How They Died (Black Butler Backstories)

He Wanted to Die

The pencil was running out of lead. Whatever, that's fine. Who needs to write anyways? No one. No one at all. Why is it so hot in here? He was burning up. He hated the spring. It was always so unbearable for him. So annoying. So hot. So ugh. Leave him alone! His head hurt. His soul hurt. His pride, dignity, honor, they all hurt. This is just Hell. That's what this is. And the heat is making it known. Why not add shackles and chains? It would add to the torture he was already living in. He hated it. His hand hurt. He was tired. Tired of this. Tired of everything. He wanted to sleep. Sleep the day away with his worries. That'd be great. Yeah. Just lovely.

"Hey, get it together, we don't have all day!" his boss shouted at him. Yeah, yeah, he knows. He'd just been taking a small break. His hand hurt, remember? He sought something more than this. This life was meaningless. What if...just what if...there was something after life?

"Do you think...?" he thought aloud, "that there might be something worthwhile in the afterlife?"

Ideas flooded his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He'd always been the curious type. Working at a desk job just didn't suit him. Perhaps, just perhaps, death really was the best way to live. Ironic, he knew this, but he couldn't help but ponder the idea.

Hour by hour passed and the thought never left his mind. He wanted to know. He wanted to know now. What happened after death? Did people die? Did they really just cease to exist? Was there a way to keep existing even though someone had already died? Were zombies real? Were they possible to create? He loved the story of Frankenstein. He sympathized with Victor, not the monster he created. No, he loved the monster and didn't understand why Victor didn't love him too. He wanted to figure this out for himself. He wouldn't bring back life. No, instead he would die and search for the true meaning of death. Forget about the living. They meant nothing to him now.

He stood there, in the middle of his room, after a long day at work just pondering the idea. Theories upon theories tormented his brain. He needed to know. He just needed to know. The humans never cared about him one bit. He had no attachments in this world. What of it? No one would care. He might not even get a news article about him. That was fine. It was fine, wasn't it? Should he go through with this?

He let out a sigh and filled his bathtub. He wanted to relax, clear his mind, and maybe make sense of everything. Thinking about things wasn't going to change them. He needed to take a deep breath and cool off. Then, maybe his brain wouldn't be so jumbled. Why was he thinking like this? Why so suddenly?

He stared at the ceiling and sighed. The water was warm. He air was cool. "I want to die," he admitted. "I really do, just want to die. There are so many things unknown about dying. I want to die," he said. He just did. The daily routine was too boring. There wasn't anything in the world that interested him. And, believe me, he tried to find things. He tried so many times. People were too predictable. People were too boring. He sighed again, "I just want to die."

He sunk into the tub and stared at the ceiling through the water. He'd intended to hold his breath, but he lost strength in his heart. He no longer wished to live. So, he drowned in his own tub. Not the best way to go, but still a way to reach death nonetheless.

There it was, the light at the end of the tunnel. A woman shrouded in black stood with her arm outstretched. She shook her head, as if a mother disappointed in her child. "Welcome to your new home, you shall leave your life behind you and take another step forward as a reaper. Welcome..." she paused and reconsidered her words, "I will not name you. There is no need. You will be known by the job title you'll eventually receive. There would be no point to giving you a name that you'll abandon," she sighed. The woman lead him to his next life. A reaper? Is that what awaited those that died? He still had so many questions. He still needed to find all of the answers and unlock all of life's mysteries...er...death's mysteries.

. . .

"She was right, you know?" he smiled as he lay in a coffin of his own making. "I would abandon the name, if she had given me one," he snickered. There was only one thing he loved, now that he had retired from being a reaper. He was never one to do a desk job, (or simply follow orders for that matter).

"I just can't stop loving the dead, can I?" he continued to grin. The bell on the door rung as a boy and his butler walked in. They were frequent visitors. He didn't mind it. He just really really wished the boy would let him make a coffin, just for him.

"Undertaker," he began, "we require information."

"You know the price," he climbed out of the coffin and sat on the edge. "Just make me laugh, would you? I need a good laugh nowadays."