Death in Love

How lovely death can be. A good death, that is. Perfect closure. That moment of sublime repose, of an end to pain, to suffering. I have watched it and admired again and again, and I always trusted that when my time came, I would be good at dying. I've had years of study in the art, after all.

Yes, it's true, even reapers die. We really aren't so different from everyone else, despite what people may think. And just like everyone else, there comes a time for each of us when we must pass the scythe on to the next generation and prepare for that sweet, dearly earned, final rest.

Or don't you have scythes?

James left me a beautiful scythe when his time came—all polished silver with a blade like a crane's beak. Power and strength in my hands, but feather light, with a sheen like starlight. Even in the Dark Beyond, I could see my face reflected in it—a boy's face with pointed chin and soft cheeks, white as snow, and large eyes full of warmth. All reapers have eyes like that. The departed need not fear us. We're meant to be a comfort, and we are. The journey beyond is far more pleasant that way.

            It all used to be so simple, my life beyond The Veil. I could sit at the precipice of the world and just marvel over the natural order of things. Everything in its place. The cycle ever churning, unbroken. Like a cog in a perfect machine, the world hummed with magic and beauty. And I took pride in the knowledge that I helped keep it running.

Whenever The Fates called, I answered, stirring from the Dark Beyond, shrugging into my coat and gathering my scythe. I would hastily jot down the names of all the passengers for that day and tuck the list into my good pocket with the button just to be safe. It was always an inconvenience to leave anyone behind, and I would get an earful for it. Then, I would ruffle my little sister's hair on my way to the veil, and from there it was just a slip and a tumble down to Earth where I would check off my charges, one by one.

            The best part was when they opened their eyes for the first time. Well, the second first time, I suppose. How fortunate I was that I got to be the second first thing they saw. The second first to greet them into a new world. I can still remember how that second very first conversation went.

            "Hello there."

            "Where am I?"

            "Nowhere yet. Just in-between. But I know of a spectacular place. It's really pretty, with lots of light, and everyone there is really nice."

            "Am I dead?"

            "No! Well—yes, but just your body. Your soul, though, that's just been born again!"

            "Oh... are you an angel?"

            "What's that?"

            "Never-mind... what's your name?"

            "Percival. But everyone calls me Pippin."

            "Pippin.... Oh, goodness! I'm floating!"

            "Souls do that. They're lighter than air, you know."

            "What are all these threads on me?"

            "Those are your shoots. They keep you tethered to the earth until you're ready to fly. I can cut them for you now if you'd like."

            "Is that a scythe?"

            "Yes, isn't it spectacular? I just got it today."

            "It's kind of scary."