Charlie's Enchanting Angle Wattys2020

Teporis Torporibus

I hate my job. I was never meant to be a reaper. I was meant to be pampered. I sometimes imagine that if I was human, I'd be a handsomely rich beach bum. Yeah, I'd like that. To feel the sun, bake my skin to a glorious glossy brown. I would Nap or surf whenever I want. I could afford to eat what I wanted whenever I wanted. Also, because I would be so rich, I would not have to follow any shirt or any shoe policies. I could walk into an upscale establishment and have all the waiters fawn all over me because they would want me to shower them in my wealth. They would be secretly jealous of me. Ha! friends all around.

But the parties that would be thrown in my honor would be on point. I'd get all the stars and rich kids to come over and rage all night. Oh, honey, you would be so hawt. Lost in the thought, the small reaper that had only ever harvested one soul, fanned himself as though he felt sweaty.

But the creator made me a reaper. I was popped into the spirit realm along with so many others that looked exactly like me. We were all swept, literally by the biggest broom ever, into a roofless building. The creator broke down the broom into tiny slivers. Each sliver became a scythe for a reaper.

Then he said we were his tools. How demeaning! We had a special mission. Lies! He needed us to harvest souls so that the world that we were "working together" on might become better. After that, the creator made us sit and watch an oversized apple tree grow. After a year, he showed us that it was a good tree, but it could be made better, then he pruned it. He cut off so many branches and fed us so many apples. I read later in the library that it was the original tree of life.

We, of course, had to stand in a roofless building for another year and watch as the tree regrew most of its branches back. The second-year the tree did look fuller and greener and better, but I didn't care.

The whole time I was looking for someone to talk to, but all the other reapers just stared at the tree. They mumbled about it being the most glorious thing they ever saw. It was the only thing we ever saw! After the tree was regrown, the Creator brought back the lesson to us. Life can change for the better if death makes room for it. After that, no longer needed to prove a point, the creator chopped it up and planted it all over the Earthen realm. It was then that many reapers hung their head and glowered for the first time. There was nothing beautiful left to look up to. It's remains were scattered across the barren Earthen.

Eventually, we were let loose into the spirit realm. I was so relieved to be anywhere but that box. We were told to practice using our scythes on the wheat fields the Demeter had planted. The Creator watched us night and day. When one of us made a whole row of clean cuts, he would pick us up, exclaim, "You are ready my beautiful tool!", then the Creator would throw us into time and space to begin our important work.

I was eventually thrown. I think he and I both got tired of staring at my uncut wheat field after a century or so. So, off I went into the world of souls that needed to be harvested. The moment my tarsals touched the earth, I knew who I was assigned to make. Almost without conscious thought, I started wandering the earth towards my soul. About a minute of circling around the earth, I found my soul. I couldn't stop myself. I was running into him and before I knew what my hands were doing, I swung my scythe.

However, as I swung my scythe, time seemed to stop and I was able to take in the glory of the man whose life was about to end. My first soul was a man among men. He was beautiful. Tall, and growing glorious unruly locks of hair. They were covered in sweat and grease. I could tell right away that he put his heart and soul into everything he worked on. He was sitting on a bench with a woman. They were both yelling. He had such a deep gruff voice. I wanted to swoon. That woman, however, that horrible evil-hearted woman screeching like a banshee. Yelled, "I am not going to let Apollo take you away from me!" And slammed her barbaric hands down on his knee. A spell was cast on that masterpiece man the creator was so generous to make. He turned to stone. The same moment I cut his soul away from his Earthen Vessel.

I took my first soul and raced off to the spirit gate. I couldn't talk to my soul, I couldn't look at my soul. I knew I was supposed to take him to the death's door of the gate. But I couldn't let this soul be turned into cosmic dust. I saw a door closing and swung my scythe as hard as I could, throwing George into the room. A door that closed meant the room was sealed for a time.

For the creator to make me take that soul. That woman cursed me as much as she cursed him. I will not take another man's soul as long as I live. That lady broke two hearts that day, mine and Apollo's. Whoever Apollo was.

I fell back to Earthen. The moment my toes touched the ground I felt the urge again to take a soul. But I stopped myself. If I could cry, I would have. However, skeletons cannot. Instead, I dug and I dug. It was so dark, and I could not make it any further down. Evidently, my hole led down to bedrock. I climbed. As I worked my way to the surface, I felt a tingling sensation. It was my calling and I was neglecting it. I grabbed my scythe and began to run again. However, I threw my scythe backward. I ran so far away from my hole. As soon as I threw my scythe, its hypnotic spell had no compelling effect. I only felt this jitter and panic.

I walked back to my scythe each step I took I felt more and more anxious. I began digging again. I dug and dug again. I dug till I couldn't. I turned around and walked back to the scythe again. I loathed seeing it. Instead of grabbing it, I kicked it into the hole. I wandered Earthen for centuries.

Then I found myself wandering into the spirit realm. Reapers leaving a box building looking refreshed and relaxed. I asked what the building was and they responded, "Rehab, it is a vacation for reapers! I got a seaweed wrap on my bones and look how clean and smooth they are! Go ahead and feel them!"

Reapers could be pampered! This was as close to my dream come true as I was going to get. I was lucky the clinic wasn't very organized when they first opened. I just said I had already checked in my scythe and they gave me my little black book.

Today would mark another usual round of sticker swapping. All I needed was to give this yahoo scythe happy reaper my stickers. I learned in my first session how to make glue out of horse hooves. I remember that life-altering first rehab sticker. It was a library replica of some grand library of someplace special in the human realm. When I first entered, I was determined to never leave. I read and read and read. I learned many human tricks. When I found a book about inventions. The glue was the greatest of these inventions.

I usually had a supply. But the last book I filled, made me use up the last of my batch. Today I would make about my six-hundredth batch with a rather skinny reaper. Each batch lasted about three thousand stickers.

I walked into the taxidermy room with Gangly in tow. "No. Wait outside this door." I signed to him before he got his sticker. I made that mistake before. Bringing in the one I wanted to switch stickers with. It is hard enough to find a reaper that won't accidentally spill to the authorities my little operation. I don't like finding a reaper to give stickers to. About two thousand years ago, a reaper got caught handing out stickers and has never come back. Which means one of many possibilities. I could imagine a punishment so terrible. I guessed a reaper would be brought in front of the Creator to be disintegrated.

I got what I needed and headed back out the door. Stick thin reaper was glowering as a reaper should. I signaled him to follow me. We went back to a broom closet-sized room. Every reaper was assigned one. This was Twiggy's room.

I constantly had to switch rooms to not raise suspicion. Over the years I developed a system of trading rooms. I could hide my crock-pot and glue and steamer inside my cloak and move very carefully to the next room I would be staying in. I would be staying in this string bean's home for the next few weeks while all the reapers go back out into the world and do our dirty jobs.

This reaper was not too chatty, I liked that. I got busy with my work. I steamed the stickers out of his book and laid them to the side. When the hooves melted down in the crock-pot I set to work applying small smears to the back of the stickers using my phalanges. There were some benefits to being a creature that feels nothing physically.

The process took some time, every sticker had to be flawless, no rips could be made. When I was done, my colleague was so elated his ora danced, a rare sight.

Thank you! the other signed. I replied, "You are welcome." in sign language. This reaper seemed to have left my life as quickly as he had entered my life. I stretched my bones and rose up to glower into oblivion for a while. If I were human I imagined it would be like sleeping standing up.