The Four Wotsits of the Doodad

Grim the Reaper

Death shook his head. He was wasting his time. How could simply stopping a few people dying make the world a better place? They were meant to pass away. It was the way of the world - a world he and his brothers were meant to bring to an end!

"Your brothers?"

Oops. Death hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud. Some things were not meant to be divulged, and the Apocalypse was one of those things. People had a tendency to panic when they thought their world was up. It made things complicated. And NOISY!

"Don't worry about it," he said.

"No, come on." Alf tried to push himself up, but only succeeded in having a coughing fit and needing to take a few deep breaths on the oxygen mask around his neck. "I've been talking to you while we've been waiting. It's only fair. I bet you don't get many chances to unload in your job."

Death sighed. Mr Oldie had struck gold-ie. Being Death and having to wait for the End of Days meant he didn't really have anyone he could relax and talk about his problems with. War wasn't too bad, but he was often concentrating more on whether there was a layer of dust on the top of the TV or if that particular photo frame or this particular coaster was perfectly straight. So he had to keep his thoughts and frustrations to himself. It made Death a very grumpy bunny sometimes. And that, in turn, made fluffy bunnies... dead.

"The world is going down the toilet," he said quietly, "and I'm not the one flushing it."

Alf laughed, a husky rattle like cereal in an almost empty box.

"For a change."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Death. I assume, you being you, that you've been around for a year or two?"

Death nodded. And the rest...

"Didn't you take notice of what was going on? Were you walking around blindfolded?"

Death thought back. Over the centuries, to be honest, he and the others really hadn't taken notice. They were playing a waiting game, and were simply sitting around twiddling their fingers until the Apocalypse came knocking. And they'd been doing that so long, they'd forgotten, really, who they actually were.

"I don't suppose I did," he said.

"Well, when have you ever known a time when there wasn't a war somewhere? What about disease? Theft? Murder?"

Death couldn't answer. When he went over the years, he couldn't picture a period when everything was actually perfectly right with the world. Oh, there was that Thursday back in 1215. It was pretty quiet then. From about 10:30 in the morning until just before it got dark, at least.

"But it's so much worse now," he said. "Like it's accelerating."

"Nonsense." Alf shook his head and Death could almost hear it creak. "It's just more noticeable. There's television, mobile telephones, that interweb thing. It's thrown in your face like a wet kipper and twice as smelly."

Death shrugged. "I guess..." Here he was, a hundred and more times older than the old man, and he was being firmly put in his place. People didn't do that to Death. It was new, and he didn't quite know how to handle it.

"Well then. Man up and grow a pair." Alf was smiling, revealing his gums and slightly blackened tongue. His eyes, pale though they were, sparkled slightly.

Death nodded. He almost said 'Yes, sir', but stopped himself. Alf was so assertive, even in his decrepit state, that Death automatically felt that the other was older and somehow his superior. Even though that was rubbish! Who was above DEATH???

Well apart from...

Anywho. Alf was right. The world had been going down the pan since before there was ever such thing as a pan. And all pans served to do was enable it to be mixed up a bit better. He may as well leave it to its own devices and enjoy the ride. Then, when the time came, they'd do what they did best - even though they hadn't actually done anything yet.

The Apocalypse was, pretty much, a one time offer. Never to be repeated special deal.

Closing Down sale for the planet.

He turned to Alf. He wanted to thank him for making him see sense, realising that the world had always been beyond help and Death and his brothers could go back to their Top Gear and Monopoly with lashings of hand sanitiser on top.

Alf was staring at the ceiling. Or at least he had been before he'd died. Death, for once in eternity, hadn't even felt him leave. He reached over to touch him and bring the old man back to life. But didn't.

Why mess with things? Why not just let him go? He stood and walked out of the ward towards the exit. As he left, Grim stepped from behind a curtain that was pulled around a bed. The bed's occupant was snoring slightly. Still had a day or two left.

Next to the Reaper walked a faintly glowing Alf.

"How many of you guys are there?" Alf asked. Grim didn't answer. Well, he was never the best conversationalist when he was working.