When Death Falls

King of Death

*When Death Falls*

*The King Of Death*

I am Death. I am the Reaper of Souls. I am The Ferryman. I am one of the Fallen. Whatever you choose to call me, I am the last person you will see in this life. Some call me beautiful. Some call me beastly. You see, I am also whoever you want to see as the light fades. I end your life, and bring you to the next. Whichever life you are deemed to go to. You see, I am the King of Death.

I can read you in those last breaths. I can see your whole existence there. Like a toll of all your sins and deeds. Your every thought is there. I know whether to take you to the pearly gates, to the Hall of Judgement, or to Hell. Yes. They all exist. I see everything about you humans, and let's just say, I'm not impressed. I see what Lucifer was talking about before The Exile. Man is an imperfect being, who hardly deseverve the blessings bestowed upon them.

That's not to say all man is evil, imperfect walking parasites. There have been a few who have stoked my interest. My admiration. Not many though. In general, though, man is riddled with at least one of the big deadlies. They seem to come in phases though. Greed though, seems to be the reigning king of sin. Pride and Lust usually battling it out for second.

I just no longer care. I did there in the beginning. I took my duties very seriously there for nearly a millenia. I worked very hard, hoping to earn my place back in Heaven. Now, it is just a job. Something I have to do. Heaven is now looking less and less appealing. Hell isn't so bad, at least not for the Originals.

The Originals, are just that. The original angels who fell from grace. Who knew a little party on earth would cost us so much? We surely didn't. Yet another thing to despise Man for. You see Man could create war, commit atrocities against each other, yet all they have to do is go to a little room, go to one knee, say a little prayer, ask for forgiveness; and God takes his magic fúcking eraser to you and you are "pure" again. Say five "Hail Mary's" and flip your middle finger to God's fallen. Do you understand now?

I have a few advantages over my fellow fallen siblings though. I still have my wings. They may be charcoal grey, but they work. Some are stubs on their back, black, blistered, and painful. Some are just tattoos on their skin. Only a few of the more powerful have them. Mine being unique in their color. Hell's high ranking fallen have wings blacker than soot. I, as usual, am stuck in the middle. Not black, but not white either.

The advantage they have over me though. They can still feel. You see, I don't feel a damn thing. Not a dàmn thing. Well, that's not true entirely. I still find shìt funny. Yes, Death can laugh. He just can't feel joy, or love, or pain. Well, stuff still pisses me off. So I still have Humour and Anger. Not the nicest combo, but they work for me.

Like now. One of my reapers is waiting, not so patiently for me to notice him. Reapers are like my minions. No, they're not yellow. I can't be everywhere, so I have recruited. Mainly from the self-damned. The only group of misfit humans God never forgives. The self-murdered. The suicides. When a human commits suicide, you hurt God's pride. He made Man in His own image, so when you kill yourself, you kill a bit of God. Funny, that.

Back to my point, my sense of humour. I have this piece of shìt, wife-beating, douche dead at my feet. Do I collect his soul? Give him to a reaper? No. I play with him. I stand there looking at the pathetic àsshòle's soul, cry over his "untimely" death, while I make him my little puppet. I can hear the cries of drug addicts in the alley where we are as I "raise" him. Make him dance a bit. The screams kind of turn my fun side on, so I have my puppet turn their way. Raise his arms and moan. Have saliva drip from his mouth, his dead eyes focus hungrily on their chemically altered faces. Reaping meets "The Walking Dead". My favorite game.

"Master." I dropped my puppet at my minion's call. Master. Do I like it? Well, kind of. I have had so many names, it is hard to remember my original name. I have been Thanatos, Azrael, Hades, Azra, Ezra, Charon. Hell, some called me The Raven or The Crow, or something like that. My name is actually Samael. Though, only a few remember. So everyone calls me Death. I dig it though. It's so much cooler than Samael, or kill me now, Sammy. Who has ever heard of an angel of death called Sammy?

"What is it?" I looked at the reaper, and wondered once again at the "uniform". Who decided that they must all have black robes? What's next? A scythe? I prefer leather jackets. Apparently, I didn't get a vote. So, my minions all wear robes. As long as I could wear what I wanted, it was all good.

"We need more Reaper's in Section One. We are overloaded with calls." The reaper's gravelly whisper irritated the fúck out of me, along with his words. When did reaping souls start sounding like a call center? Fúcking baby boomer newbies. I blame them. I will start hearing union talk next, won't I? Apparently, with as often as countries change names, they have divided Earth into "sections". What. Ever.

"Where in Section One?" I pinched the bridge of my nose, hanging my head. Isn't is obvious? Section One is always a busy place for me. Radiating out from the Arabian peninsula, there were not one but two "conflicts" happening. Between the Israel/Palestine "conflict" and Sudan. Man is making my "life" extremely busy. Why? This group wants, what the other group has? Each side thinks the other is evil and they are good. Their fight justified by "insert religious icon here". In reality, just greed. Remind me to kick Mammon's ass for this mess. I'm sure he had a hand in it. The Angel/Dæmon of Greed. He always has to win the Sinlympics doesn't he?

"Well, sir, all over." The reaper shrugged. I wanted to smash his head into a wall for the vague comment. What stopped me? He was already dead. I raised my head up to the heaven's and once more asked to myself why. Why do these creatures doom themselves? Who needs demons when man does a bang up job on his own? Balance. It was all a question of balance. If the world was filled with all good, how would they test them? How would they prove they were worthy? How fúcking boring would this place be? Can you imagine a place of rainbows and sunshine all the time? Yawn. I wonder yet again, if God and His son were sitting in some recliners, chowing down popcorn, enjoying the show they've created? Probably. They should really outfit their joint with cable.

"Just send the reapers from Northern Europe. They seem like they don't have as much to do." It was true. Save for an accident, or illness, or old age, or the odd killing. Things were pretty slow. He nodded and left with a poof if smoke. I grabbed the crying soul that I made watch me play with his body, and made a quick trip to Hell. Believe me, it is where he deserved to go.

Balance. Everything has their balance. Good and Evil. Greed and Charity. Death and Life. They all have their balances. Death apparently had Life. I, the King of Death, funny enough had no life. So again, a question of balance, when would I again have life? I guess I could feel something. Curiosity.

{Idea for this story is based on the song "Lost it All" by BVB. I'm not sure if thecontest was for only short stories, but an idea for this story popped in my head. This is a work of fiction! Not a personal view or religious personal view! Fiction! We shall see where it leads.... You know the drill!}