A Little Known Fact About Ducks

Heaven's Greatest Deity

A humorous short story about Death, God and a Duck.

Death wasn't happy. Not that you could particularly tell, his face had fallen off years ago. He couldn't complain though, the contract had made this perfectly clear when accepting the position; it didn't stop him trying to delay the inevitable. A plethora of moisturisers, Botox, even elastic bands and blu tac had been tried but all had proven useless in the end. He had managed to hang on to one small sliver of scabby flesh just above his left eye, which for some reason he now found himself immensely attached to; it even had some scant eyebrow. That though, was as far as it went, the rest of his body was completely meat free.

That was not the reason he was angry.

That morning, he'd been informed by the Man upstairs that his holiday had been postponed yet again. For the third time in as many months no proper cover could be found to take over his responsibilities. What responsibilities? Being Death was really nothing more than a glorified desk job, most of the actual soul harvesting was now subcontracted to private tenders. He had planned to party the weekend away, possessing a newly deceased body that just happened to have one of the most hotly sought after festival tickets on the planet, but now found himself in his usual place, stuck behind the large heavy oak desk in his dull, musty office.

But this too was not the reason for his annoyance - well, maybe a little.

No, the reason for his anger was the increasing incompetence of one his subcontractors. Marty, the Managing Director of the G4S Afterlife Security Services, had been summoned for the umpteenth time to explain his latest mess. Somehow, he had managed to lose over 300 souls in a plane crash his company had been informed of some three weeks prior to the accident. Death was now eager to hear what excuse his old college buddy would come up with this time, his mood not helped by the fact Marty was already 45 minutes late.

Death sat in silence, hands clasped, staring at the clock. The monotonous deep tick seemed to fill the room, the pendulum swinging in its dark mahogany casing as it had for all eternity. His mind drifted away to a time before Death, when he used to swoop and soar with the other Angels, enjoying life to its full. Now Death didn't enjoy life, Death was dead after all, the enjoying life part contradicted Death's deadness in so many ways that it just hurt his head.

The only person he really talked to these days was Mavis, his secretary, who made it quite obvious she had a soft spot for Death. This creeped him out. He knew Mavis' past, before she had died, and understood her tastes in men to be quite specific; cold and unfeeling were the words she used. The term necrophilia explained it rather better, Death thought. So he kept Mavis at a distance, siting boss/employee protocols rather than tell the truth that he just found it all a bit icky.

The intercom buzzed making Death jump.

"Yes," he said, the echoing heavy tones filling the room, making his empty coffee mug rattle on the desk. Death reached out, skeletal hand gripping the cup; a present from Mavis which had the witty phrase 'Heaven's Greatest Deity' printed on the side. It was, of course, totally useless to Death, he didn't drink coffee. He didn't drink anything more to the point; the lack of tongue, palate, throat and so on kind of made the whole fluid intake thing rather redundant. But he liked it. He just wasn't quite sure what his boss would think of the sentiment though. So always kept it hidden when he was around; which, to be honest, wasn't much these days.

"Marty here to see you sir," Mavis informed him.

"Send him in," he growled.

Marty's distorted form appeared through the frosted glass of the office door and he knocked timidly before opening it slowly, his head poking through the gap.