but it looked very similar to the Assassins Creed jacket I had my eye on but knew that I could never afford.

"I'm not dead!" I groaned, "Who said I was dead?"

"Well," he scoffed. "I should know. Shouldn't I?" He paused as a rich baritone rolled off his tongue. "It's not often you meet Death face to face."

I just stared at him for a while - like maybe ten minutes. (Okay, it felt like ten minutes even though it was probably more like two minutes.) He stared back and let me process the impossible.

"So why come and visit?" I asked as I stalled for time. No way was I dead. I wasn't sure what was going on, though... a coma, maybe? Slipped a roofie? Who would do that?  Rick, my cranky co-worker? What was happening???!

"I have not come here to hurt you, but to offer you an... opportunity..." his voice trailed off. Cocking his left eyebrow up in annoyance, he stared at my fidgeting fingers and knees. I wasn't actually fidgeting. I was trying, unsuccessfully, to control the shaking.

"Sure," I said, nodding rapidly, "I want to hear this "offer" of yours, but I'm about to wake up any minute - so you better spill it."

"Dominic Melchiorre Gallo," Death said dryly, "are you not taking me, DEATH, seriously?"

I felt my eyes widen, and I swear I could feel my eyebrows scrambling to hide under my shaggy, brown bangs.

"How do you know my name?" I whispered. I could barely breathe. Wait! Was I breathing?!!

"I am Death," he said nonchalantly, and then he gestured somewhat carelessly toward my feet, "and there is a note attached to your foot with your name and death date on it."

I swung my legs over the side of the table and removed the sheet in one quick sweep. I snatched the slip of paper off my toe, read it and then read it again - S-l-o-w-l-y.

"Ah! Ha!" I shouted, "So you really could be anyone, then?!!!" Suspicion knitted my brows together as my eyes narrowed in anger.

For a second, my anger was almost triumphant, and felt so much better than the fear. I was so relieved that I nearly cried. Shock and concern must have mingled on my face, but I quickly shifted off the table and began looking around on the floor for my shoes. I scooped up my inhaler and wallet from inside a metal bowl on a table next to me. I wasn't planning to stick around to get better acquainted with - whoever he was.

He moved like a panther - swiftly, controlled, and completely menacing. He got right in my face and could have jerked me up to meet him eye level, but he seemed to enjoy looking down on me instead. THAT ticked me off even though I was terrified. Leaning against the wall, he hadn't looked all that tall. Man, was he tall! Nearly 7 feet, and he looked every bit as lethal as you would imagine Death to appear - more actually.

"Look around you, Gallo," and then he hissed, "you are in a morgue, my young friend - that's where they put DEAD PEOPLE!" That last bit he said with oomph, and it had just the effect he was going for. I went completely rigid and silent.

He was all casual, cool, and leaning back against the wall again. "I came here to make you an offer," Death reiterated softly.

Something told me that this "offer" wasn't going to be good for me. Still, I was curious. How many people have you heard of doing Death a favor? He knew he had my attention now, and he began pacing, slowly, back and forth in front of me.

"I need an apprentice." He began, "I would like to retire at some point. No one wants to work forever, Dominic. As it was recently explained to me, proper establishment of your records may take more than one hundred years — especially if they keep hiring former bureaucrats to run the Certification Channels."

He was parroting news just the way I did slogans at Good Mart. I hoped I didn't sound as condescending.

"Of course, they should have streamlined this process eons ago!" He muttered savagely, "Completely inexcusable that it takes one hundred annum." He was really getting jacked up! His pacing had become marching, and he was more huffing than breathing. It was almost comical. Almost.

'He must really need a vacation,' I thought. Who knew. Death wants a break?

"Oh!" He snarled, "If I was over Certification! Heads would roll!" He slammed his fist into the chrome wall, and the silver doors shuddered in response.

"Careful," I said, "Wouldn't want to wake the..."

Death glared at me and then slowly seemed to realize that I wasn't the jerk who had told him that his vacation wasn't happening this century. He stopped pacing, relaxed his shoulders, and flashed me a quick grin. If I could have backed up, I would have. Instead, I half sat, half leaned on the chrome table, trying to look cool.

"I am giving you a chance," he said, "all you must do is an interview. Be yourself. If you don't pass, you will be put through processing - which is an eternal sleep. That sounds... very restful ... for some." As he spoke, Death grabbed a rolling stool and sat down on it expectantly.

Now! I interview Now?