John had always felt like there was something missing in his life. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he had a nagging feeling that he was different from everyone else. It wasn't until the day the Reaper came to collect his soul that he finally figured out what it was.
"DUE TO A CLERICAL ERROR, YOU NEVER GOT A SOUL," the Reaper said, his voice echoing through the empty room. "BUT DON'T WORRY. WE CAN FIX THAT NOW."
John was stunned. He had always thought that he was just like everyone else, but now he realized that he was different in a way he could never have imagined. The Reaper handed him a scythe, and John took it, feeling the weight of it in his hands.
"ANOTHER LIKE ME, THEN," the Reaper said, his bony fingers curling around his own scythe. "YOUR SOUL IS OUT THERE, AND YOU'LL NEED THIS TO GET IT OUT."
John didn't know what to do. He had never even considered the idea that he didn't have a soul. But as he looked at the Reaper's empty eye sockets, he knew that he had to do something.
He took the scythe and walked out into the world, determined to find his soul. He didn't know where to start, but he knew that he had to keep moving forward. And as he walked, he felt something stirring inside him. It was a feeling of purpose, of destiny, of something he had been missing all his life.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. John traveled far and wide, searching for his soul. He met people from all walks of life, each with their own unique stories to tell. He saw things he had never seen before, and experienced things he had never experienced before. And through it all, he clung to the scythe, using it to cut through the darkness and find his way.
And then, one day, he found it. It was a small, fragile thing, but it was his. He took it in his hands and felt a warmth spreading through his body. It was his soul, and he had finally found it.
John looked up at the sky and saw the Reaper standing there, watching him with empty eyes. And for the first time in his life, John knew that he was not alone. He had the scythe, and he had his soul, and he knew that he was meant to be something more than he had ever imagined.
YOU ARE READING
The stranger under the willow tree
Short StoryOn a frigid and blustery October evening, the radiant moon cast its glow upon a solitary willow tree, perched atop a hill. Beneath the tree sat a mysterious man, clutching a large, worn storybook. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to a child, no more tha...
