Life of a Grimm

Boys can see me

 When you're on the streets, watching as mortals pass by, I'll bet you're thinking of ways they could possibly die. That's all I can think about. Ever. More than ever right now.

'How is it that it's on my record? How do they even know my record? What is going on? That person will die of fire, that one a car crash, this one will freeze to death in Antarctica, and that one will commit suicide. They're all crazy.'

Or am I just crazy? What am I even? Sitting on this damp street, with no job and nowhere to hide from society. I'm fired. I was fired. I am . . . Not human. Heheheh, where is this place?

That's right, where is this place?

And the strangest thing happens . . . This boy with jet-black hair and one grey eye, the other white, stares at me. He's not scared. Or angry in any way. But . . . his one functional eye is giving me the look that a child gives its parent; hope, fear, respect. Respect for what?

Is any of this confusing you? Good. Good.

The boy walks up to me, a lonely Grimm sitting on the sidewalk, and says, "Hello, Sir, but are you what I think you are?"

"I don't know. Do I look like what you think I am, Boy?" I reply, fascinated.

He can actually see me. Hear me. How is this even possible?

"You look like the Grim Reaper."

"I used to be a Grimm. May I ask how you can talk to me, if you are simply a mortal?"

He shrugs. "Can't everyone else see you?"

And then it hits me. His eye . . . The cloudy white one.

He's blind. It's not a thought. It's a fact. And somehow, he can see me.

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Author's Note

Hey guys, sorry this chapter is so short like the others, but I have to go. My parrot is --not even joking-- trying to bite my fingers as I type so I'm going to stop before I lose a finger! Goodnight, see you later, my lovelies!