Flirting With Death

Chapter 7

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Have you ever just sat on your bed and stared at the ceiling for what feels like hours, and you're just zoned out? You feel numb, there's nothing even on your mind and you just kind of don't want to be disturbed.

It's like, you're in your own peaceful, distant little world, and you just don't want to leave it.

I'm currently staring at the blood-red ceiling, occasionally shifting my gaze to the beautiful chandelier that was illuminating this gloomy room.

After I casually sobbed my eyes out, I stayed like this for hours and hours, or at least, that's what it felt like. I started out thinking about how unfair this was, and how I should just die and get this over with. It then shifted to a blank mind, just admiring the depressing room, blocking out all bad thoughts around me.

I wonder what Death's doing...

I wonder what his story is. How did he get stuck doing this depressing job?

Maybe he was just born into this or something.

"Hey, Mackenzie!"

Speak of the devil. Literally.

I closed my eyes that I have been fixated on the darkness that lead down the stairs.

They should really put a door there.

I was a bit irritated that he had interrupted my relaxing, blank thought bubble. I forced myself up, propping my weight onto my elbows and I let my head fall back, my hair following suit.

My neck cracked, and satisfaction rang through my body, giving me the strength to push myself straight up onto the bed. As if on cue, Death came barging into the room, a hand in his scruffy hair.

"Don't you knock?"

He stopped in his tracks and he looked back at the entrance, just about the same time as I realized what I said.

He looked back at me and chuckled lightly, "On what door?"

I rolled my eyes, feeling my cheeks heat up as I pushed myself off the bed, "Seriously, who built this place," I grumble, smoothing down my shirt.

"Listen," he slowly said, reaching a hand behind his back before pulling out a piece of dirty, crumpled up paper, "We've got some stuff to do today."

I raised an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms across my chest before roughly grabbing the paper from his stony cold hands. He raised his hands up in surrender, "Jeez, relax woman."

I shot him a glare that could kill...you know, if he wasn't already dead.

I stared at the paper, mumbling lightly as I read what was written in fine print.

Good Evening, Death.

I'm sending this letter to confirm that you have received the newly-unconscious victim. As always, said victim will have a trial led by the jury of Guardians to determine her fate.

You know what to do.

Grim Reaper.

I practically choked on my own saliva when I read the name of the sender. I didn't even have time to ask any questions because next thing I knew, an arm wrapped around my waist.

I gave Death a cold, hard stare, about to tell him off, but he beat me to it, "Hold on tight."

His breathe hit my neck, sending a tingling shiver down my spine. It was then I felt something lifting me up, for not even a second, everything was a blur.