The Reaper's Token

Death Thy Name is Kieth

I was being interviewed by Death himself. Let me tell you, that produces nerves! I rubbed my sweaty hands on my jeans and grabbed the zipper of my hoodie to pull it up mid-chest. I felt sweat accumulate at the nape of my neck and my gut tightened where I was shot.

"Um... I am local. I know the streets. I work out," I said.

Death gave me a lingering, completely unimpressed stare.

"A little bit," I added.

"Anything else?" He sighed.

My eyelids closed, and I tried to concentrate.

Think! Dammit! What is something useful in death? There must be something I could do besides bagging groceries.

"I make nachos???!" I said hazily.

I detected a flicker of interest.

"Really! Really good nachos!" I said more enthusiastically.

He stayed silent, eyed me coldly, and I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of a better purpose in my life (well, past life) than making nachos.

"Agreed!" He said, quickly jumping to his feet. "You will serve me as my apprentice."

"Yes!" I cheered and sat back down on the table. The tension in my chest dissipated as I realized I didn't have to a nap forever but then tightened again as I realized that what I had won was the privilege of serving Death until he could retire - and that would take at least 100 years!?! I hadn't even been alive for 2 decades, for crying out loud! And, what about after he retired?!! I didn't want to "serve" Death, but I really, really, didn't want to BE Death either.

"Follow," he commanded in a deeply, ominous voice.

Death is a bit melodramatic. That thought made me grin unexpectedly, but I quickly reassumed a blank mask.

He walked to a set of steel, double doors as I scrambled off the table in pursuit.

"Mr. Death?" I asked as we walked down a long, dimly lit corridor.

"Just 'Death' or 'Keith' in the right circles," he called over his right shoulder. He turned left and went down another corridor, and then stopped abruptly in front of a freight elevator.

"Keith?" I asked, puzzled. He stared at me and nearly rolled his eyes.

With exaggerated patience, he explained, "Yes. My name is Death now, but my name prior to my occupation was Keith," He looked like he was barely holding his aggravation in check.

"Okay," I squeaked. I wasn't sure about job security on the other side. Could I even get fired? Or, would I just... disappear? How hard was I to replace? I mean, people die every day, and I had just started this gig; it wasn't like I was 50 years in, and he was 50 years from Nirvana (or wherever you vacation in the great beyond!)

The elevator arrived with a resounding ping! Death shuffled me inside. The doors closed, and as Keith punched the button for level one, it broke.

Weird. I thought.

The build-up for a song radiated off the elevator speakers as we soared upwards.

"Another one bites the dust!" The lead singer of Queen shrieked, and my skin tingled uncomfortably with the cold sense of irony.

My eyes shifted to the crack between the elevator doors until the light for level one flickered on. When the doors suddenly parted, the most spectacular shade of white light enveloped our space. It was almost painful.

"Ah!!! Bright!" I hissed, shielding my eyes from the blinding beams of light.

"Wrong floor," Death muttered before punching another button. The light disappeared, and I wondered what kind of elevator and building this was. It wasn't just the morgue that had been dead. The entire building seemed empty and otherworldly - in its own way mysterious.

The doors shut, and the elevator plummeted. Death gave me a ruthless smile. He was holding onto the elevator railing and was calmly rooted to the floor. The elevator stopped with an abrupt jolt, and I nearly fell forward.

Keith sighed, steadied me, and pushed me into a dimly lit... alley? No - Atrium! It was gorgeous. The soaring windows and slanted ceilings were architecturally breathtaking. There were plants and twinkling lights everywhere. I was mesmerized, but Death guided me forward into a massive... food court?

A handful of people were scattered about. Some were sitting on cool, modern couches and chairs, reading or watching tv screens. Others were talking softly to one another and seemed happy enough. That was encouraging. Keith said nothing, and his eyes betrayed no emotion except disdain.

"This will do," Death hissed into my ear.

I turned and faced the L&D Karaoke Bar. As I followed Keith through a set of ornately carved, dark wood doors, I barely caught a glimpse of my pale, shocked reflection in the tinted mirror behind the bar. It was a dimly lit, cavernous room, and I found myself no longer having the urge to squint like I did when we first got out of the elevator.

Keith grunted and steered me towards several empty bar stools. A waiter appeared, and Death quickly ordered us a couple of cheeseburgers, buffalo chicken wings, beef nachos, cheese fries drizzled in bacon, two slices of chocolate cake, and a couple of large sodas -the size of my head.

"Aren't you concerned..." I began.

"About your health?" I finished reluctantly.

Death smirked at me from the corner of his eye, and for a brief moment, I also found this idea funny. I could definitely see the positive side of eating like this.

"As you will learn, Gallo, death gives you a voracious appetite." His eyes were serious again.

I took advantage of the silence that followed to check out the karaoke bar. The vibe was definitely swanky, art deco. The walls were a light grey, and everything was accentuated with dark, grainy wood, antique brass, candlelight, and sparkling glass. Low, crescent-shaped, tobacco-colored leather booths were situated below our bar area. Everything was curved and laid out in a semicircle facing the stage. An attractive, older woman was singing a slow, jazz song I didn't know. She had a soothing, gravelly voice.

A steaming pile of wings and a Coke shuffled into view as Keith slid the tray in front of me. He looked at me and grabbed a salt shaker.

"Salt makes things taste better, Dominic," Death muttered as he began salting his soda.

I picked up my coke, took a sip, and instantly put it back down. A dry flatness lingered on my tongue.

"What did you do to me?" I rasped.

"You lose a few things when you die," Death said as his ebony face looked toward the ceiling. He exhaled loudly and looked at me with... pity?

"Like taste?!" I hissed. "Unbelievable!"

No wonder my fabulous nacho abilities were so highly prized on the other side.

I ran my hands through my tangled hair. I let out a long sigh, stared down the angry, orange pile of chicken wings, picked up the salt shaker, and began aggressively salting everything.

Suddenly, a well-manicured hand slammed down next to me on the counter. I dropped a wing and swiveled back on my stool in surprise. Her red lips and bright smile were inches from my head, but she was looking over me straight into Keith's eyes.