TUMBLR-Inspired One-Shots

My Name Is..

This was actually an assignment for school, but I really liked it, so I thought I'd put it on here- sorry that it's short, that was part of it! Also, if any of you have read The Book Thief, I changed the end slightly. If you haven't read the book, I highly recommend it.

   I'm an enemy of your kind. You're predisposed to hate me; to salvage the scraps of right from the vast oceans of me. It's a difficult life to lead, one where you're avoided at any and all costs. One where you work is constantly wished to be effaced. One where you make children and adults cry alike. I never mean to, of course, but it's my regretful specialty.

   Death is a good friend of mine. I make it a point to perennially visit him, and together we reflect on our grievous work. This doesn't mean that we don't see each other in passing, however. We'll catch glances of each other at my latest project, a sad glint in my eyes, and his- well, it just depends on the day.

   World War Two was an especially hard time for him.

   I remember him telling me about a girl, a book thief. Liesel.. Memange? Momanger- no. Meminger. Liesel Meminger. He told me about the air raid on her town, killing everyone, and begged to know why it happened, why did I have to strike then, that he knew it was me because they missed, so on and so forth with the questions. So many questions. His eyes were tear-filled that day. Would you believe it? Even Death, the soul thief himself, has a heart.

   All I can remember is standing there, horror in my eyes and guilt in my face. I had no real answer that I could give him. What was I supposed to say? "I'm sorry, I didn't know that I killed someone you cared for"? You see? I am a master in the profession of malfeasance, how else will I have to prove it to you?

I don't exactly remember all I said to him that day. I think I may have told him that I was only trying to help, but me being me, that was all but possible. Frankly, all I remember in detail are the eyes. The river-filled eyes of Death. Only, the river is filled with the blood of the people of Himmel Street. It was a thoroughly depressing sight.

Now, enough with the storytelling. You may be wondering who exactly your anonymous narrator is, and I don't blame your curiosity. In addition, you may consider me life's antagonist.

Always unfortunately for you, my name is Wrong.

*****

I won't lie. That was most definitely an elongated version. I'll put the real one down below, which was only allowed to be seven sentences.

I'm an enemy of your kind. You're predisposed to hate me; to salvage the scraps of right from the vast oceans of me. It's a difficult life to lead, one where you're avoided at any and all costs. One where you work is constantly wished to be effaced, where you make children and adults cry alike. Death is a good friend of mine- I make it a point to perennially visit him, and together, we reflect on our work.

You may consider me an antagonist in your life, but you most definitely know me- oh yes.

Always unfortunately for you, my name is Wrong.
*****
One more note. We could have no more than seven sentences, had to use four vocabulary words, and most importantly of all, write a narrative as a concept- much like Death in The Book Thief. Thanks!