The Journals of Death.

Part Five

"No, I don't. Look at him," I point. "Don't you want to put him out of his misery? He doesn't need another chance. He needs to be released from the pain. The life that you allowed him to have. Don't you understand? He has had a life of suffering, of turmoil, of wondering when he'd have another piece of food to eat. Humans can't take care of themselves. They don't treat each other with kindness like they do in your perfect world. Stop thinking of Eden, Life, this isn't the Holy Place. He deserves his peace. He has worked hard for it."

The simplest way to make a convincing lie is to speckle truth within it. About twenty percent of these words are from my own train of thought. The rest are added in, lies mixed with truth, to cover up the fact I might truly care. I think I've gone too far. I might've added more truth than I intended. Life looks more serious now with his brow furrowed than it was originally. Trying to reason with him is like talking to a brick wall but I fall for it every time. I'm so desperate for someone to understand that I'll scream at anyone who will bother to converse with me, even if that someone is Life.

Another sigh escaped his lips. I've known him my entire existence. I know what all of his sighs mean. Even if he knows nothing about me, I know all about him. He is thinking about how I was in the past. The cute little child that hated to take the life of anything he had created. He wants that Death back and has never stopped treating me like a child. He stared at me now, eyeing me up and down, and shook his head.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, I do," I speak with authority. "I believe it with my entire nonexistent heart. Now, will you move out of the way, so I can collect this kid's soul?" Life, as always, refused to move.

"This kid isn't going to die this way," he crossed his arms and continued to stand firmly in place.

"Look, Life, buddy, pal, I found him first. I have dibs." Nothing I could say would ever be good enough for Life. He only listened to one entity, and that entity was God. It didn't matter what flowery language I used now. He'd made up his mind. Time to resort to childish methods. He does, after all, consider me to be a child.

"Why don't we do this the good old fashioned way?" I offer.

"And what, pray tell, is the 'good old fashioned way'?"

"I challenge you to a duel of skull-skin-sword," I threw one of my spare gloves down at the foot of Life. If I'm challenging him to a duel, I might as well do it properly.

"Skull-skin-sword? Really? You couldn't think of anything better? How childish," he snickered. Yes, it is childish, but that is rather the point.

"Stop being rude. It might be a game for young reapers, but what does that matter? It's a perfectly good way to solve an argument." Life, do me a favor, and just take the bait already. I'm tired of going in circles with you.

He let out an exasperated sigh. "If you insist." Oh, thank the god of The Underworld. Life is finally willing to end this pointless argument. We both held out our hands in the shape of a fist.

"Skull. Skin. Sword. Go!" We spoke in unison. We acted in sync. And, Life was horrified with the results. He lost. He really lost in this childish game. How could he return proudly to Heaven now? I looked around to try and find an angel. There had to be one somewhere. This was a hospital. Life was never going to hear the end of this. No one. Of course, there was no one. Who would ever be around to see Death win?

I moved towards the boy. Victory was mine. I could finally return to The Underworld and that's all that mattered. I held my scythe in my hand and shrunk it to the size of a kitchen knife. I had to move it carefully, with caution, or I would collect the souls of other people and cause trouble for Hades. Today, if no other day, I would be legal. I held the scythe above the kid's head. His soul inched its way out and made contact with my scythe. A warm light filled the room. Collection complete. I watched in silence as the life faded from his body. His limbs fell limp and his chest no longer heaving for breath. The people around the boy tried to save him, and they failed.

I turned to leave, via the window, but I made sure to look back at the boy one last time overlooking Life completely. I had to analyze my emotions for him. Did I really want him to die? In the end, I felt nothing. All misgivings I may have had for him were long since past. If I had been younger, a kinder version of myself, maybe I would've felt pity, sorrow, or any emotion of the sort. Such sentiments don't come to me anymore. I can imitate them. I can act them out for Life's perception of me... but I cannot feel such things. I have collected far too many souls to feel for them at all.