Books in a Book

Three - Both

"Hi. How are ya? Good? Good.

I'd like you to do something. Visualize with me. Go on, close your eyes, this will only take a minute. Less even.

Visualize a weapon. Something flexible or stiff. Something sleek or chunky. Something that does some serious damage.

Now I'm willing to bet my fuzziest socks, the blue and black pair I binge watch movies in, that a pen wasn't on that train of thought. A pen would be so far from that railway track, it would be in space. "

I ignore him as he rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes I know. 'Of course,' you counter, 'you said weapon.'

I did. And it is. Or at least this particular pen thought it was.

Now there's my mama who's pretty chill about this.

But my dad, the one who believed I would take over after him as the leader of the beta squad, well... he didn't have a whole lot of understanding at first.

The deadlier the weapon, the more prestige for the family. And a pen is, uh, well you get the gist."

He snickers. Again, I ignore him.

"My mama is one of those people who was born ten years too late. Technology? Technology who? My mama doesn't know her. Doesn't care to know her.

She's perfectly happy being a wife, mother of one, the owner of a flower shop with the added bonus of making her smell really nice and not being able to send a picture without my help.

Even more of a reason why she doesn't care is that a weapon didn't choose her. Which meant she wasn't a fighter. Which you'll observe if you spend three minutes with her.

I don't have the pale, glowing skin she does. In fact, I look nothing like her. With tan skin, shoulder length black hair and blue eyes, I look like a mini Mark, only female.

And that's probably why my dad took it quite personal. Even more personal than I did.

I mean, jeez I had been training for as long as I could remember and just when I'm about to get my badass weapon, the Chief's pen flies out of his chest pocket and lands onto my palm.

Why did the universe pick that day to malfunction?

It always seems to be a little off on days that are important to me. For example, my birthday.

What's even weirder is that I dreamt it.

Yup, I dreamt of my birth. Re lived it, if you will.

Lovely.

And, guess what? I'm going tell you allll about it. "

•°•°•

"'This isn't my job. This is, in fact, the exact opposite of my job!' screamed the grim reaper as the human went into labour.

That human, as you may have guessed, was my Mama. And she could see him.

'I don't care if you're the angel of death,' she snarled, 'get your ass over here and help. Me.'

Yup, that was my-sweet-as pie, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly mother. That's what I do to people. "

'It is,' he mutters. Yet again, I ignore him.

"Grim obeyed. She wasn't talking to me, heck, I wasn't even technically there and I moved to help her deliver me .

'I'm not exactly sure how to do this, ' he hesitantly pointed out. 

'Well, you have a few seconds to figure it out,' she growled as she gripped his hand. I was pretty sure I heard a snap.

Contrary to popular belief the grim ripper isn't a skeleton. If he was, the shock might have made Mama give birth when his hood slipped back.

But with all the meat he has on his bones, he might as well be. The only other thing besides those bones, some of my mama probably broke, is skin. I mean damn, that boy is so thin-"

'At one time you were driving toward a point right?' Grim cuts in.

"Oh, and have I mentioned that Grim's reading over my shoulder because I've always been able see him and so we're friends?"

'Not exactly by choice,' he mumbles.

And apparently, only those who are dying are supposed to be able see him. Guess I've been dying for seventeen years now.

Anyway, where was I? Thin as hell, scary mama about to give birth... Ah, yes!

So Grim channeled all the knowledge from the times he had to watch and wait for the soul of either a mother and or her baby.

So yeah, while my mom fell unconscious after birthing moi, Grim watched me silent and covered in a whole lot of blood, sure I was the one he was there for. But, obviously since I'm writing this, I didn't die.

After a while, Grim figured out that stubborn young me was just not ready to kick the bucket so early. Then he also realized he had unconsciously transported us to the gates of Hades.

So he took us back and my dad found us, his two bundles of happiness. I'm pretty sure Mama still doesn't know who was her midwife.

And I grew up to be the beautiful person I am today. "

My hand stills on the page as I turn to him, eyebrow raised. 'Why the hell did you scoff, Grim?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'I thought so too.'

"On one side, I've always wanted to be a fighter. Anytime I look into my future, that's what I see myself as. All I was waiting for was that aforementioned badass weapon. Which turned out to be a pen.

Don't get me wrong, its a great pen. And it technically counts as a weapon because it chose me and on the annual ceremony.

But as I stood there, pen in hand, waiting for any thing on the selection table to glow, whir, scent, vibrate or darken, I would have taken, happily even, the toy slingshot a kid was playing with nearby.

Over the first few days, a weapon will conform to their person. If you get a knife, the blade may become tinted or it'll sprout some feathers. Makes it unique, you.

The pen was cream coloured originally but acquired gold around the edges and the tip. At said tip, it grew some engraved gold flowers and the nib widened out into that of a fountain pen. It is really pretty and what I'm using to write this.

So I'm gonna try this thing. Be a writer -of? I'm not sure yet- and a fighter. I'm sure I can handle it.

Some say it doesn't matter if it's the little gal who has the sword if she can use it. Others say that the pen is mightier than the sword.

Unless in a real fight with a real sword in which case the gal with the pen should run away, counters the first lot.

But then again, the pen is the way to go if the sword is a toy and the pen is very sharp, the second set retaliates.

At the end of the day, I really don't care. I have both in hand. "

I set my pen down. 'So?'

Grim puts a hand to his chin and pretends to think, then smiles. 'We'll make a writer out of you yet. '

I smile. 'Yeah, we just might. '