Reaper

I had seen the Reaper five times in my life before my sixteenth birthday. He had never hurt me, never even touched me. But whenever I needed him, he was there. Without a word, without even showing his face. But I could tell it was him every time.

I wonder why no one else had ever seen him. Maybe it was just my over active imagination that everyone was always telling me I had. Or maybe it wasn't. Either way, the Reaper was a constant in my life that I didn't have in anything else. People, places, they all came and went. But that black figure looming in the distance, the one that had become so familiar to me, he always seemed to come back for me.

I saw him in all of my dreams. I heard him like an echo in all of my laughs, and felt him in all of my tears. Kids are supposed to have imaginary friends, my father always used to tell me. It's a healthy way to learn how to interact with others and help build your social skills. But he was always more than that to me. What does it mean when the kid grows up and the imaginary friend is still there? The answer to that question has always been the same: it means the Reaper is coming for them. And there's nothing that could have prepared me for the day that he did.