A Bunch Of Oneshots

The Deathbringer

I had drawn the short straw. Sighing, I picked up the pack and read up on the information provided. Being a grim reaper, a 'deathbringer', was the worst job I'd ever picked up in the whole of my life and afterlife. Fortunately, this time I was only supervising the apprentices; at least, the ones who hadn't realised what a shit job this was. Then again, it was this or fade into the dark abyss and die a 'second death'...The darkness, as opposed to the abyss, was bleak. The abyss was nothing after all-no existence, nothing. But the darkness grew on you, and provided solace from your job. It was basically a staffroom for us reapers. It had coffee and all, although it was all de-caf as caffeine didn't exactly have an effect on the dead.

Briefing the newbies, I reminded them that no matter what they had thought as humans, no matter what humans thought now, we weren't deathbringers. We weren't the Valkyries of Norse legend-they had another, more difficult job entirely, sadly not available to us mortal souls. Eventually we'd have to fade away-no one could escape death-and this job merely delayed the inevitable. But it did allow you to watch over those you'd left behind, even though you couldn't exactly stop a car crash or help them in an exam. Or stop a Valkyrie's mark from ensuring death. But it was comforting to watch.

On the other hand, being a Valkyrie was great! You were immortal and a cheater of death with no consequence, you were death. It seemed great: their immortal, true forms beautiful and with elegant feathered wings; their casual talk in their own versions of the darkness, no doubt less bleak, more lavishly decorated and generally nicer; their delicate job of inflicting severe illness and death or choosing whose mortal soul should wither away; and their relaxed indifference to death was the worst. Millennia of desensitization did that to you, I guess.

Personally, I'd never get over the self-loathing, disgust and empathy I felt whenever a newly deceased soul was mine to take to the crossroads.

Two days later (nothing to us dead humans), I was there. Wherever 'there' was. I had never excelled at geography when I was alive, and it hadn't exactly improved in my afterlife; deteriorated more like. The information pack had mentioned something along the lines of the fall of a dictator, good for wherever-this-was, and we were just in time to see the stupid statue strain slowly as it was inevitably pulled down and became a mockery of whoever it was supposed to represent. The cheering, of which was loud before, was now so deafening it seemed to reach across the sound barrier into silence-which makes no sense, I know.

There was only one death I was sanctioned to accompany- a soldier who would be thought of as the last military death in this stupid campaign, when in actuality his was the first of many to come. Many.

The Valkyrie, who had described the victim's aura to me, had told me to look for things that only Valkyries could sense. Typical of the stupid superiority complex suffering things. Sure, they were at the top of the pecking order, but they didn't need to treat us with such disdain. At least they could try to hide it, not treat us to inconsiderate words and dull, bored glares. Hmmm... how was I to carry out my job now?

Then I sensed him.

A tiny, wailing ghost desperately wrapped around a despairing soldier's torso.

This was who I would be a companion to on the way to the crossroads.

Sending the apprentices to stand by and prepare for a bombardment of souls, perhaps up to fifteen at once (normally it was a maximum of two but staffing issues I guess), I drifted over to the young man. His eyes were not of happiness, or joy, but relief warring with sorrow, guilt and regret. Obviously the relief was for the supposed ending of this godforsaken war, but the sorrow, guilt and regret? Possibly those he'd killed by accident: comrades during friendly fire (what a stupid term); 'collateral damage'; watching a friend or brother-family-die in the moonlight from blood loss or incurable disease, watching helplessly? The possibilities were endless.

Perhaps a lover-the ghost watching over him now.

The ghost screamed as I moved closer to the soldier. The Valkyrie had warned it then, toyed with its feelings, the fucking brat. Death was not a gift I'd choose to bestow upon anybody, much less this poor guy. How dare that pretentious creature do such a thing? Feelings and emotions were not things to play with. I would give him revenge. I didn't care if that meant I was forced into the abyss early; I would not allow them to do this. Lifting my hands up in the universal sign of surrender, in an attempt to relax the poor ghost, I wandered closer and murmured,

"You know that no matter what you do, the Valkyrie's mark will ensure his death either way?"

The ghost screeched again and curled its head into the soldier's chest, sobbing.

"I know, I just want to protect him, I have to keep him safe, I promised Hunith, I said I would..."

Gunshots screamed into the air as overzealous civilians expressed their joy in a profoundly idiotic way. I rolled my eyes-just how far did this stupidity go? It would take one, just one, bullet to misplace itself and embed itself into someone's flesh and a full-blown riot would ensue.

...What did I tell you? It did. The soldier glanced at his companions and raced into the fray, the ghost still murmuring small memories of broken promises, bombs beginning to explode in the expanding panic of the crowd.

Just around now, a second more...

Guilt. I felt guilt as I watched shrapnel explode and dig deep into the man's delicate and unprotected throat, as I watched crimson rivulets flow like rapids down his chest, his lips whispering red as he choked on his own lifeblood. As his body fell, I cradled his whimpering soul and grabbed the ghost's as well, sure that its unfinished business was now over.

Lovers. They were lovers. Oh god, what had I done?

Job. I needed to finish my job, then I could stop and hide in some forgotten corner of the darkness until summoned to do some other dirty work for the immortals.

I would take the two lovers to the crossroads, and I'd hope they wouldn't blame me for the death. I really hoped they wouldn't. the last thing I needed was more guilt in this stupid excuse for an existence.

As I left the mortal plane, a single furious body rose from the cadavers.