The Grim Reaper has an office on fourth street. He works on the 13th floor of the Edath complex in a small office with faded gray walls and filing cabinets. People schedule appointments to argue their cases over whether or not they should die from sunrise to sunset, and at night he files paperwork.
There at his broad desk sat the old man, his complexion pale and eyes sunken deep into his skull. They had once burned a fierce red color but the years had caused them to pale to an unfitting glassy pink. He still wore his iconic black robe, shadowing his gaunt face, but he had long abandoned the scythe which sat dusty from disuse in the corner, by the coffee maker. For awhile he had tried to catch up with the times by getting a lawnmower to replace it but it just didn’t work. Now all of his work was done with a pen.
His pale skin sat loosely on his bony framework like a white sheet that was near about to fall off entirely. Atop his head was a patch of long and gray frayed hair that he occasionally dyed black. Spiders would often nest behind his flaky ears as ants crawled through the sockets of his eyes and out his nose. That is, until they itched so bad that he’d rub his nose and they’d all scatter.
There was a woman standing on the other side of the desk, her eyes wide with terror. She frantically began to spin a story trying to win over his sympathy, telling him about all the good she has done in the world, and how the accident wasn’t her fault. But the Grim Reaper just flipped through a folder of musty paperwork and looked up at her with his drooping eyes.
“It says here you died in a car accident, if I’m right.” He said, his voice gravelly.
“Yes but I’m telling you, it wasn’t my fault!”
“If that was the case, but it says here you were drunk.”
“They were going too fast!”
“If you say so. Let’s see, you killed a family of three. And you hit a dog.”
“But really I’m a good person!”
“If I knew otherwise, but this says here you were a drug addict too.”
He could see her face was blushed, either from the tears that wanted to break free or the alcohol. He flipped through his papers some more and clicked his pen, drawing a circle around the woman’s name.
“If I could see the next person please?” He sighed.
The woman jumped up and down with elation, delighted that he had not crossed out her name. A black crow dove off from the coffee maker, where she had been perched, and ushered the woman out the door, signaling the next person to come in.
A blonde haired man, his face pure and unmarked, emerged from the doorway shrouded in a heavenly glow. He had wings as white as doves, and a golden halo crowning his head. The white robe, beautiful and flowing, wavered behind him, hitting the crow in the face.
“If you do that to my secretary she’ll get mad and won’t make my coffee right.” The Grim Reaper said with a sigh.
“Alright, then I shall do it ‘nevermore’!” Said the angel.
“If she was a raven that would be funny.”
“Whatever, old man.”
“I still have people out there, if it’s not sunset. What do you want Gabriel?”
“I have a different proposal for you, this one I think you’ll like. Could you at least have a look at it?”
“If I was interested I would, but I’m not retiring. I’ve got too much to do to retire. So piss off.”
The Grim Reaper waved his bony fingers at Gabriel, motioning him to leave as he took up his pen. He looked over the next set of papers and reached for his coffee mug, sipping down the black and bitter liquid.
“Don’t be sour. You could at least look it over.”
“And if not? Go blow a horn.”
“Fine. By the way your skin is falling off.”
Gabriel slammed the door behind him, causing the walls to vibrate and the ants to scatter on his desk. The Grim Reaper shook his head and called out again.
“If I could see the next person please?”
#
Morning would find the old man stooped over his desk, face buried in his papers. The hood of his robe veiled him, muffling the sound of a beak rapping at his door, little talons frantically scratching to get in. There were no windows in his office, so it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. But he knew when each morning began.
He slowly got up, knees trembling under his own weight, and shuffled slowly to the door, bare feet dragging against the wooden floor boards. The nails of his toes left scuff marks forming a trail from his desk to the door. He jiggled the loose handle and the door creaked open. In flopped the little black corvid, parcel betwixt her beak. She hobbled across the floor and hopped up onto his desk, bobbing her head up and down.
“You wouldn’t be so jittery if you drank less coffee.” He commented, taking the note from her beak.
It was folded and sealed with a golden wax seal; a trumpet. Carefully he broke the seal with his jaundiced nails, ingrown and overgrown. It was crinkly yet delicate, with a fine texture. But the words on the top, in bold red ink, forged the words ‘EVICTION’.
He crumbled the note and tossed it to the floor, moving over to his desk. After sitting for a moment, he got back up, picked up the balled paper, and straightened it on the edge of the table as one would a dollar bill. He plucked a folder from one of the cabinets and stored the note away; no point in making his floor messy.
“If that pansy wants my job, he’ll have to pry it from my already dead hands.”
#
Once again, like clockwork, a line had formed outside his door, the impatient masses waiting for their judgment. Would they won’t they, all of their bright eyes upon him, begging, pleading. He made sure to pull the hood of his robe tighter over his head, casting shadows in the crevices of his face.
The first one came in, and then the second and the third. With the click of pen and a motion of the wrist, he judged them one by one. Circles and x’s. In between each person he took another swig of coffee but inevitably he just sank deeper into his chair, the joints of his bones filled with ache.
And then finally came Gabriel, the edges of his lips curled into a smirk as the door opened, his wavering robe hitting the Grim Reaper’s assistant in the face. He strode up to the desk and leaned on one hand.
“I thought you’d have packed up your things by now.” He said, grinning.
“I’d have done so, if I were going somewhere. Now if you would I’m busy.”
“I know you’re still sour old man but it was an order from the Big Man himself. Time to go.”
“If I could see the next person please?”
“If if if, always if. Talk straight for once.”
“Talk straight? If that wasn’t coming from the man who blows horns for a living-”
“That’s it!”
Gabriel slammed his other fist down on the desk, yet the whole room shook. The spiders fell loose from the Grim Reaper’s hair, and the crow hobbled about in confusion, crashing into the coffee pot.
“If you’re not out of here by tomorrow, I will personally throw you out myself!”
The Grim Reaper calmly stood up from his chair and picked up his mug. It was empty. Both his assistant and Gabriel watched slowly as the old man shuffled strangely over to the coffee machine, wondering if he’d gone senile or deaf or both.
He picked up the pot and poured himself another cup, swirling the black liquid around and around. He raised the mug up slowly and placed it to his dry lips, and didn’t remove it until the cup was drained.
“Gabriel, if my memory was as good as it used to be, I’d know how long you’d been working here. So how long has it been?”
“A few thousand years.” He asserted, slightly confused.
“Alright.”
The old man placed the mug on the cabinet and reached up to his cheek. He dug his nails deep into the skin, tearing it away like paper-cloth. He tore at his face until only the bare bone remained, shadowed by his black robe. Then he peeled away the flakey flesh from his fingers, and turned to face the door.
The little crow that had been perched on the desk suddenly took flight, swooping over the Grim Reaper’s dusty scythe and clutching it in its talons. It cawed loudly, spitting up blood as she delivered the scythe to him, and he turned around, grabbing it and posturing. As he faced Gabriel, the Grim Reaper’s eyes flared red, and Gabriel sank, face contorted with fear.
The deathly figured loomed towards the angel, the walls around them turning black as pitch. The crow fluttered about angrily, spitting up blood onto Gabriel’s white robe, cawing loudly about his trembling figure. The ghoul then slammed the end of his staff against the floor, jutting a bony finger into the angel’s terrified face.
“I’ve been working here since the dawn of fucking time. And if you had any brain in that girly head of yours, you’d get the fuck out of my office.”
The door swung open as he spoke, his voice suddenly deep; a bellowing lion’s roar. Gabriel stumbled to his feet and quickly fled out of the office screaming, the door slamming shut behind him. As he did the black walls faded again to grey, and the crow returned peacefully to the desk. He went over to his cabinets, filled with folders upon folders of paperwork, hoisted it up over his head in one swift motion. He kicked open the door and threw the cabinet into the hall, tumbling about with a clatter.
All of the people that had lined up, waiting for their judgment, suddenly balked and shrank in their places. The Grim Reaper slammed his scythe against the ground, and called out.
“If I could see the next person please?”
by Elizabeth Ferrante
Biography
I’m a writer. That is all.