Reaper

Exile

The sun blinds me as I step out of the old apartment building I call home. As the light shifts through the fading clouds, it casts a bathes the ground in a yellowing glow. The ground seems to simmer underneath it, cracking and drying. I cover the brim of my eyes with the palm of my hand and step out into the courtyard of my city.

The people around me shift and stagnate, flowing through the throngs in their new worlds. The market buzzes to my left, filled with people buying fruits and vegetables from wooden stands. In the distance I can hear the caravans pulling up to the afterworld stands, filling the wooden surfaces with memorable items from before the world began to decay. A gum clicks to my right, where our teams pep for another venture back into the wastelands. There's never a break when it comes to saving lives. In front of me stands the stocks. Wooden and brand new compared to the repurposed buildings around me.

The stocks stand tall in the town square, holding those who recently turned in transit. The turned thrash at their wooden restraints. The metal locks bang against their strength. Three stand there, gyrating in their holds, twists and tearing to get out. The stocks hold, however crude they may be. A crowd gathers and watches them. Some remember the moments they once were stuck in there. Some look away, choosing to forget.

I walk towards the stocks. My nerves tear at my stomach lining. No matter how many times I do my job, I never fully trust myself to actually help anyone. The powers aren't mine. I never truly trust them. I am not sure if I ever will.

People turn as I walk over, staring at me. Surprise. It is always surprise. No matter how many times I do my job, they never seem to accept it. I will always be just a girl to them. Moments ago, I was no one. Now I am the only person "brave" enough to walk up to the stocks and stare the turned in their eyes. Moments from now, I will be the Reaper. And then, I will be back to the nameless girl, another person in the crowd. My gun is more the Reaper to these people than I will ever be.

I might seem brave to them, but I am just as terrified as always.

The wooden podium holding the stocks feels cold through the soles of my socks. Damn. Forgot shoes again. Some kind of leader I am. A savior in ankle socks.

The turned look at me, watching my movements as I get closer. I can feel the heat of their boiling blood. The closer I get, the more I can make out the slightly charred wood that encircles their necks, hands, and feet. I feel some empathy for them, as I always do when I realize that they will be coming back to life surrounded by burning wood. I try to block out the thought.

I need peace.

I need silence.

I shoot a look at the crowd. A hush falls. They know me now. I count the seconds until this is over, and I am free to crawl back into my black pit of a room.

I stop my steps just short of the stocks. If I was to reach my hand forward, I would feel the slimy hair on the first one's head. It is time. I close my eyes. I breathe. In. Out. The turned stop thrashing in their wooden confines, reading me for a moment to strike. I ignore their deep grunts. I dig for my spark. I find it, deep inside the bowels of my body.

I feel the fire in my stomach churn. It spreads slowly, swallowing my torso in a warm summers glow. The hair on my shoulders shifts. The slight breeze around me dies. The warmth spreads up my arms and down my legs. My feet feel light. I become weightless. My hair begins its ascent around my head. The fire reaches my head, engulfing my whole body in the stream of otherworldly glow.

It's time.

I open my eyes. The fear, my anxiety, it all dies. Eradicated by the warm feeling coursing through my veins. The turned stare at me, anger and blood bubbling in their eyes. I grab the head of the first, and it tries to pull away. It snaps its jaws at my fingers. Its growl echoes around the quiet square. I ignore it. I lean in. I can smell the burning flesh on its body. I can almost taste its charred hair in my mouth. It shrieks.