Grim Circumstances

The young girl sat in the bed, brown eyes wide and freckled nose wrinkled in surprise. She stared at the man who stood at the end of her bed. The man in question wasn't doing much better but, instead of surprise, dread was suspended around his shoulders.

"You're not supposed to be here." The young girl said in a small voice as she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Actually, I am exactly where I am supposed to be," he replied.

"You don't work here."

"Not exactly -" His grimace grew stronger as he spoke.

"- And it isn't visiting hours." She cut in, confidence lacing her words.

"It isn't?" He asked, teasing.

"No," she stated matter of fact. "Visiting hours are 7:30 am to 6:50 pm on weekdays."

"Ah, of course," he mumbled staring at the brightly coloured flowers painted on the walls. The flowers were taller than both figures in the room and came in every colour of the rainbow. Their smiling faces looked down in what was meant to be a comforting and

friendly reassurance. It wasn't. The man hated them.

"What is that?" the girl asked pointing to something behind him.

"What?" he asked, turning at the waist.

He couldn't see anything behind him.

An irritated huff came from the girl. "On your back."

"Hmm?" He stared over his shoulder at the long sharp blade he had brought with him.

"Oh that? That's just my scythe. Don't worry about it."

"Your what?"

He gave a drawn out sigh. "Look, kid. Do you know what a grim reaper is?"

"Yes," she stated with the voice of a child who knew everything.

"Oh," he paused for a moment unsure how to continue. "Well that makes everything easier."

He didn't really look like a grim reaper to the girl. According to her fairy tales, piling up under the bedside table, a grim reaper was a skeleton in a dress with a hood. The man in front of her was not a skeleton. He seemed the same age as her dad, which she assumed to be ancient, and was wearing a dark blue cardigan.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked bluntly.

"What? No. Well, kind of but it's not -"

"- You can't kill me," she interrupted. She was smiling now and clapped as she spoke.

"...I, what?"

"Because I'm challenging you to a game." She pointed dramatically and spoke as though the words were rehearsed.

There was silence. Then, unable to take it any longer, the reaper burst into roaring laughter. The girl stopped pointing, crossed her arms, and sulked.

"It's not that funny," she mumbled.

"It kind of is. Your face - where did you get that idea from, kid?"

"A cartoon. But my point still stands. You can't kill me because I am challenging you to a game. You can only kill me if you win." She wiped her nose with her hand again.

"Kid, that's bulls - that's not true."

"Yes it is. You have to beat me at a game and I get to choose." Her expression was firm. Stubborn eyes daring him to say she was wrong again.