A Business of Misery

Tip #4 | Don't Kill One Human to Save Another

The memory of a grim reaper is incredible. We aren't perfect; we can't remember every tiny detail of every day of our existences, but we never truly forget anything. I remember that day so clearly; I do remember every detail about it. It's what came after that I struggle with. I had grown fond of a human—something that a grim reaper should never do, something that should never be possible. But it happened to me.

I liked watching this human. I spent much of my time watching her. I knew everything about her from the report, including when and where her time would end, and exactly how. I decided on that day, that I would venture down to the human world and spend her last moments with her as a stranger. I met her on a sidewalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to signal for us for move to the other side of the road. I still remember everything about that moment.

The human had silky blonde hair similar in color to beach sand but with darker streaks throughout. Her face was narrow and her nose pointed upward. Her hazel eyes stared at the ground as other humans shuffled around her, all waiting for their turn to cross the street. Her fair skin was dotted with tiny freckles. She wore a long coat of sturdy fabric, gray in color with buttons from her neck to her hips, but she left it open. Under the coat she donned a yellow dressed decorated with a blue flower pattern, probably sleeveless.

A blue scarf hid her neck from the chill of the morning air and provided her with a place to rest her chin so elegantly as she waited on the sidewalk. Light stockings covered her legs and on her feet were flat shoes, yellow to match her dress. I even remember that her fingernails were unpainted, but filed cleanly. Her cream-colored purse kept sliding off of her shoulder, so she had to repeatedly adjust it. She didn't have any earrings that day, but she wore some sometimes.

She also didn't wear much makeup. Her resting expression was one of contentment; she wasn't smiling, but one could tell that she was satisfied with life. There was a certain glow about her that radiated overall joy. I remember complimenting her bag. "Its simplicity is beautiful," I told her.

"Thank you," she'd said with a small smile.

There were 14 other humans waiting at that crosswalk, and several more were passing by. So many potential victims of the horrendous act that would happen so suddenly. The light switched and told the pedestrians to begin their march. We all walked forward over the marked path. I knew it was coming. I saw the man who would be responsible for her end walking the opposite way. He had his hands in his coat pockets. An unnoticeable bulge in his pocket casted a small shadow over his shoe.

He faced the ground at first, then looked up as the opposite crowds merged and people weaved past one another. He saw his target; it wasn't the woman whom I had grown fond of, but she was in front of the one the killer wanted. The man withdrew a small pistol from his coat pocket and pointed it toward the intended victim. The woman, however, obscured the target slightly, and the target tried to use the crowd to remain out of sight of the gun.

The killer was meant to fire at the target, but miss and instead hit the woman, but that didn't happen. I don't know why it didn't happen; I don't know I intervened, but my body acted without thought. Reapers aren't able to directly cause a human to face an early death, but if a reaper takes a physical form on Earth and manipulates the environment, then who knows what might occur? My hands reached out and grabbed the woman's arm.

I pulled her aside, out of the way of the shot. Then, the killer fired his weapon, and as the rest of the crowd dispersed at the sight and sound of the multiple gunshots, the intended victim stumbled back and fell onto the painted asphalt. He died right then and there. He wasn't supposed to die. She was. I was supposed to guide her to the afterlife, but I didn't. The dead man also didn't receive attention from any reapers. He wasn't meant to. I'm not entirely sure what happened to his soul after that.