The Journals of Death.

Part Two

I was walking down the hallway leading to Hades's office. The Underworld was primarily made of a series of caves. It looked ragged and disgusting, dirt and ash lingered in the air. Nobody cleaned. The janitors tried their best in the beginning but soon gave up. Clean one spot and more grime tumbled down. Except for one location, Hades's domain, everything else was a barren wilderness. His domain lacked the white marble of Heaven's buildings but still held a similar architecture. Perhaps not so bright in color but at least dark enough that my eyes were not blinded by the light. My scythe scraped against the cave floor as I walked, leaving a mark, and emitting a screech akin to nails on a chalkboard. My feet slapped against the cold stones and my scythe was loud enough to warn reapers nearby not to approach.

As I got closer to Hades's office, I saw fewer and fewer reapers. Not many had the privilege, and even fewer wished to see him. They love him because he was something beautiful to obtain. They cannot go near him, or their ideals would be tarnished, so most whisper amongst themselves about how glorious he was. The minute one got too close to one's god, one lost the ability to worship. That's what makes the government system in this place so despicable.

Hades was above me in name only but because of his title as the "God of The Underworld" I made sure to know my place as a subject, not an equal. I had to, otherwise I'd wind up being hurt again. Nobody loved Death. If I got too close to the god of the reapers, they would begin to fear him and scorn me for the 'seduction' of their great and powerful ruler. I pretend to be overly familiar; I still call him by name, but the emotional distance between us was as great as the number of souls collected thus far.

I had known Hades since the beginning, er, well, sort of. Don't worry about it. We had a sort of "friendship" that no one could replace. He might be the only person in the universe that truly cares for me, but I've carelessly abused that time and time again because I can't tell if he did or didn't. As a result, I hold him at arm's length. It's foolish, but it's protection. If not to protect myself than to protect his image of "god." Doing things with a contradiction is my sole purpose. It's the only way I could find amusement in my responsibilities. Think about it. I am Death, but I existed. I cannot tell if I was living or if I was dead, but I am Death so I must be dead, right?

I pondered this as I walked, each step more tasking than the last. I hated this place. Not because it was dark, foreboding, or even disgustingly filthy. I hated this place because of what it represented. It's a long-lasting image of who I was, what I was supposed to do, and I'd rather not partake in that. The longer I walked the more I tripped over my feet. I should've stuck to floating but even that can be tasking. I no longer have the wings. I'm incredibly human in appearance and that very fact made me cringe. I stopped for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Even this close to Hades' office, there were still stalactites in the air. A small bat stared down at me. Smiling, I reached up my hand to touch it, only to realize that it was far away from my grasp. This was for the better. I didn't want to kill the little fellow. How did he even get down here? This wasn't an Earthly cave. This place existed between realms. Did someone sneak him down here? I shook my head and kept walking the winding path leading to my destination.

The door to Hades's office was a grand one. It held similarities to his Greek origins. Large, intricately sculpted pillars that served little purpose other than decoration were offset by the rugged cave walls. They were white, at one point or another, but over time turned to a muted dull gray. This door was meant to mimic Heaven's pearly gates, and instead was a relic. I snickered to myself as I kicked open the door. Not the grand door of decoration, no, there was a much smaller door in the corner for common use. Think of it as a cat door in a human's abode. A small opening on a much larger object. If I were to open the grand door, the walls of this cave would crumble. That was the level of disrepair in The Underworld. Pretty, to a point, and then horrendously difficult to maintain. No thanks to the angels upstairs treating the reapers down here like we deserved it. Funding. Who ran the funding? A certain snobbish angel wannabe with lofty and pride-filled ambitions despite his intense desire only to live up to the fruits of the spirit and not the seven deadly sins. Well, here, have a dirty secret: the prettiest ones hold the most grime inside.