Believe in Me

The Mind of the Reaper

Death leaned against the wall, his red eyes focused with pure alertness as Pitch faded out of his view. 

A fearling flew up to him and he brushed it aside carelessly; the powers of nightmares didn't do much to him. It was enough of a nightmare living to know that you yourself would have to take anyone and everyone forcefully out of their happy worlds. What was there to give him nightmares about? All that ever entered his head when the nightmare sand reached his mind were thoughts that were already there. The black boots he wore made clicks on the tile that echoed throughout the entire throne room as Grey Loss paced. He had never truely been angry at the Man in the Moon.. death was a job that had to be done. He was important.. even if he didn't and never would enjoy it. Still, if anything he was lonely, the depths of his heart filled with the blood of the men, women, children, animals, or any living thing he had to tear from their families and loved ones. They were happy where they went, well, most of them. But the worst part was watching the reactions after they had been gone. "I hate death!!!! I hate it when people die!!!" He remembered a seven year old screaming with tears in her bloodshot eyes as she stood by her mother's grave. All the crying.. it was his fault. If he was a less responsable man, he would've chose to not deliver the lives to the awaiting heaven or hell. But that would cause chaos.. and chaos was someone that he did NOT want involved with the lives of humans. Death was believed in all right, probably just as believed in as the guardians themselves, but he was hated worst than even Pitch Black for his job. When a human killed another, the blame was on him. When a deer ran in front of a car and died on the road, the blame was on him. Ilia didn't get blamed for bear attacks, Chaos wasn't blamed for lightning strikes, Jack Frost wasn't blamed for blizzards.. so why was he put down so badly for something he couldn't control? He was feared more than the master of fear himself.. just for being what he was made to be. "You think too much.." he mumbled gruffly to himself, sliding down the wall to sit with one knee up and the other leg lying out against it. The fearlings spread from him, a few braver ones trying to soak his mind with their nightmares but retreating when they found it came to no effect. He longed to be like Ilia or Jack or Sandy, to know that he did good for the world and have people cheer when he came, people other than the wicked. He wondered why he was chosen. Of all the fallen humans of the world, why did the Man in the Moon pull him back from his eternal sleep and shove him into an everlasting world of hatred and darkness and tears..? Sure, Jack Frost treated him right and probably would until he realized that Death had been the one that was present when he fell into the ice, who had taken his sister from the world, his mother, his family when their times all came. He wished he could die someday as well. Even the immortal could look forward to a day of rest when they were wounded too badly or finally ended it themselves, even if it weren't as comfortable of a way to die as old age. But Death couldn't die, never would. He was truely immortal. When he bled out, he just kept bleeding, no matter how much until the wound healed or was covered. He had tried to kill himself off out of selfishness once and the long scythe he weilded simply went right through his neck. He was cursed, cursed to watch until billion years beyond when every human and animal and soul would finally vanish and his work would be done.. and even then, the fires of the burning earth wouldn't reach past his skin. Just kill innocents and the Man in the Moon will find you unsuitable for the job and let you die, Chaos had whispered to him hundreds of years ago, the sadistic whisper of the male into his unlistening ear. His heart was too pure for that.. so no matter what happened, he would be there.. alone, unwanted. The guardians couldn't take him in, they wouldn't. He gave no joy to children in the slightest. There was no family for him, anyone he finally found who'd want to be friends, like Ilia, would eventually pass on and leave the already deep trench in his heart a little deeper. This is the life that i've been given.. he said with a heavy sigh in his mind. Death couldn't die.. and he wouldn't enjoy the life he had as long as the humans and creatures would pass on and tears would be shed at his hand. So Grey Loss went on, holding onto the only sense of minor comfort that what he did was helping everyone.. even if they hated him for it.