(Archived) Poth Short Stories and One-Shots

A Well-Crafted Celebration - Chapter 1

Goth rolled over, squinting at the green LED numbers displayed on his phone; it said he had two minutes until the buzzer sounded. "Hah...,"  he yawned as he switched the alarm off, "I don't usually wake up before the alarm tells me to..."

Throwing his blanket off, he shivered at the rush of cold air that enveloped him; the telltale sign of another late Winter morning. Shuffling into his fuzzy slippers and trudging down the hall to make himself a cup of liquid life, he noted the unusual quiet of the house. Palette should already be quietly banging around as their early bird routine dictated, but the apartment was absent of any noise outside of himself.

"Palette...?" Goth called out, getting silence in return. He knocked on the door to their room, "Palette, are you in there?" Nothing. Opening the door, the bed was haphazardly made and the makings of another craft project were scattered across their desk partially covered by... a blanket? Setting aside the oddity as yet another eccentric quirk of his roommate, he turned his search to the rest of the apartment.

Closing the door and peeking into each room on the way to the kitchen, Goth found they were all as empty as the rest. Just as worry began to tug at him, he spotted a sticky note on the counter; picking it up, he recognized Palette's scrawl:

Went out to get something, be back later! 

Palette

Relief washed over Goth as he set the note back on the counter and busied himself in preparing his coffee so he could start the day. After about a minute, he trotted over to the living room while the cup filled to turn on the television purely for the noise it created. He mused he was probably so used to Palette's morning chatter that the present silence felt too foreign for his comfort; just another subtle change in his everyday life.

Stirring a modest helping of milk and sugar into his drink and snagging a granola bar from the cupboard, he reentered the living room and plopped down on the couch, letting the mug warm his fingers as the television droned on about some groundhog named Phil. Apparently, the animal decided whether Winter would continue for another six weeks or if Spring would come early; the whole thing made no sense to him considering every season lasted three months regardless of the event's results. Shaking his skull, he drained his mug and chalked it up to yet another silly human superstition.

Washing out the mug and placing it in the dishwasher, Goth backtracked to his bedroom to change into some warmer clothes for the walk to work. Fluffing his red scarf out around his neck, he deposited his wallet into the inner pockets of his jacket and headed for the door with his keys. "I'm off...," he announced into the silence on reflex, only to remember he was alone; he frowned as he closed and locked the door. Plodding down the stone stairs of the apartment complex, the sight of his neighbors bustling about with their own morning routines sent a twinge of melancholy through him. Once on the ground level, he decided he would rather teleport in than walk for once. 

Familiar off-white walls and an even more familiar voice greeted him, "Hey kiddo. Don't see ya teleporting in here that often; what's the special occasion?"

The black-cloaked God of Death sat behind a metal desk, leaning on their hand with an ever-present grin on their face as Goth shrugged, "I didn't feel like walking this time, that's all."

"Fair enough," his dad chuckled, rifling through the papers on their desk in search of his reaping list and fishing out a stretch of weathered parchment paper; the skeleton rolled it up with a flourish before handing it off with a wink, "Just be careful not to do it too often, or you'll end up lazy like me."

"Sure thing," Goth snorted, knowing they were anything but lazy when it came to their job; the fact that the world wasn't overrun with restless spirits tormenting the living was a testament to their daily efforts. Turning on his heels, he opened the door and called out, "See you later, dad."

"Knock'em dead, kiddo," Reaper chortled as the door fell shut. Goth snickered at the elder god's dark humor and unfurled the list to get an idea of what his day would look like. 

"Hmm... looks kind of light...," Goth hummed, but ultimately decided not to question the good fortune; even if reaping souls was his job, he didn't think he would ever get used to watching people die. Double-checking the location of his first target and pocketing the list, he gathered his magic for a teleport and set out for another day's work.

***

Word Count: 803