My Boy Fills Coffins

Chapter Two - There Was Too Much Mascarpone In Those Damned Desserts.

Chapter Two – There was too much mascarpone in those damned desserts.

I stirred in the mascarpone furiously; whipping my spatula around the bowl at such a speed that I was surprised my arm didn’t just fall off. While I was spooning the slightly runny mixture into the ramekins, I was shouting obscenities at him in my head.

My first kiss had been with a nutter who thought he was death. And that nutter also stole cheese! And he had a teddy bear! And he drove a shite car!

But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The man randomly dying and Noah blessing him and saying some kind of rite over the body. He knew everything about me. The way he was dressed even kind of screamed ‘Angel of Death’.

I always knew I had been extremely open-minded, but this just took the literal biscuit. Why wasn’t I freaking out over this like any rational person would? I asked myself as I shoved my ramekins in the oven, which thankfully didn’t set alight while I was out snogging Death. See! I was just calmly accepting the fact that I just met Death. I didn’t doubt it in any way, I had no reason to, and it sure made a fuck load of sense.

So I did what any teenager does at a time like this. I consulted Mr Google. Well, technically I turned my computer on, waited for it to turn on, complained about how long it took to turn on, and then finally opened my internet browser. And then I consulted Mr Google. The first I asked this all knowing beast was ‘Is the grim reaper real?’ This would have been laughable if the first thing that hadn’t popped up was a resolute yes, and then the suggestion that he was a she.

Did that mean that I kissed a girl, and I liked it?

Next I asked Mr Google if the Angel of Death is real. Mr Google told me that he was, but also that he wasn’t. I sat back in my computer chair and sighed, at the same time there were loads of answers saying not to be stupid, and that it is all a myth. So, I’ll just sit here and stare blankly at the wall in front of me while having that internal debate.

Okay, assuming that Noah is Death that means that he is a nasty soul collector. Like a tax collector, but with people, not money. But that also means that if I kiss his ass, I don’t have to go to hell. But assuming that Noah isn’t Death, then that means that he is a nutter who blesses random dead bodies and kisses random girls who just want to buy some cheese.

Either way, the chances of me seeing him again are really slim, so it doesn’t matter what exactly I think of him. And I should really stop thinking about him. And googling him. If he found out he would no doubt think that I’m a stalker and that’s never a good thing.

“The fact that you’re googling me is slightly unsettling.” A cool but familiar voice taunted.

In a moment of surprise, I flailed my arms wildly, knocking over a cup of coffee that was precariously balanced beside me. A split second after that, I fell off the computer seat and landed on the wooden floor with a slight thud. I sat there in a stunned silence wondering what the hell had just happened until a round of loud laughter reached me. I glared up at the twit in front of me, which only made him laugh harder.

“Your face….. The thud…. Your face….you fell…” Noah gasped, clapping his hands as he struggled to breathe. He was starting to wheeze, his expression etched into one of pure ecstasy. Yes, I get it. My face. No need to say it twice.