A Day In The Life Of Death

The Bengal Tiger

I have a feeling that I won't like my new assignment. Of course, the one who sets and gives me these assignments is, well, myself. So I guess I can't complain, unless that is, it's taking away the life of a fifteen year old Bengal tiger. So, with my overflowing cloak as blackish blue as raven feathers, and my scythe sharpened, although there has never really been a use for it, it's all ceremonious really, I pull up the cowl that hides my skeletal face and set off to where my next client resides:

The Manfred Zoo.

I've always hated this particular zoo. The animals are ill treated and their cages never kept sanitary. Inspections after inspections were carried out which would've ruined anyone's reputation and tarnish countless spotless credentials. Blinding nostalgia prevented them from being shut down as their loyal customers wanted to keep the zoo running, perhaps a feeble attempt to preserve memories that were the only source of happiness now gone forever. If you asked me, I'd say it was dirtier than my cat, Elijah's, litter box, and that's saying something. Oh, that's saying everything.

The ancient, green walls ridden with moss that sat on either sides of the rusted, once bronze gate were more than enough to give any passerby a first impression that you could trust with your gut. It was old, a relic really, and it was ill kept. You could ask any of the residents here and they'll tell you to avoid this zoo like the plague and visit the one a little ways north from here in the city. A once thriving capitalistic enterprise, now a prime example for those entrepreneurs ardent to open up a zoo of their own to take note of. Do not repeat what The Manfred Zoo tried to stick with all these years. That is, fail to listen to their business advisers and carry on tumbling down a treacherous business strategy.

Still, it managed to survive up until now. Be it its ever loyal customers or the sense of nostalgia, The Manfred Zoo has survived twenty years of business, the last fifteen of which being nothing to scream about or to aspire to at all.

As I approached the gate, the fold of my cloak getting caught at my feet as I did (if you could call it feet), I ensured the address of my destination matched the one scribbled next to the gate. A lone, obese guard wearing a blue collar that was way too small for him, and baggy black slacks stood at attention when he caught sight of me nearing the gate. His shirt was damp with sweat, and every time he spoke, it seemed like it took every effort to speak without taking a deep breath to calm down his panting. He also required a much needed trim. All in all, an inept zoo guarded by an inept guard trying to please inept customers. They complete each other, really.

'You ain't our regular.' He states as he swats at the flies buzzing around his hair.

'I know.' I reply, trying to be as casual as possible. 'I was just passing by and I realised I've never visited this zoo before. Seeing it's a sunny day,' I pointed my finger at the bright, blue sky. 'I thought I'd take a look around. For curiosity's sake more than anything else.'

'Well there ain't nothing to be curious about here.' He says blatantly. I flinch at his double negative but I pushed it aside anyway. That wasn't important.

'I think I'll just take my chances, thanks.' I insisted and took out a fifteen dollar bill. The price of admission.

'Fine, suit yourself. But you'll tell yourself later that you wished you'd listen to ol'Terry and not go in.' I assumed that was his name.

My head automatically nodded to please his ego, and without any hesitation, I was already passed the gate and walking along the dirt path to the first few cages. It is needless to say, I was more than satisfied by the way my glamour was working. It's easier to go about my tasks as a grim reaper without mere mortals noticing my pointy and deadly scythe or my black cloak cowl that covered my body and face. Honestly, I was doing them a big favour. No one wants to see a walking bag of bones.