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	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	## THE END OF DAYS The pain was unbearable. Obviously. We all know that breaking a bone hurts, but breaking every bone in your body... that really hurts. So Death was met with an unusually warm welcome when his twisted and skeletal form manifested itself in front of Kevin. "Oh thank God you're here! Take me, please! End this suffering!" Death loomed large over Kevin's mangled body. His scythe twinkling as it caught the sun, as though passively destroying photons to kill time while it waited to cut down the life of more complex material. Death leaned forward, his hood casting just enough shadow to hide his empty eyes, but not enough to mask his perpetual, toothy grin. Kevin closed his eye's, accepting his fate and eager to feel the sweet release of death... "ERM, ABOUT THAT..." Said Death. ## TWO HUNDRED YEARS LATER "WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?" Asked death. Kevin had never seen a more beautiful woman. Her wide eyes as blue as a mountain lake. Her skin as smooth and white as the finest porcelain. The tattered an worn cloth struggling to contain her heaving bosom. she's perfect he thought. A sexual desire the likes of which he'd never felt swelled up inside of him so strong he almost ejaculated in his pants at the mere sight of here. "Naaaaaah" said Kevin. "I DON'T UNDERSTAND" exclaimed Death. "IS SHE NOT EVERYTHING YOU REQUIRE?" "Weeeeeeell, Not really." Kevin replied. "BUT SHE HAS WIDE EYE'S OF A BLUE THAT YOU FIND IN A MOUNTAIN LAKE!" Said death. "AND I'VE COMPARED HER SKIN TO THE FINEST CHINA AND IT LOOKS INDISTINGUISHABLE TO ME. AND HER BOSOM IS MOST DEFINITLY HEAVING!" "Yeah. But look at her ankles" "WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER ANKELS?" "Yeah, what's wrong with my ankles?" Asked the most beautiful woman in the world. "They're not child bearing ankles. If we're gonna restart the human race, we're gonna need to make a lot of kids. And those ankles, by my estimate, can handle one, two pregnancies at most. She's great and all, but we need one with better ankles." "FAIR ENOUGH" And death cut her down. "Well that's a shame. I really can't wait to father a couple of kids so you can take my soul. I just wish we could get this whole 'being alive' thing over with. You know?" "I KNOW" said Death. "Cool", said Kevin. "Well I'll be right here in the mansion practicing on those instructional doll we found. So when you find another real woman, just come knocking. Ok?" "OK" said Death. "Sweet. L8rs" said Kevin.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust. We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer. This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy. Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep. In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.	"I have spent my existence bringing about an end to yours'. I know more about the end than anyone, and I have learned much about the human race. If there is anything that holds true it is your survival rate, no matter the danger you continue on fighting, searching for something else to keep going, the human spirit is one I'm delighted to to carry on. You may call this the apocalypse, you may see it as the end but I will be damned if I am done carrying the souls of your kind! This will not be the end! This cannot be your undoing! It must not!" The most surprising thing, to us, may have been the way he looked. He was a skeletal figure draped in tattered robes, I mean tattoos and t-shirts were spot on. Perhaps though it was his voice, baffling, does he even have vocal chords? I couldn't understand how it worked, but it sounded fairly normal, which was odd. He stood tall like a looming shadow, a good reason for his apt naming. With him he carried an hourglass strung around a silver beaded chain hanging from his wrist. He came to us one day, speaking of how we must not be frightened, probably because a seven foot tall skeleton in a shredded robe riding a pale horse was scaring the shit out of everyone, before that I think we were doing okay, well alright until he started helping out. He's made many speeches since then and I think he's making everybody feel better, either that or they just pretend to smile for survival. We've been rebuilding a bit and we're doing good for a community, farmings rough and supplies are hard to find but we're alive. If anything it's a least grouped everyone on religion, I guess the bible got it pretty close. I'm probably the only non-believer left but that's fine with me. For a guy who's existence revolves around finalizing deaths he's pretty good at this survival stuff, though that makes sense learning somethings opposition is often a good resource to learn more on the other. All the people said war and nukes or maybe drastic climate change and the movies all said solar flares or disease; an apocalypse means more than destruction though, like the card of death an end doesn't mean the end. The world's more clever and cruel than we as humans could hope for. It let us hold on and survive, brought together by disease and starvation we had hope. Some company accidentally let out a chemical that poisoned the livestock, mosquitoes and the like carried the disease globally like in the movies. Starving, weak and unable to fight we stood together and helped feed the world. One day a united band of scientists saved the world and the plague was ended. We rebuilt, countries' ties strengthened by threat of demise, we were at peace. It was Beltholin-30 the miracle that saved the animals and the world, at peace we grew. With no conflict we lost ambition, we stopped trying to best each other and advancement slowed to a peak. As the generations grew we discovered the higher levels of produced Beltholin-30 in humans was making us sterile. Without the means to help ourselves, medical science had dropped a drastic forty-six percent in rate, we failed to find the next cure. Then came the wars, fighting over the last bits of land, fighting over the unsterile. In the last moments before the world was turned to rubble the remaining countries sealed away all the unsterile people they could. We are the remains of the world, the breeders, it's sick. So yeah maybe everybody got it right, a disease brought about our end, war finished us off, but if you ask me it's peace that killed us. "Hey Mike." "Hey Death." "How are you doing?" "I'm okay, you?" "Mike, I'm Death." "Ya, but you still got shit to do, and if you didn't have things to worry about you wouldn't be trying so hard to save us." "Thanks Mike. So what are you doing." "Thinking about how you can speak without vocal chords." "Again, Death, living personification of the moving on from mortality." "You don't even have a throat it's just-" "Its magic Mike, it's just god damn magic." "That's the other thing that worries me." "What's that mike?" Death looked at me with anticipation and worry, I think, I'm not sure it's just eye sockets there's not eyebrows and he doesn't have lips so he's basically always grinning. "If there's magic why the hell can't a throw a fireball?" "Wait you said this worries you." "Ya it keeps me up at night." "Look I didn't make you don't ask me." "Okay no need to get pissy, wait are you getting pissy I can't tell, you are the happiest looking pissed guy, can't you at least do the Jack Skellington scary face thing?" He just walked away, he just fucking left. "Hey wait there's something else! Where's your scythe?" "Maybe I don't have one, why the hell should I?" "Im just saying apparently we got everything else right." He didn't turn around he just kept going, jerk. He didn't go far though before he could he was stopped by, well I'm not sure. He was a large man with flowing locks of orangish hair and he had giant wings. "Micheal!" Death said, sounding surprised. "Fourth horseman, your actions are beyond our limits with the mortals, the lords demand you cease this at once." Micheal shouted. "All of them? No matter I will not have my duty as the carrier of their souls forgotten, I will fight for them." "After their final ending, that duty will no longer need exist, you may have another seat upon the council." Micheal swung forward a flaming sword, and from nowhere Death blocked the blow with a scythe. "Ha! There's it is!" I shouted, seriously somebody had to have seen this gu before or something, to be this accurate. The two odd beings fought harshly clashing again and again until Death found an opening and placed a hand on Micheal's chest, personally I would have socked him. A blinding light lit up the sky and Death stood alone holding a glowing ball, okay that feeling up the chest thing may have been more effective. "Horseman this foolishness must end you cannot defy the lords!" Seriously now the ball is shouting? "These humans can be saved, they will continue to live, I will teach them to survive. Their souls are too important I will not let such wondrous things be extinguished." "The lords demand the end-" "Micheal I will return your soul to heaven once more, and you may bring a messages to the lords. I will stay and help the humans, we will continue on, and if they so choose... You cannot escape death, all things have an end." Death lifted his hand to the sky and the glowing ball floated out of sight. "Come on now Mike, let us return the the village." I hurried up beside him, barely able to contain myself. "Nice scythe." I grinned. "Shut the hell up Mike." We continued on towards the village quiet for a while. "I was thinking of setting up small aqueducts like from Rome to try and help the land and transport of water." Death spoke.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The northern European landscape we now crossed was unrecognizable. It surrounded us with its monotone light-brown color of earth mixed with dust and ash. Occasionally this view would be enriched by the presence of pine trees, looking raw and strong like survivors. The pine trees had fought as was evident from the stance they had assumed, not standing straight and proud but leaning. Remnants of dust on the pine trees made it clear there had been no wind and rain in the last days. Just dust. We had started with eleven only to end up with four people now. We had lost the others one by one, often followed by a small miracle. Each time we lost someone we would find water, food or shelter afterwards. The sense of tragedy was confounded by the knowledge that we were saved for a while longer. This had been a sparsely populated area to begin with and our strategy was to travel from shelter to shelter until we would get near the sea. We were traveling now for nine days without finding one and desperation creeped up on us. We encountered a small wooden two-floor cabin amidst some pine trees and what used to be a lake. The storms had clearly damaged the cabin but it seemed to be able to provide shelter. The dust-storms could begin any moment again. A mix of euphoria and suspicion hit the group upon entering when we saw a good stash of plastic bottles of water in the pantry. Someone must have stored this for their own survival. We found water often in abandoned establishments and sometimes dried foods or grains or if we were very lucky cans with beans or fruits. We also knew by now what event usually accompanied these small miracles and looked at each other with slight melancholy. Food was difficult to come by. In the first weeks we could still hunt and fish but few animals survived in these conditions and the rivers got worse each day. We followed the rivers and lakes and each time we would catch one of the few remaining salmons it almost seemed as if it was send our way. Now we were hungry but we at least had water and shelter and were generally in a good mood. Tomorrow we would explore this area further with the cabin as base camp. We made a toast with the water and went to sleep. In the morning I was awakened by my three companions who were rambling happily and full of unrest. They pushed a pair of binoculars in my hands and carefully guided me to the window where one of them lifted a corner of the tarpaulin. I looked through the opening with the binoculars and far away, between the pine trees was a moose. It had been the first wildlife we had seen since the heavy dust storms and could provide us with enough food to stick around here for a while. How it had survived I do not know, maybe it had a helping hand like we did in the last weeks.	Forty thousand vampires, only hours away from turning on each other, surrounded the last ragged shreds of humanity. The survivors formed a circle around the last redoubt, their back to each other. From child to adult, each pair of hands gripped a weapon - submachine gun, spear, crossbow and shotgun - nothing was discarded. There were no more options, only inevitability. Their leader, a pale woman with her dirty hair hastily gathered in a ponytail wound by a red rag, raised her fist in defiance at the certain death that was now only minutes away. And Death answered. He manifested himself for them a the traditional avatar in western media - a skeletal figure draped in black, with a obscenely large scythe cradled in his arm. His words were simple, and escaped his mouth, with the creak and scrape of a coffin lid. "I am Death, and my time is now. Fall on your knees and worship me, and through death, you will live." The leader fell to the ground, her eyes finally glowing with something like hope. Without pause, without second thought, the remaining survivors fell in behind her, and gave thanks to their new God. Death paused for a moment. Not used to being worshipped, he savoured the moment as the vampires began to batter the walls. The vampires - already dead - were useless to him. But they had necks, and he had a scythe. His ragged cloak fluttered as he bounded over the tottering walls. With a banshee's scream he drew the scythe back and began the bloody harvest.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Prologue. to the contribution by Nickofnight It started, and ended, with a flash. Death ad just emerged from a cave in northern Afghanistan where a goatherd had sheltered from a bitterly cold, winter wind. The young man had died in his sleep. Death stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the flash spread like a wave to be joined by others to encompass the globe. "Oh crap", he groaned as the melodious "Ahhhh" of an angelic choir filled the air. Then an angel of the Lord drifted down from the heavens to settle beside him. "Death." "Gabriel. how goes it?" "I have been commanded by the Almighty Lord of All Creation, the omnipotent, omnisceint, the giver of live and..." "Yeah, yeah, out with it, Gabe, what is it now?" "Your services are no longer required." "You do realize he's not the God of me, I'm from a different place. How many times do I have to remind him?" Gabriel looked around, as if the almighty might be nearby.and leaned over to Death, almost touching the black hood covering his head. Out of courtesy, Death shifted his Scythe to one side. "I'm serious .D. There's only a handful of people left so God's decided to do a special and come down himself to deal with them." Death shook his head and the bones in his neck creaked and scraped. "He can't. besides, there might be people in bunkers, up mountains, down in submarines, off in remote places" Gabriel pursed his perfect lips and shook his head, "Sorry, mate." "I'm not having it," Death said, "I got rights over every single death. this isn't his apocalypse, not by a long shot, so he can't come down himself. He just wants to say he had his day at the end." Death's deep, gravelly voice rose in anger. "Well tough on him, mankind just screwed up all His scheming. How many times did I tell him that setting up prophets, and those visions he handed out left right and centre wouldn't work? Bloody idiot. If he know the first thing about Quantum physics and probability he'd know this. I'm not going to throw in my scythe just so he can prove himself right. He can Fu.." "Okay, Okay, I get it." Gabriel said and then sighed, "I'll let Jesus know when he get's back." "Good," Death straightened up, the hollows of his eyes darkening to black holes as they shifted through the energies, filtering everything out except for the distant flicker of mortal life "Ah, there they are, Kyle of Lochalsh." He was about to set off and stopped. "Hang on, Gabe, Where is Jesus? shouldn't he be here to welcome everyone to heaven?" Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh, of course, God's been pissed with him ever since he started forgiving everyone and letting them all in. But where is the most powerful hippy in the world?" "Christ knows, he took the crucifixion pretty bad and went off. Last I heard he'd reached Andromeda and was still doing the Ego Quill thing." "The what? "Impregnating aliens all over the place." "What a douche." "Love is Love." Gabriel replied. His pure white wings spread out as the ashen remains of humanity drifted down around them, and lifted gently into the air. "God won't be happy with this." "He's never happy." Gabriel nodded and for a moment was surrounded by a soft golden glow before disappearing to the sound of a heavenly choir. Death concentrated the void at his centre and reaching out into the surrounding universes, gathered all his nearby iterations from neighbouring realms . Then, as one, the collective Death, swept like an invisible wind across the Earth and took every life. Even with the aid of his other iterations, including a thousand million Shivas, a billion Kali and iterations he's never even seen, it was an exhausting ordeal to transform the several billion souls into their transcendental form in preparation for their next incarnation. With the task complete, Death dropped back to and stumbled forwards before regaining his balance. For a brief moment he wondered how these souls would reincarnate, then a smile broke across his face; well it would have been a smile if he had flesh. But for an instant his mood was lightened by the realisation that Jesus' gallivanting around the universe was for this very reason. to give these souls a place to incarnate to should their spiritual path not yet be complete and Heaven-ready. Relieved by the realisation he looked around for the last of the humans and saw them. A young girl and a man beside her. The others were nearby. Then a resonance rang through him that he'd never felt before, a sense of his own mortality and for the first time he knew fear. With what little energy he had, he reached out again to his iterations and his plea was quickly fulfilled by Shiva - the creator and destroyer. His request would cost him dearly but at least his continued existence was assured for a while at least; long enough to restore life and allow a new Death to arise. Reality abhors a vacuum. He let out a silent cry as the burning energy of life coursed through the scythe and released a unbearable pain that seared through his bones, his very being. Death fell to the ground, reaching out to the last of the humans. Humanity had to survive, He staggered to his feet, still gripping the now life-giving scythe, and enduring the agony of its life-energy that could only be relieved through its release by creating life. But even in pain he managed a chuckle; God, that miserable old sod, just got trumped.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work. Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep. Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!" Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said. If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	With apologies to Terry Pratchett Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat. She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day. Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe... Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket. HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere. LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING. Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations. Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone. She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?” DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD? Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school. NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN. Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion. Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER? Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?” WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES. Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE... “...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.” AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME? Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away. She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him. “Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” “Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief. “Chris--” “Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something. He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain. As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation. THANK YOU, CHRISTINA.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide. Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it. So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war. Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too. So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks. Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence. Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them. These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue. Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up. This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way." In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. She was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get appealing a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour? She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself." "What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast." "You haven't take any yet ..." "Yeah, amazing isn't it?" "No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet." "With that guy?" "Please?" "Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy. "NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her. "LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!" "I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise." "Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead." "OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?" "5 children and you kill him!" "Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies." "Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. sigh There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter." When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse. "Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!" The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!" While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch. Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?” Hello. The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s de facto leader, to speak. “Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.” I am Death. Wilbur, the de jure Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised against eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night. The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet. “Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?” Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool. The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become… Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged. …unemployed. “I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the Memoranda as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes. I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane. Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors, “Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.” We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky. Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak, “Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“ Stop. “Wha- why?” You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan. Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness. Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid. A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments. Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom. It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist. * Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said, Hello.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled. Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth. Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream. "Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything." "A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly. "Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible." "Delay it? How can you do that?" "I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me." Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face. Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end." Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided. "I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough." Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you." Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away. Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him. "Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Zoampa really missed hot coffee. A small pleasure yes, but even that would be welcome these days. He used to take his time before an introduction, finding a quiet diner somewhere nearby to sip coffee for awhile. Regardless of the land, he could always find a small diner serving coffee in the realm of the living, humans enjoyed those kinds of places. The acrylic had nearly worn from the table he sat at now. This place used to serve coffee, he was almost sure of it, but one could find nourishment here no longer. He turned his eyes to the miserable thing on the floor to his left. "You didn't find what you were looking for either, eh friend." This job had been so similar to the others recently. Thirst, hunger, then collapse. This human even welcomed the introduction, Zoampa could tell. No more struggle, no more weariness, in this world at least. The time between these trips grew, and the taste had faded from his mouth. Other gods of death grew lazy, neglecting their vows, and he was beginning to see the appeal. Leaving the ruin, he read the sign by the Interstate, Green River Next Exit "Utah..." He made note of the places he traveled to now, for he believed each visit would likely be his last. He opted to walk for awhile, rather than depart immediately. The town's namesake would have been beautiful to behold, had it still flowed or held any of the green that once lined its shores. A few miles further Zoampa found a horse, gaunt and not long dead. Its rider had died far earlier. He wondered if one of his brethren had been there to greet the rider. Walking along, he thought of the lives he shepherded centuries past. Vibrant and unique those lives had been, each bringing with it a story to be told to Zoampa and his kin's eager ears. He'd miss those stories, like he'd miss hot coffee. Ready to depart, having filled his memory of this place, he made for the road. He then came upon something new. It was clearly new because the paint on the old tin had yet to fade. Zion food, water, refuge 260 miles Southwest "Zion...the world to come," Zoampa spoke aloud. "No need to leave just yet."	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Under the blistering sun, a woman covered in rags tiredly walks. Her eyes squint to protect themselves from the intense dust, thrown into her face by the wind that whips her long, unkempt hair about herself. The bandages wrapped around her feet are bloody and torn, and as time draws, her lopsided gait slows down, until she can merely stand and stare into the bleak storm. Suddenly, she’s aware of a presence. She doesn’t look, but burning white eyes stare a hole into her. She’s frozen in place, and as the figure approaches, she shakes, her breathing rapid and broken. Now with the blinding shadow in the corner of her eye, the woman is aware of thoughts that aren’t hers. Find them. Help them. That is your duty. The black smoke clears from her mind, and she is alone. With her heart thumping in her ears, her feet move once again with renewed vigor. She knows her direction. Eventually, the sun begins to dip below the horizon. The orange light cuts into the dust, emphasizing the thickness of it. If the orange fades, she’ll be engulfed in complete darkness. Ahead, a huge shadow starts to fade into the fog. The rectangular shape starts to solidify, but first the woman comes across a tall wire fence. She walks along it, until she comes across a large gate. The woman notices the rail that the gate moves along, and she pushes the heavy steel in that direction. Heaving with all her might, muscles and bone straining, it manages to slide an inch towards its goal before two beams are lighting her up. The scavengers return. ___ The woman in rags sits in the darkness. She keeps her eyes open but unfocused, as the sounds of a heated debate fills her ears. The survivors are wondering where the woman came from, and if there are others. As the noise settles, a tall man steps through the doorway. He is wearing a thick brown jacket, the same color as his work boots. His beard covers his face, and his messy hair is hidden under a suede cap. His emerald eyes seem to pierce into her. The tall man gets on his knees so that his face is next to hers, and he speaks to her. He is Jack, and he’s asking if she can work. The woman’s eyes focus on his, and she becomes aware of the black presence boring into the back of her head. The woman’s body shakes, and she swiftly nods to Jack. He stands back up, and so does she, leaving the black smoke behind as she follows Jack out of the room. Six more people stare at her now, lit by the yellow and orange glow candles on the tables and the floor. A man with grey hair and round glasses talks to her about medicine. She stays silent while a woman with short, scruffy hair puts a heavy bundle of clothes in her arms, and asks the woman in rags for her name. She closes her eyes, and her raspy voice breathes out, “Katrina.” ___ The sun is up again, and a heavy yellow coat covers Katrina’s torso, with tough jeans over her legs. Her thick boots are laced in a way that the survivors haven’t seen before. Katrina’s hair is tied back with a hair band, put there by the woman with short, scruffy hair. While most of the survivors are preparing a large car for leaving the fence, Jack and a man with jet black hair, who introduces himself as Kieran, are showing her how to defend herself. She stands behind a line of tape on the ground, and Kieran is holding a stick of black plastic out to her. The instant Katrina’s hand touches it, the sudden black smoke descends upon her, but her vision clears as she blinks away tears. She swallows the lump in her throat, and steadies her shaking. The burning white eyes are in front of her as she aims, but she focuses on the concrete wall, where several targets are painted. On her second shot, Katrina’s muscles strain to steady the weapon. On her forth, the bullet embeds itself within the boundaries of the target. After a few more, Jack shows her how to reload her gun. Ten minutes pass, and the large car is ready to move. Katrina puts her gun to the side while she helps three people push the heavy gate open. The woman with short, scruffy hair drives the car through, and leaves the engine on as she helps close the gate. Finally, with her gun held tightly, Katrina steps into the car, and Kieran sits next to her. Jack sits in the front, beside the woman who clutches the wheel, and the car moves away from the compound. The men call the woman driving Alice, during short conversations that involve the places they’ve been, and the places they should go. Kieran carefully asks Katrina where she’s from, but she ignores him. When the car has traveled a certain distance, Alice slows it down while Katrina notices the survivors are looking for something. Buildings and other cars surround them, creating alleys and turn-offs, and little dark corners that remind Katrina of the black smoke. Finally, the car stops, and Jack turns around to catch Katrina’s attention with those piercing emerald eyes. He tells her to stay close to the group, and to look for sealed cans and bottles of water. Finally, he takes her flashlight out of her backpack and uses the strap on her shoulder to fix it in place. They all pour out of the car, all of the survivors keeping their eyes on their surroundings. Katrina follows them to glass double doors of a large building. With the back end of his gun, Kieran breaks the glass and each of them carefully steps inside. The wind, suddenly gaining an entrance to this building, immediately lifts the small dust particles that were resting inside and makes them dance in the air. The survivors turn on each of their flashlights, and Katrina follows their lead after a second of fumbling with the button on her shoulder. The large room is filled with long walls of shelves, while little, mostly plastic items are strewn haphazardly among them and over the floor. The stench of rotting meat is nearby. Kieran and Jack go ahead down a path created by the shelves, while Alice waits for Katrina to catch up, so that the two can follow the others together. Katrina knows what kind of sealed cans she’s supposed to be looking out for when Alice gives her some to put in her backpack. Katrina is kneeling, fiddling with the zip, when suddenly the deathly quiet is cut by a shout from Jack. He points his gun ahead of him, and it discharges once, and then twice, and the sounds of the others scrambling are replaced by a loud ringing. Katrina swiftly steps up, away from her bag, and she holds her gun how she was shown, pointing it towards the corner that Jack is backing away from. Katrina feels the freezing, wet substance against her back as she finds herself pressed against the black figure. Those burning eyes are screaming into her, and the ringing in her ears has been replaced with a dull, heavy breathing. She’s almost suffocating in the black smoke. A large shape comes into view around the corner, a massive arm swiping at Jack as he discharges his weapon once again, but his head is flung towards the floor and his body crumples, and Alice and Kieran both fire at the creature. Almost blinded by the black smoke, to the sound of nothing but the heavy breathing and her heartbeat, Katrina strides forward, past the survivors and up to the creature. She presses her rifle up to the greasy flesh and pulls the trigger, bursting a hole into it. She feels the creature roar, and its large paw swipes at her face, too. Katrina feels the agony of a thousand knives, but she doesn’t fall to the ground. She feels her skin hanging away from her face, but she stares at the creature where she can see the soulless, black eyes, shining back against her torch. She points her gun up to where those eyes are, and fires twice more as its arm hits her in the side. This time, she doesn’t flinch as the thick flesh and the sharp claws tear into her. Her gun discharges twice again, as the creatures head continues to erupt in a shower of blood with every hit. Katrina is aware of the holes forming from Alice and Kieran’s guns, she watches the creature fall back, toppling into the shelf beside it. The shelf clatters to the ground under the weight of the thing, but holes continue to burst into the fallen creature as the survivors continue to fire. Katrina steps forward towards the body of Jack on the ground, and she falls to her knees beside him. His blood pools next to him, running down the cracks in the tiles that surround him. She stares into Jack’s unfocused, lifeless green eyes and she knows he is gone. Katrina is briefly brought back to where she was before. The place where there are no guns to fight the monsters. She wonders if Jack is there. As she watches over his body, she feels three figures behind her. One of them, the darkest, pierces through the back of her head, and once more, Katrina knows thoughts that are not her own. Without death, there is no life. Without life, there is nothing. Help them. Protect them. That is your duty.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	I’ve always been efficient. In fact, I am the most efficient of all of the boss man’s posse. Oops, I need to capitalize the b, in case he knows. Of course he knows. Oops, “He” knows. We had the big release date for the End-all Project, or as you might call it – The “Apocalypse” planned for every millennium, but things never actually went through. You know, organizational problems, this and that. Through all of that, who was always early to work and always the last to leave? THIS guy. Always punctual. And I didn’t complain about the name of the project. Apocalypse doesn’t sound important or even ominous. Sounds like a crappy black metal band from one of those cold, dark, northern cities I used to love to get a beer at. Anywho. The “Apocalypse” happened and unlike what everyone expected it to be, it was pretty tame. No fire and brimstone. It was mostly an untreatable version of the flu, for Boss-sakes. I just had to show up and direct one person to another, make then want to hug and kiss and touch, etc. I essentially masterminded this with the Department of the Muses. They did the groundwork, making Hollywood make sappy movies for about 20 years straight, and making the greeting card industry create a flurry of “Care for your ___” days. The most ridiculous one that stupid humans bought was “Care for your Mall” day. Hollywood actually convinced people to go hug every object they wanted to own. You’d be surprised how many people want to own an entire mall’s worth of stuff. So, the earth ended, a lot phlegmy and mucus-ey than expected. And with that day, a lot of jobs ended. The Angels were always ass-kissers and so they swooped up all the cleanup jobs. The Muses ended up getting a lot of entertainment deals to amuse the Boss man and his buds and the new fresh-faced tenants of heaven. Of course, everyone else moved to hell, where all the jobs are. Menial, but steady. And that leaves me, freaking DEATH, where? Yep. Sitting in front of an empty desk. No new emails. I cannot lose this job! It’s not really the perks or even the compensation. I’ve paid all my debts. I will go insane not knowing what to do with myself. And you know what they say – people go quickly, once they retire. Nuh, uh, not this guy. And I am not about to go to hell looking for a job – I like my cubicle at a cozy 68 degrees at all times. I am smart and I am writing this in an encrypted journal that not even the Boss man can break..I think. This is what I did - I found this tribe of Yak herders in Mongolia, who just refused to die in this current project. Something about eating a diet almost entire based on Yak secretions seemed to make them immune to any disease. That, and something this guy did, on the down low. I put vitamins in their food. I stole state-of-the-art military immunizations, including one a doomed nerd made for this particular “Apocalyptic” flu before he sneezed himself to death. I, Death, have been making my tribe healthier and healthier by the day, over centuries. That, and their Genghis Khan genes, make them nearly indestructible. Now all I have to do, is to make sure that no one pays attention to them by making them very, very boringly religious, and absolutely unnoticeable. I want to make them so boring that God himself would not care. So, me and my buddy Elsa, the Muse have been shaving signs from the Boss into Yak fur, leaving images of his Mom in Yak cheese, etc, over centuries. Signs that tell my new little boring Genghises to always be good, always repent, always live in fear, always cower and always fear the reaper. It hasn’t been easy. I tried this with the Vikings before, at an earlier release date, and they were unmanageable to say the least. So, dear reader, as of now, I still have a job. My tribe has grown to about a million. Almost all of them are very, very Boss-fearing. Yes, some return to their Pagan roots, but they are quickly taken care of by the others. Everyone who lives, lives to about a 105 years. It’s a long wait, but I’ve waited before (for Keith Richards and Ozzy Osbourne). But, I have always been an optimist. Elsa and I are currently writing a pilot for one of the new shows that the Department of the Muses, has accepted to air for the people in heaven. It is about how everyone should care for each other and that everything is finally alright, with a touch of toilet humor. Keeps them distracted, keeps the Boss man happy. And I get my paycheck.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Another one bites the dust", he thought. He used to like that song, but now it felt different. Death sat grimly on rusty car watching the human draw his final breathes. It had been 11 years since international disaster lead to the nuclear holocaust, a moment in time not even Death enjoyed. Do you know how hard it is to reap billions of lives? It took nearly a decade just to finish that. It was only after those 10 long years of coaxing the final ghosts out of hiding that Death realized he might soon be unemployed. Everyone always asked what happens to them after they die, but nobody ever asked what happened to death once everyone was already dead. After all, unemployed could have an entirely different meaning for Death, and it's not like anyone wrote it in his job description. Can Death die? Would he get a new job? Maybe a nice cushy one like that do-nothing Time. Death pondered these questions while out of the shadows a creature drew near to him. Startled, he realized it was another human. This human was in rough shape. He was so skinny his body almost looked malformed. He was wearing a rank plaid shirt, his beard covered in debris, twisting in knots and locks. In fact, the first thing he did when he found the scissors on the dead human was cut these locks from his beard. Then he scavenged the corpse for provisions. "This human might have a chance", he thought, "I shall call him... Rick." Death followed as Rick rummaged through the outskirts of the city, carefully whispering when he noticed a loose steel beam about to fall on Rick, grabbing his attention long enough to avoid disaster. Death could sense another meatbag nearby, so he attempted to drive Rick towards him. Death pushed a washing machine out of a nearby window, grabbing their attention as they turned the corner into each other, and then proceeded to fight. Rick had ducked a machete and pinned the other human to the ground, knocking off his baseball cap, inscribed with just "P". With the upper hand, Rick overpowered the other human and drove his boot knife into the other mans chest multiple times. The plaid shirt was an even darker red now. Rick leaned against the buildings stones, holding his leg. Apparently Mr. P over there got Rick with his machete just before he was stabbed. Death could immediately tell it was a fatal femoral artery injury. Death brought his skeletal hand to his face. Maybe humans were destined to die, he thought. Sighing, he began reaping them. He wasn't nice about it either, I mean, he really made sure they knew what idiots they were. He tore their souls out slower than usual and let them linger in his hands a few moments. Nothing was more painful to a human soul than lingering about, each second feeling like an eternity. He let the souls go, and both drifted towards the ground. Typical, he thought. They disappeared into the cracked cement. ... Death found another human, this time a woman. Any human would probably have mistaken her for a man, and she probably wanted it that way. Her hair was cut short, and she had a stocky build with wide shoulders. She looked meaner than Rick did. He just happened to find her as she ran into another human, a rare coincidence these days despite his most recent encounter. To his surprise, she didn't start beating him to death, and he her. They started talking, and soon began venturing together. Maybe there was some hope after all.	Ever since we figured out we were one of the last ones left in this god forsaken earth, it seems like there has been some sort of guardian angel watching over us. It's really put into perspective how stupid we really are in our day to day decisions. Some of us at the camp had grown to have a tunnel vision to life. Wake, work, eat, sleep, and this was repeated day after day. I, for one, were not one of those people. I had found that the inevitable boredom of living with 5 other people in a world where there was not much to do made me latch on to anything of even little interest. This ranged from who took the last special edition can of beans to of course, which supernatural foreign power was watching our every move. I was, no pun intended, dying to figure out who was stopping us from... well, dying. The fact that I had no friends or family left, nothing to look forward to, juxtaposed with my burning curiosity made me realise I could very easily go to the very extreme to finish my quest. From our camp, just outside a city whose sign telling us the city's name was mauled and broken apart, I spotted some very tall buildings. The hard part was getting through to one of said tall buildings, this was because of the testosterone enraged radioactive super humans. Part 2 upon request, feel free to give constructive criticism, I really need it!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work. Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep. Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!" Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said. If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	With apologies to Terry Pratchett Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat. She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day. Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe... Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket. HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere. LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING. Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations. Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone. She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?” DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD? Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school. NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN. Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion. Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER? Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?” WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES. Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE... “...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.” AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME? Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away. She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him. “Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” “Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief. “Chris--” “Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something. He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain. As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation. THANK YOU, CHRISTINA.	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide. Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it. So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war. Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too. So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks. Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence. Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them. These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue. Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up. This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time.	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way." In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. She was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get appealing a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour? She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself." "What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast." "You haven't take any yet ..." "Yeah, amazing isn't it?" "No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet." "With that guy?" "Please?" "Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy. "NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her. "LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!" "I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise." "Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead." "OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?" "5 children and you kill him!" "Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies." "Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. sigh There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter." When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse. "Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!" The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!" While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after.	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch. Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?” Hello. The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s de facto leader, to speak. “Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.” I am Death. Wilbur, the de jure Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised against eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night. The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet. “Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?” Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool. The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become… Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged. …unemployed. “I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the Memoranda as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes. I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane. Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors, “Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.” We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky. Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak, “Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“ Stop. “Wha- why?” You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan. Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness. Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid. A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments. Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom. It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist. * Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said, Hello.	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled. Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth. Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream. "Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything." "A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly. "Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible." "Delay it? How can you do that?" "I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me." Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face. Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end." Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided. "I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough." Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you." Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away. Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him. "Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her.	What happens to the doctors when there is no more disease? Is humanity better off? Yes, for two reasons. The first is that there are no more diseases. The second is that there are no more doctors. The doctors on the other hand are not doing so well for themselves. They're out of a job. They've got kids depending on them that are not doing so well. Here's the catch - most doctors are humans with plastic brains who can learn new things. What I do is sort of err..... is sort of a super speciality. I really am too old to learn a new vocation. And then these idiots had to go and blow up the whole world with their stupid computers. (In case you're wondering, that is in fact how it happened. Not global warming. Not a runaway nuclear explosion. Not a world war. Just some nerd who wrote a super smart computer program to make paper clips, that ended up hacking most systems and weaponising those and so on and so forth, until someone else managed to find a loophole that could be exploited to stop it.) Now all that was left of the world was broken continents, flooded lands, unquenchable flames raging across large parts of the earth's surface. Now there's like a handful of them, stuck in one cave. Now I travel around pretty fast, but something about the scale of this thing has left even me a little immobilized. So now I'm stuck with this measly group one one continent. I've been spending the last few hours knocking off one predator after another. And these ingrates are still wailing about how they're not gonna make it. Think positive you schmucks!! "Excuse me, Mr." said a voice from behind. Now, I'd never been spoken to that politely, let alone during just after the biggest disaster the world had seen, but my anthropomorphic nature made me turn around to lay eyes on a 5 year old girl. Naturally, I was surprised as to how she was able to see me. So I asked her "How are you able to see me?" "Well, I'm young and I haven't yet been indoctrinated with the dogmas of the world. Since the world really was going to shit all around me, I grew up rather quickly and began to look for disaster everywhere I went. I guess I realized if I ever perfected my skills, I'd be able to see you. Quite literally. Now here you are. What's up?" "Have you considered that maybe you're insane and hallucinating?" I asked her. "Aren't we all? All the time" came the reply. I groaned. Maybe it was time to retire.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work. Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep. Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!" Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said. If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!	"It's been a relaxing few days." Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet. Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there. After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it. He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time. He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die. Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do. Death can wait.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	With apologies to Terry Pratchett Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat. She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day. Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe... Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket. HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere. LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING. Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations. Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone. She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?” DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD? Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school. NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN. Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion. Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER? Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?” WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES. Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE... “...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.” AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME? Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away. She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him. “Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” “Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief. “Chris--” “Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something. He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain. As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation. THANK YOU, CHRISTINA.	"It's been a relaxing few days." Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet. Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there. After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it. He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time. He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die. Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do. Death can wait.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	"It's been a relaxing few days." Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet. Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there. After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it. He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time. He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die. Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do. Death can wait.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way." In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. She was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get appealing a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour? She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself." "What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast." "You haven't take any yet ..." "Yeah, amazing isn't it?" "No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet." "With that guy?" "Please?" "Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy. "NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her. "LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!" "I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise." "Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead." "OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?" "5 children and you kill him!" "Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies." "Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. sigh There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter." When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse. "Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!" The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!" While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after.	"It's been a relaxing few days." Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet. Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there. After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it. He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time. He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die. Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do. Death can wait.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled. Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth. Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream. "Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything." "A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly. "Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible." "Delay it? How can you do that?" "I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me." Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face. Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end." Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided. "I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough." Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you." Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away. Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him. "Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her.	"It's been a relaxing few days." Death thought to itself. He was absolutely overloaded with work a few years ago, but now? Now work has been the slowest its been since the very early days, when humanity was starting up and God hadn't grown bored of them yet. Boredom. Now that is a word that used to have no meaning to him. As he walked around what remained on earth, taking the occasional animal while kicking the surviving cats, who he particularly disliked, he started to think about what he could do with all the free time he had now. He could just take the job opportunity Satan gave to him and torture the souls of the departed, exploiting their latent fear of them, and he could use his affinity for theatrics there. After all, Satan has been pestering him since college about joining his little venture, but Death had no interest on it. He instead took into a more neutral job, taking souls to their rightful place. All he had to do was give them a little push and they'll be on their way. It was an easy job, it was a fun job. All he had to do was travel around and meet them. Anyone could do it, but he was the best at it. Maybe it was his professionalism or his discretion, but he was feared and respected in equal measures. He was constantly told to take pride on his job, but at the end of the day, he just liked it. He stopped and look at his list. Yes, this was the place. The last remnant of humanity. They should have died long ago, but Death usually liked to leave everything for the last possible second. He inspected the dark room where the last few survivors lived. Just a few dozens of them. Death was tasked to let them go, it was finally their time. He suddenly felt a hint of nostalgia. Ah, humans. They really liked to put up a fight. His best costumers and his best providers. Some dedicated their lives to provide to him, others to keep him away for as long as, well, humanly possible. They always made a mess of his work. Pushing timelines, causing overwork, cheating him. Never a dull moment with this creatures, so many creative ways to die. Death found himself smiling, looking at the last of them. Maybe he doesn't need to take them out just yet. Maybe they can keep him entertained for a bit more. He'll have to take them eventually, but why rush it? Let's see what they can do. Death can wait.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work. Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep. Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!" Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said. If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!	The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him. The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable. Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her. It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line. "Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight. "Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now. "What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously. Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully. "OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well. None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy. Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in. "Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously. "Last week." Grim stated. "LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told. "Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again. "Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense. "We should save them." Grim quietly revealed. A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence. The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	With apologies to Terry Pratchett Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat. She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day. Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe... Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket. HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere. LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING. Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations. Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone. She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?” DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD? Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school. NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN. Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion. Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER? Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?” WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES. Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE... “...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.” AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME? Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away. She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him. “Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” “Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief. “Chris--” “Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something. He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain. As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation. THANK YOU, CHRISTINA.	The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him. The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable. Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her. It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line. "Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight. "Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now. "What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously. Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully. "OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well. None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy. Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in. "Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously. "Last week." Grim stated. "LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told. "Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again. "Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense. "We should save them." Grim quietly revealed. A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence. The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him. The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable. Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her. It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line. "Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight. "Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now. "What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously. Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully. "OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well. None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy. Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in. "Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously. "Last week." Grim stated. "LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told. "Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again. "Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense. "We should save them." Grim quietly revealed. A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence. The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way." In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. She was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get appealing a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour? She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself." "What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast." "You haven't take any yet ..." "Yeah, amazing isn't it?" "No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet." "With that guy?" "Please?" "Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy. "NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her. "LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!" "I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise." "Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead." "OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?" "5 children and you kill him!" "Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies." "Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. sigh There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter." When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse. "Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!" The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!" While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after.	The office was hell today. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto the keyboard below. The man was caressing his damp head with a crazed look in his eyes, transfixed to the computer screen in front of him. The air-con had died a long time ago, along with it's reassuring whisper. The cool air had dispersed when heat invaded the office, slowly making its way across the open plan room. A few hours prior you could see the effects starting to affect the most vulnerable. Agnus had to leave the office to get some air. Rumours had started to spread that the 40-something, morbidly obese, woman was already jostling around in the back of an emergency vehicle. Nobody cared to check on her. It wasn't just the office that was heating up. The man had been red in the face for about a week now, no sleep, just work. The latest rise in the heat was just another sign of the time that was running out, his neck was on the line. "Grim!" a sharp voice barked from over his shoulder. The heavy footsteps of self importance came marching towards his desk. Grim looked up at the ceiling, running his hand over his face. He was searching for answers. "Grim!" the voice repeated. The hand of the voice came crashing down on his shoulders and gripped tight. "Yes?" Grim said with polite certainty. His time was short but he understood the authority that The Boss held, for now. "What you got? Gimme figures? Gimme something! C'mon... whats wrong? You don't look so good?!" The Boss had spun Grim around in the chair and was closely examining his face. "CHRIST! Have you slept?!" The Boss gasped. "Don't tell me you took what I said seriously, last week? C'mon, I was kidding, I'm serious, you better not take me to HR for telling you to "get this fixed or die!"" The Boss chuckled, nervously. Grim sighed and forced a weak smile. He knew his job depended on it. "Well, you know I hate working in this office, I like to be out in the field. So, I'm just a bit tired that's all, I need fresh air." Grim explained carefully. "OH, FRESH AIR" The Boss was delighted by this notion. "FRESH AIR INDEED!" he bellowed throughout the office, turning his gaze over the room to make sure everyone was looking at the crazed grin that had formed on his face. "If you want fresh air, you better have some cases to close! That air con doesn't run on air, you know?" The Boss seemed rather pleased with his clever play on words, he had probably been thinking of this all morning. "Now, gimme something, gimme hope, Grim!" The Boss changed his tone and pleaded with Grim, he knew that his job was on the line as well. None of his staff were doing very well. Grim was the big-hitter in the office, the employee of the month for as long as he could remember. Until about a month ago. It seemed that business was drying up, Grim would report to the office with no cases closed, no business. No-one could understand, as previous weeks he had been coming in with thousands of closed cases, easy. Grim sighed again, and then turned towards his computer. "See this here?" Grim pointed towards the blurry image on the screen, a white blip among the bleak black canvas. "There's two in this region, fairly good condition but shouldn't be long before that changes." Grim turned towards The Boss to see if he understood, there was a grin on his face, he didn't. "So, obviously, it's a good thing. However, I haven't been able to find any more since... None!" Grim leaned back in his chair, allowing the words to sink in. "Well...When did you find them?" The Boss asked cautiously. "Last week." Grim stated. "LAST WEEK! What are you waiting on!" The Boss was bewildered and took a step back to surmise the information that he was being told. "Well.." Grim started, but then picked up a stress ball that was lying on his desk, a small white skull made of foam. He gave it slow repetitive pumps whilst continuing. "I thought, that... Well, ever since our entire stock disappeared THESE guys are the only ones that I have found. There are NO. OTHERS." Grim held up his free hand and made a "zero" gesture and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Chances are, when these guys are gone that it. It's over. SO! I've been thinking, a lot." Grim paused again. "Well, get to the point Grim, my whole fucking business is crumbling, you haven't closed a case in days and here we are looking at two little beauts that you could have snapped up ages ago. Surely there is more? C'mon, I don't believe that these are the last two! What were you thinking? Please, tell me?" The Boss was close to pleading, he would be just as well getting on his knees. His voice had a tremor of fear that Grim could sense. "We should save them." Grim quietly revealed. A gasp whipped round the office as the eavesdroppers could not contain their veil any longer. Then silence. The Boss looked intently at Grim. He finally understood.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide. Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it. So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war. Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too. So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks. Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence. Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them. These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue. Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up. This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time.	Prologue. to the contribution by Nickofnight It started, and ended, with a flash. Death ad just emerged from a cave in northern Afghanistan where a goatherd had sheltered from a bitterly cold, winter wind. The young man had died in his sleep. Death stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the flash spread like a wave to be joined by others to encompass the globe. "Oh crap", he groaned as the melodious "Ahhhh" of an angelic choir filled the air. Then an angel of the Lord drifted down from the heavens to settle beside him. "Death." "Gabriel. how goes it?" "I have been commanded by the Almighty Lord of All Creation, the omnipotent, omnisceint, the giver of live and..." "Yeah, yeah, out with it, Gabe, what is it now?" "Your services are no longer required." "You do realize he's not the God of me, I'm from a different place. How many times do I have to remind him?" Gabriel looked around, as if the almighty might be nearby.and leaned over to Death, almost touching the black hood covering his head. Out of courtesy, Death shifted his Scythe to one side. "I'm serious .D. There's only a handful of people left so God's decided to do a special and come down himself to deal with them." Death shook his head and the bones in his neck creaked and scraped. "He can't. besides, there might be people in bunkers, up mountains, down in submarines, off in remote places" Gabriel pursed his perfect lips and shook his head, "Sorry, mate." "I'm not having it," Death said, "I got rights over every single death. this isn't his apocalypse, not by a long shot, so he can't come down himself. He just wants to say he had his day at the end." Death's deep, gravelly voice rose in anger. "Well tough on him, mankind just screwed up all His scheming. How many times did I tell him that setting up prophets, and those visions he handed out left right and centre wouldn't work? Bloody idiot. If he know the first thing about Quantum physics and probability he'd know this. I'm not going to throw in my scythe just so he can prove himself right. He can Fu.." "Okay, Okay, I get it." Gabriel said and then sighed, "I'll let Jesus know when he get's back." "Good," Death straightened up, the hollows of his eyes darkening to black holes as they shifted through the energies, filtering everything out except for the distant flicker of mortal life "Ah, there they are, Kyle of Lochalsh." He was about to set off and stopped. "Hang on, Gabe, Where is Jesus? shouldn't he be here to welcome everyone to heaven?" Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh, of course, God's been pissed with him ever since he started forgiving everyone and letting them all in. But where is the most powerful hippy in the world?" "Christ knows, he took the crucifixion pretty bad and went off. Last I heard he'd reached Andromeda and was still doing the Ego Quill thing." "The what? "Impregnating aliens all over the place." "What a douche." "Love is Love." Gabriel replied. His pure white wings spread out as the ashen remains of humanity drifted down around them, and lifted gently into the air. "God won't be happy with this." "He's never happy." Gabriel nodded and for a moment was surrounded by a soft golden glow before disappearing to the sound of a heavenly choir. Death concentrated the void at his centre and reaching out into the surrounding universes, gathered all his nearby iterations from neighbouring realms . Then, as one, the collective Death, swept like an invisible wind across the Earth and took every life. Even with the aid of his other iterations, including a thousand million Shivas, a billion Kali and iterations he's never even seen, it was an exhausting ordeal to transform the several billion souls into their transcendental form in preparation for their next incarnation. With the task complete, Death dropped back to and stumbled forwards before regaining his balance. For a brief moment he wondered how these souls would reincarnate, then a smile broke across his face; well it would have been a smile if he had flesh. But for an instant his mood was lightened by the realisation that Jesus' gallivanting around the universe was for this very reason. to give these souls a place to incarnate to should their spiritual path not yet be complete and Heaven-ready. Relieved by the realisation he looked around for the last of the humans and saw them. A young girl and a man beside her. The others were nearby. Then a resonance rang through him that he'd never felt before, a sense of his own mortality and for the first time he knew fear. With what little energy he had, he reached out again to his iterations and his plea was quickly fulfilled by Shiva - the creator and destroyer. His request would cost him dearly but at least his continued existence was assured for a while at least; long enough to restore life and allow a new Death to arise. Reality abhors a vacuum. He let out a silent cry as the burning energy of life coursed through the scythe and released a unbearable pain that seared through his bones, his very being. Death fell to the ground, reaching out to the last of the humans. Humanity had to survive, He staggered to his feet, still gripping the now life-giving scythe, and enduring the agony of its life-energy that could only be relieved through its release by creating life. But even in pain he managed a chuckle; God, that miserable old sod, just got trumped.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	Prologue. to the contribution by Nickofnight It started, and ended, with a flash. Death ad just emerged from a cave in northern Afghanistan where a goatherd had sheltered from a bitterly cold, winter wind. The young man had died in his sleep. Death stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the flash spread like a wave to be joined by others to encompass the globe. "Oh crap", he groaned as the melodious "Ahhhh" of an angelic choir filled the air. Then an angel of the Lord drifted down from the heavens to settle beside him. "Death." "Gabriel. how goes it?" "I have been commanded by the Almighty Lord of All Creation, the omnipotent, omnisceint, the giver of live and..." "Yeah, yeah, out with it, Gabe, what is it now?" "Your services are no longer required." "You do realize he's not the God of me, I'm from a different place. How many times do I have to remind him?" Gabriel looked around, as if the almighty might be nearby.and leaned over to Death, almost touching the black hood covering his head. Out of courtesy, Death shifted his Scythe to one side. "I'm serious .D. There's only a handful of people left so God's decided to do a special and come down himself to deal with them." Death shook his head and the bones in his neck creaked and scraped. "He can't. besides, there might be people in bunkers, up mountains, down in submarines, off in remote places" Gabriel pursed his perfect lips and shook his head, "Sorry, mate." "I'm not having it," Death said, "I got rights over every single death. this isn't his apocalypse, not by a long shot, so he can't come down himself. He just wants to say he had his day at the end." Death's deep, gravelly voice rose in anger. "Well tough on him, mankind just screwed up all His scheming. How many times did I tell him that setting up prophets, and those visions he handed out left right and centre wouldn't work? Bloody idiot. If he know the first thing about Quantum physics and probability he'd know this. I'm not going to throw in my scythe just so he can prove himself right. He can Fu.." "Okay, Okay, I get it." Gabriel said and then sighed, "I'll let Jesus know when he get's back." "Good," Death straightened up, the hollows of his eyes darkening to black holes as they shifted through the energies, filtering everything out except for the distant flicker of mortal life "Ah, there they are, Kyle of Lochalsh." He was about to set off and stopped. "Hang on, Gabe, Where is Jesus? shouldn't he be here to welcome everyone to heaven?" Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh, of course, God's been pissed with him ever since he started forgiving everyone and letting them all in. But where is the most powerful hippy in the world?" "Christ knows, he took the crucifixion pretty bad and went off. Last I heard he'd reached Andromeda and was still doing the Ego Quill thing." "The what? "Impregnating aliens all over the place." "What a douche." "Love is Love." Gabriel replied. His pure white wings spread out as the ashen remains of humanity drifted down around them, and lifted gently into the air. "God won't be happy with this." "He's never happy." Gabriel nodded and for a moment was surrounded by a soft golden glow before disappearing to the sound of a heavenly choir. Death concentrated the void at his centre and reaching out into the surrounding universes, gathered all his nearby iterations from neighbouring realms . Then, as one, the collective Death, swept like an invisible wind across the Earth and took every life. Even with the aid of his other iterations, including a thousand million Shivas, a billion Kali and iterations he's never even seen, it was an exhausting ordeal to transform the several billion souls into their transcendental form in preparation for their next incarnation. With the task complete, Death dropped back to and stumbled forwards before regaining his balance. For a brief moment he wondered how these souls would reincarnate, then a smile broke across his face; well it would have been a smile if he had flesh. But for an instant his mood was lightened by the realisation that Jesus' gallivanting around the universe was for this very reason. to give these souls a place to incarnate to should their spiritual path not yet be complete and Heaven-ready. Relieved by the realisation he looked around for the last of the humans and saw them. A young girl and a man beside her. The others were nearby. Then a resonance rang through him that he'd never felt before, a sense of his own mortality and for the first time he knew fear. With what little energy he had, he reached out again to his iterations and his plea was quickly fulfilled by Shiva - the creator and destroyer. His request would cost him dearly but at least his continued existence was assured for a while at least; long enough to restore life and allow a new Death to arise. Reality abhors a vacuum. He let out a silent cry as the burning energy of life coursed through the scythe and released a unbearable pain that seared through his bones, his very being. Death fell to the ground, reaching out to the last of the humans. Humanity had to survive, He staggered to his feet, still gripping the now life-giving scythe, and enduring the agony of its life-energy that could only be relieved through its release by creating life. But even in pain he managed a chuckle; God, that miserable old sod, just got trumped.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way." In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. She was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get appealing a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour? She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself." "What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast." "You haven't take any yet ..." "Yeah, amazing isn't it?" "No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet." "With that guy?" "Please?" "Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy. "NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her. "LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!" "I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise." "Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead." "OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?" "5 children and you kill him!" "Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies." "Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. sigh There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter." When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse. "Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!" The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!" While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after.	Prologue. to the contribution by Nickofnight It started, and ended, with a flash. Death ad just emerged from a cave in northern Afghanistan where a goatherd had sheltered from a bitterly cold, winter wind. The young man had died in his sleep. Death stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the flash spread like a wave to be joined by others to encompass the globe. "Oh crap", he groaned as the melodious "Ahhhh" of an angelic choir filled the air. Then an angel of the Lord drifted down from the heavens to settle beside him. "Death." "Gabriel. how goes it?" "I have been commanded by the Almighty Lord of All Creation, the omnipotent, omnisceint, the giver of live and..." "Yeah, yeah, out with it, Gabe, what is it now?" "Your services are no longer required." "You do realize he's not the God of me, I'm from a different place. How many times do I have to remind him?" Gabriel looked around, as if the almighty might be nearby.and leaned over to Death, almost touching the black hood covering his head. Out of courtesy, Death shifted his Scythe to one side. "I'm serious .D. There's only a handful of people left so God's decided to do a special and come down himself to deal with them." Death shook his head and the bones in his neck creaked and scraped. "He can't. besides, there might be people in bunkers, up mountains, down in submarines, off in remote places" Gabriel pursed his perfect lips and shook his head, "Sorry, mate." "I'm not having it," Death said, "I got rights over every single death. this isn't his apocalypse, not by a long shot, so he can't come down himself. He just wants to say he had his day at the end." Death's deep, gravelly voice rose in anger. "Well tough on him, mankind just screwed up all His scheming. How many times did I tell him that setting up prophets, and those visions he handed out left right and centre wouldn't work? Bloody idiot. If he know the first thing about Quantum physics and probability he'd know this. I'm not going to throw in my scythe just so he can prove himself right. He can Fu.." "Okay, Okay, I get it." Gabriel said and then sighed, "I'll let Jesus know when he get's back." "Good," Death straightened up, the hollows of his eyes darkening to black holes as they shifted through the energies, filtering everything out except for the distant flicker of mortal life "Ah, there they are, Kyle of Lochalsh." He was about to set off and stopped. "Hang on, Gabe, Where is Jesus? shouldn't he be here to welcome everyone to heaven?" Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh, of course, God's been pissed with him ever since he started forgiving everyone and letting them all in. But where is the most powerful hippy in the world?" "Christ knows, he took the crucifixion pretty bad and went off. Last I heard he'd reached Andromeda and was still doing the Ego Quill thing." "The what? "Impregnating aliens all over the place." "What a douche." "Love is Love." Gabriel replied. His pure white wings spread out as the ashen remains of humanity drifted down around them, and lifted gently into the air. "God won't be happy with this." "He's never happy." Gabriel nodded and for a moment was surrounded by a soft golden glow before disappearing to the sound of a heavenly choir. Death concentrated the void at his centre and reaching out into the surrounding universes, gathered all his nearby iterations from neighbouring realms . Then, as one, the collective Death, swept like an invisible wind across the Earth and took every life. Even with the aid of his other iterations, including a thousand million Shivas, a billion Kali and iterations he's never even seen, it was an exhausting ordeal to transform the several billion souls into their transcendental form in preparation for their next incarnation. With the task complete, Death dropped back to and stumbled forwards before regaining his balance. For a brief moment he wondered how these souls would reincarnate, then a smile broke across his face; well it would have been a smile if he had flesh. But for an instant his mood was lightened by the realisation that Jesus' gallivanting around the universe was for this very reason. to give these souls a place to incarnate to should their spiritual path not yet be complete and Heaven-ready. Relieved by the realisation he looked around for the last of the humans and saw them. A young girl and a man beside her. The others were nearby. Then a resonance rang through him that he'd never felt before, a sense of his own mortality and for the first time he knew fear. With what little energy he had, he reached out again to his iterations and his plea was quickly fulfilled by Shiva - the creator and destroyer. His request would cost him dearly but at least his continued existence was assured for a while at least; long enough to restore life and allow a new Death to arise. Reality abhors a vacuum. He let out a silent cry as the burning energy of life coursed through the scythe and released a unbearable pain that seared through his bones, his very being. Death fell to the ground, reaching out to the last of the humans. Humanity had to survive, He staggered to his feet, still gripping the now life-giving scythe, and enduring the agony of its life-energy that could only be relieved through its release by creating life. But even in pain he managed a chuckle; God, that miserable old sod, just got trumped.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch. Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?” Hello. The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s de facto leader, to speak. “Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.” I am Death. Wilbur, the de jure Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised against eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night. The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet. “Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?” Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool. The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become… Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged. …unemployed. “I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the Memoranda as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes. I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane. Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors, “Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.” We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky. Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak, “Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“ Stop. “Wha- why?” You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan. Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness. Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid. A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments. Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom. It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist. * Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said, Hello.	Prologue. to the contribution by Nickofnight It started, and ended, with a flash. Death ad just emerged from a cave in northern Afghanistan where a goatherd had sheltered from a bitterly cold, winter wind. The young man had died in his sleep. Death stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the flash spread like a wave to be joined by others to encompass the globe. "Oh crap", he groaned as the melodious "Ahhhh" of an angelic choir filled the air. Then an angel of the Lord drifted down from the heavens to settle beside him. "Death." "Gabriel. how goes it?" "I have been commanded by the Almighty Lord of All Creation, the omnipotent, omnisceint, the giver of live and..." "Yeah, yeah, out with it, Gabe, what is it now?" "Your services are no longer required." "You do realize he's not the God of me, I'm from a different place. How many times do I have to remind him?" Gabriel looked around, as if the almighty might be nearby.and leaned over to Death, almost touching the black hood covering his head. Out of courtesy, Death shifted his Scythe to one side. "I'm serious .D. There's only a handful of people left so God's decided to do a special and come down himself to deal with them." Death shook his head and the bones in his neck creaked and scraped. "He can't. besides, there might be people in bunkers, up mountains, down in submarines, off in remote places" Gabriel pursed his perfect lips and shook his head, "Sorry, mate." "I'm not having it," Death said, "I got rights over every single death. this isn't his apocalypse, not by a long shot, so he can't come down himself. He just wants to say he had his day at the end." Death's deep, gravelly voice rose in anger. "Well tough on him, mankind just screwed up all His scheming. How many times did I tell him that setting up prophets, and those visions he handed out left right and centre wouldn't work? Bloody idiot. If he know the first thing about Quantum physics and probability he'd know this. I'm not going to throw in my scythe just so he can prove himself right. He can Fu.." "Okay, Okay, I get it." Gabriel said and then sighed, "I'll let Jesus know when he get's back." "Good," Death straightened up, the hollows of his eyes darkening to black holes as they shifted through the energies, filtering everything out except for the distant flicker of mortal life "Ah, there they are, Kyle of Lochalsh." He was about to set off and stopped. "Hang on, Gabe, Where is Jesus? shouldn't he be here to welcome everyone to heaven?" Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh, of course, God's been pissed with him ever since he started forgiving everyone and letting them all in. But where is the most powerful hippy in the world?" "Christ knows, he took the crucifixion pretty bad and went off. Last I heard he'd reached Andromeda and was still doing the Ego Quill thing." "The what? "Impregnating aliens all over the place." "What a douche." "Love is Love." Gabriel replied. His pure white wings spread out as the ashen remains of humanity drifted down around them, and lifted gently into the air. "God won't be happy with this." "He's never happy." Gabriel nodded and for a moment was surrounded by a soft golden glow before disappearing to the sound of a heavenly choir. Death concentrated the void at his centre and reaching out into the surrounding universes, gathered all his nearby iterations from neighbouring realms . Then, as one, the collective Death, swept like an invisible wind across the Earth and took every life. Even with the aid of his other iterations, including a thousand million Shivas, a billion Kali and iterations he's never even seen, it was an exhausting ordeal to transform the several billion souls into their transcendental form in preparation for their next incarnation. With the task complete, Death dropped back to and stumbled forwards before regaining his balance. For a brief moment he wondered how these souls would reincarnate, then a smile broke across his face; well it would have been a smile if he had flesh. But for an instant his mood was lightened by the realisation that Jesus' gallivanting around the universe was for this very reason. to give these souls a place to incarnate to should their spiritual path not yet be complete and Heaven-ready. Relieved by the realisation he looked around for the last of the humans and saw them. A young girl and a man beside her. The others were nearby. Then a resonance rang through him that he'd never felt before, a sense of his own mortality and for the first time he knew fear. With what little energy he had, he reached out again to his iterations and his plea was quickly fulfilled by Shiva - the creator and destroyer. His request would cost him dearly but at least his continued existence was assured for a while at least; long enough to restore life and allow a new Death to arise. Reality abhors a vacuum. He let out a silent cry as the burning energy of life coursed through the scythe and released a unbearable pain that seared through his bones, his very being. Death fell to the ground, reaching out to the last of the humans. Humanity had to survive, He staggered to his feet, still gripping the now life-giving scythe, and enduring the agony of its life-energy that could only be relieved through its release by creating life. But even in pain he managed a chuckle; God, that miserable old sod, just got trumped.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled. Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth. Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream. "Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything." "A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly. "Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible." "Delay it? How can you do that?" "I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me." Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face. Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end." Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided. "I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough." Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you." Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away. Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him. "Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her.	Prologue. to the contribution by Nickofnight It started, and ended, with a flash. Death ad just emerged from a cave in northern Afghanistan where a goatherd had sheltered from a bitterly cold, winter wind. The young man had died in his sleep. Death stood at the mouth of the cave and watched the flash spread like a wave to be joined by others to encompass the globe. "Oh crap", he groaned as the melodious "Ahhhh" of an angelic choir filled the air. Then an angel of the Lord drifted down from the heavens to settle beside him. "Death." "Gabriel. how goes it?" "I have been commanded by the Almighty Lord of All Creation, the omnipotent, omnisceint, the giver of live and..." "Yeah, yeah, out with it, Gabe, what is it now?" "Your services are no longer required." "You do realize he's not the God of me, I'm from a different place. How many times do I have to remind him?" Gabriel looked around, as if the almighty might be nearby.and leaned over to Death, almost touching the black hood covering his head. Out of courtesy, Death shifted his Scythe to one side. "I'm serious .D. There's only a handful of people left so God's decided to do a special and come down himself to deal with them." Death shook his head and the bones in his neck creaked and scraped. "He can't. besides, there might be people in bunkers, up mountains, down in submarines, off in remote places" Gabriel pursed his perfect lips and shook his head, "Sorry, mate." "I'm not having it," Death said, "I got rights over every single death. this isn't his apocalypse, not by a long shot, so he can't come down himself. He just wants to say he had his day at the end." Death's deep, gravelly voice rose in anger. "Well tough on him, mankind just screwed up all His scheming. How many times did I tell him that setting up prophets, and those visions he handed out left right and centre wouldn't work? Bloody idiot. If he know the first thing about Quantum physics and probability he'd know this. I'm not going to throw in my scythe just so he can prove himself right. He can Fu.." "Okay, Okay, I get it." Gabriel said and then sighed, "I'll let Jesus know when he get's back." "Good," Death straightened up, the hollows of his eyes darkening to black holes as they shifted through the energies, filtering everything out except for the distant flicker of mortal life "Ah, there they are, Kyle of Lochalsh." He was about to set off and stopped. "Hang on, Gabe, Where is Jesus? shouldn't he be here to welcome everyone to heaven?" Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh, of course, God's been pissed with him ever since he started forgiving everyone and letting them all in. But where is the most powerful hippy in the world?" "Christ knows, he took the crucifixion pretty bad and went off. Last I heard he'd reached Andromeda and was still doing the Ego Quill thing." "The what? "Impregnating aliens all over the place." "What a douche." "Love is Love." Gabriel replied. His pure white wings spread out as the ashen remains of humanity drifted down around them, and lifted gently into the air. "God won't be happy with this." "He's never happy." Gabriel nodded and for a moment was surrounded by a soft golden glow before disappearing to the sound of a heavenly choir. Death concentrated the void at his centre and reaching out into the surrounding universes, gathered all his nearby iterations from neighbouring realms . Then, as one, the collective Death, swept like an invisible wind across the Earth and took every life. Even with the aid of his other iterations, including a thousand million Shivas, a billion Kali and iterations he's never even seen, it was an exhausting ordeal to transform the several billion souls into their transcendental form in preparation for their next incarnation. With the task complete, Death dropped back to and stumbled forwards before regaining his balance. For a brief moment he wondered how these souls would reincarnate, then a smile broke across his face; well it would have been a smile if he had flesh. But for an instant his mood was lightened by the realisation that Jesus' gallivanting around the universe was for this very reason. to give these souls a place to incarnate to should their spiritual path not yet be complete and Heaven-ready. Relieved by the realisation he looked around for the last of the humans and saw them. A young girl and a man beside her. The others were nearby. Then a resonance rang through him that he'd never felt before, a sense of his own mortality and for the first time he knew fear. With what little energy he had, he reached out again to his iterations and his plea was quickly fulfilled by Shiva - the creator and destroyer. His request would cost him dearly but at least his continued existence was assured for a while at least; long enough to restore life and allow a new Death to arise. Reality abhors a vacuum. He let out a silent cry as the burning energy of life coursed through the scythe and released a unbearable pain that seared through his bones, his very being. Death fell to the ground, reaching out to the last of the humans. Humanity had to survive, He staggered to his feet, still gripping the now life-giving scythe, and enduring the agony of its life-energy that could only be relieved through its release by creating life. But even in pain he managed a chuckle; God, that miserable old sod, just got trumped.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	Death grabbed some stones and carried them over to the building site. This was were a new community was being built. One of the last communities. After all, the apocalypse had just happened. A deadly virus had wiped out all of humanity except for about 5,000 people. The survivors were those who had waited inside a bunker, or the ones who paid for the incredibly expensive healthcare package. This was bad news for our good old pal Death, who would be out of a job soon if ALL of humanity got wiped out. He had decided to gather up the survivors left in the ruins of Chicago, and helped them get food, water, and power running. Now, he was helping them build homes. He kept placing stones, one by one and making walls. He then dropped one on his toe and winced. After wincing for approximately 1.7 seconds, he got back to work. Around 9:00 PM, he was finished. Another home complete. He wiped the non-existent sweat off of his bony forehead, and went back to his hut for the night. He then grabbed his old iPod. You see, this iPod came from his boss Hades. It was a gift from the god of the Underworld himself! It's battery never, ever ran out! Death turned on an indie rock playlist, and closed his eye-sockets, falling asleep. Death woke up and stretched for a second. He then walked out of his hut, and into the Mess Hall in the center of the town. He smelled uncooked bacon, and rationed granola bars. Oh, how excited he was! He sat down at one of the long benches next to his best bud Chad. "Hey Chad. How's the city so far?" Death asked with a yawn. "The construction of New Chicago is going great! I'm really glad that you decided to help out, free of charge!" Death frowned. He WAS helping out free of charge, because they had nothing to give him. Oh well. "Hey Chad, you asking out that girl Hannah today?" Death said to Chad. Chad blushed and started to mumble something that Death couldn't hear. "I didn't heeeaaar you Chad." Death said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Yeah, I guess." Chad said. "Alright! So you're gonna have sex tonight?" Death asked with excitement. Chad was shocked by this. "Dude, it doesn't work like that! Look, I know you really want us humans to repopulate the Earth, but nobody has sex on the first night of dating!" Death frowned. "Maybe next week then." He said. If you liked or disliked the story please let me know why!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The dark and heavy clouds raged in the distance with the setting sun. She slowly rocked in her rocking chair, the one her eldest son had made for her many birthdays ago, listening to the sounds of her hearth and the approaching storm. Her left leg ached as it always did before a big storm, the same leg she had broken nearly 70 years ago, an inconvenient reminder of the life she had almost lost. &nbsp; In her lap lay her father’s bible. She found humor in her faith, in how before the bombs fell she was a devout atheist to the point of forcefully trying to disprove all theology. But now she knew, knew that it didn’t matter if you were an atheist or a theist, because it was irreconcilable differences like these that brought on the Third Great War. She opened the book to the words of Isaiah, one page in particular marked with a long black feather. The tips of her fingers stroked the silken vane. &nbsp; A sudden jolt of light poured in through the westward window, casting long shadows throughout the cabin. When the light faded so too did the shadows, all but one. A dark silhouette stood by her front door. Fear tried to grasp her, but her old age had prepared her for this moment. She didn’t say anything, not at first, waiting for the figure to pass in hopes that it was her imagination. Thunder softly vibrated the walls. A few minutes went by, but the figure remained, a sentinel amongst the darkness. Another flash of light filled the room, this time her attention completely focused. It was only for a second but it was more than enough time to recognize the familiar face. Again, thunder vibrated the walls, more violently this time as the storm drew nearer. &nbsp; “I didn’t think we’d ever meet again,” she whispered the lie, half expecting him to not hear her. He stepped closer, away from the threshold and into the soft glow of light cast by the fireplace. There he stood, the same man that had saved her life 72 years ago. Although, unlike her the passing of time had been much kinder to him. He was exactly as she remembered, a handsome man in his 30s, clean shaven and dark ruffled hair, but it was his eyes she remembered most. Eyes that could pierce stone; eyes that knew the secrets of the world, eyes that had seen it all. How those eyes had comforted and also haunted her. &nbsp; “I was seventeen when you first appeared, my leg broken. You saved me then, and guided me here, where I would meet my husband,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Tell me, do you remember me?” &nbsp; “I remember,” he said, the words soft and beautiful, but they also carried something more tenacious. &nbsp; “I’ve told that story many times, saying you were my guardian angel. And when Andrew, my oldest, was bitten by that snake, he said a strange man had cared for the injury and carried him to the edge of the field, where we found him.” She paused, looking into those old eyes. “I knew it was you who had saved him, as you had saved me. I told them all not to fear the shadow, for he was there to protect us.” She paused, afraid to speak what was next, but she steadied herself and continue on. “I’ve had a very long time to think, as it seems that is all old ladies are good for,” she smiled at her own humor, but it quickly faded. “However, you only seem to appear when death is ready to make a claim.” Again she paused, unsure of how to ask her question. She licked her dry wrinkled lips. “Tell me please, do I know your name?” &nbsp; “Yes.” &nbsp; “Then please, say it for me.” &nbsp; The storm once again sent out a great ray of light, filling the room. In that brief moment she thought she saw two giant black feathered wings folded behind the man’s back. &nbsp; “Azrael,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue. &nbsp; A deafening explosion sounded not far off from the house, startling her as she slightly jumped in her seat. Everything within shook from the force and rattled briefly as the light cast from outside flickered back into darkness, once again leaving the room filled with only silence and the soft glow of the fireplace. &nbsp; “I see,” she rubbed her left leg in a futile attempt to massage the pain away. “Then perhaps it was not only you who saved me, but also I who saved you?” The question lingered in the air, unanswered by the man. “For what is a farmer if he has no crops to reap.” The man knelt in front of her and extended his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her own small and fragile hand onto his. He grasped it, strong but gentle. &nbsp; "Tell me what I must do,” she asked, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. &nbsp; With his other hand he grasped her shoulder, the touch warm and oddly comforting. &nbsp; “Just breathe.” &nbsp; She took in a slow and shaky deep breathe, and then let it all out, her very last. Her hand went limp in his, and her posture slumped heavily into the chair. &nbsp; The sky suddenly broke open and unleashed the torrent it had been holding back. The rain beat down on the tin roof, deafening any further sounds. From within his long dark garbs, he pulled a small book and flipped to a page near its beginning. There he found her name amongst her many descendants. The tips of his fingers stroked the name upon the page. And in so doing her name was struck from it, leaving a now empty gap amongst the many names upon the page. However, even in its absence he knew he would never forget it. Aliza Klein, his small joy that brought hope back into his world. &nbsp; He put the book back into his inner pocket and in so doing saw on the floor another book. This one slightly larger than his own, and near the middle of its pages stuck a long black feather. He picked it up and flipped the book open, smiling at the familiar item held within. And upon the page was a highlighted verse. &nbsp; Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. &nbsp; *formatting and stuff	With apologies to Terry Pratchett Christina wiped crimson juice from her mouth and cheeks, spreading it across the back of her hand in a long, pale stain. This was wrong, she knew, but a girl had to eat something. Even one less mouth to feed by the time she got her foraged bounty back to the others could make all the difference. Many adults were already nearly starving themselves just to make sure the few children had enough to eat. She popped one last guilty raspberry in her mouth, savoring its sweet, warm squish between her teeth. What fun was going gathering if she couldn't take a few for herself? She gathered her basket and set off, leaving the unripe bush-bound berries for another day. Christina had been this way many times in the two months since leaving what remained of civilization with her newfound comrades – they were a tribe now, she supposed – and already her steps had worn a light path through the undergrowth. Almost like a game trail, she thought with an ironic twist, recalling her youth spent hunting deer with her older brother. He had been away on vacation the day of the War, she thought for the hundredth time. He hadn't been in the city, so maybe... Another bush presented itself – blueberries. She pushed the longing thoughts from her head and set about filling her half-empty basket. HELLO, CHRISTINA, came a voice from behind her like the slam of a 5-inch-thick fallout shelter blast door. She started, her flailing arm upending the basket and scattering berries everywhere. LOOK, I REALLY HATE TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I COULD RATHER USE YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING. Christina turned slowly, hand clasping the scavenged butcher's knife at her belt, not knowing what to expect. It still defied all her expectations. Before her stood a black-robed figure, at least seven feet tall, leaning anxiously on a farmer's scythe. She could not see its face beneath the deep folds of the cloak's hood, but it seemed...hollow, empty. Its left hand, clutching the shaft of the scythe, was bare bone. She drew her knife, holding it in both hands between herself and the figure like a vampire hunter's cross. “What – who are you?” DO YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHILD? Christina felt a horrible pang of realization. “Am...am I dead?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. To her surprise, Death lifted its right hand, shaking back its voluminous sleeve to reveal a skeletal wrist encrusted with watches of all styles and sizes – gold, silver, digital, analog, even a child's cartoon-adorned band. Death tapped on one that looked exactly like a gift from Christina's brother back when she graduated from high school. NOT JUST YET. WE HAVE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES. WHICH IS WHY I NEED YOU TO LISTEN. Christina broke down and collapsed to her knees, dropping the knife. It sank point-first into the ground, just missing Death's left big toe. Death stepped back, not so much worried about its podiatric wellbeing as it was unsure how to respond to Christina's outpouring of emotion. Death turned its head back and forth, as though checking for witnesses. LOOK, I'M NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO SHOW UP THIS EARLY. IT'S MEANT TO BE A DONE DEAL BY THE TIME I GET INVOLVED, SO...COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOR AND PRETEND IT'S ALREADY OVER? Christina sniffled, sobering slightly at the absurdity. “What's even the point? What could I possibly do to help you – and why would I?” WELL – YOU SEE, THIS WHOLE APOCALYPSE BUSINESS HAS BEEN TERRIBLY INCONVENIENT. I NEVER EXPECTED IT TO BE THIS BAD. GLOBAL NUCLEAR WAR IN A DAY? YOU HUMANS REALLY OUTDID YOURSELVES. Death scuffed its foot on the ground uncomfortably, making a sound that put nails and chalkboards to shame. THE TRUTH IS, THERE AREN'T MANY OF YOU LEFT. I REALLY NEED YOU TO START BANDING TOGETHER AND REPOPULATING THE EARTH AND ALL, OR I'LL BE OUT OF A JOB. AND YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH OF A PAIN IT IS TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET THAT NEEDS A KEEPER OF THE AFTERLIFE... “...Well I'm as good as dead, apparently, so I'm not sure where this is going.” AH. AS IT HAPPENS, THERE'S ANOTHER TRIBE CAMPED A FEW MILES EAST OF HERE. I THINK YOU ALL WOULD COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER QUITE WELL. WHEN YOUR FRIEND “MIKE” COMES AND FINDS YOU IN YOUR TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS, WOULD YOU MIND TELLING HIM FOR ME? Just then, Christina felt a sharp pain in her foot. RIGHT ON CUE. I'LL SEE YOU IN A BIT. Death shifted its head in a weird motion that made her think it had tried to wink, but there was no way to know. It faded into the shadows of the trees. Christina grabbed the cottonmouth sunk fang-deep in her ankle and flung it away. She heard someone coming along her game trail. “Michael?” she called. Of course it was him. “Chris?!” he called back. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” “Oh god, Michael. I'm over here.” Michael broke into a run, crashing through the bushes and into her clearing. He knelt beside her, saw the twin puncture wounds, and stared at her with knowing grief. “Chris--” “Shh. Just listen. You need to take them east.” Christina felt her consciousness fading. “Don't ask me why, just do it. Everything will be alright...” She trailed off and passed out. Michael caught her and lifted her over his shoulders, hoping he could get back to camp in time to do...something. He paused, gazing east and considering her strange advice. It would be farther into the wilderness, away from most supplies and their camp at the edge of the woods. But somehow she'd seemed so certain. As he hurried back to camp, Michael was sure he heard a grinding, grating noise, like two skeletal hands being rubbed together in anticipation. THANK YOU, CHRISTINA.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Shit, shit, shit ..." A dark hooded figure walked through the wasteland. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ... this was not scheduled. This is bad... " The figure stops and taps its chest and arms repetitively. "I'm still here. It's not over yet. Keep your head Clarice. Somewhere out there are some idiots still alive ... and ... fuck ... I have to keep them this way." In a bunker, not far from the hooded figure. "So there I was. The office full of colleagues and strangers, and all I had to cover my enormous penis was the birthday pie I fetched from the store. My boss was not please. She was not please, I tell you." This was the 8^th lame, and made-up story he told her. 3 day they've spend in the bunker and it was nothing like the stories made it appear. She, the last women on the world, and he, the last man on the planet. At first she hoped that he would start to get appealing a few days in, but "appalling" remains "appalling" it seems. So this is it? She's going to die together with that guy? Drowning seems like a trip to Disney Land in comparison. "I have to go to the toiler." She excused herself and left the room. He remained to wonder how often she was going to use the toiled within an hour? She flushed the toilet. It was a special water saving one. No drowning there. Frustrated she walked over the to cabinet. Jackpot. Razor-blades served with a hand-picked bouquet of assorted pills. "DON'T!", the hooded figure appeared. For the sake of your ears the following scream of the woman will not be described. "Please, you can't do that. My name is Death Clarice Incarnate, and my existence depends on your survival. Please don't kill yourself." "What? You're who? Death?! ... those pills act fast." "You haven't take any yet ..." "Yeah, amazing isn't it?" "No, please, listen. You must not kill yourself. I know it is hard, but you have to survive. And, well, it would be great if you'd repopulate the planet." "With that guy?" "Please?" "Down they go..." and the woman started to swallow the pills like candy. "NO!" The hooded figure knocked the pills out of the woman's hand with a scythe, careful not to touch her. "LEAVE ME ALONE!", the women screamed. "You murdered all I ever loved! My family, my hamster, Joshua from the office on the opposite side of the road!" To top it all off she threw her phone against the wall, shattering it in thousand pieces "Even the PokemonGo servers are dead! YOU MONSTER!" "I'm sorry. I just work here. I didn't start any nukes, but please listen. Ok, I get it. He really seems like a terrible guy, but I need you to do this. YOU need yourself to do this. 40 years from now you'll look at this and laugh. I promise." "Yeah, fuck that. 40 minutes from now I better be stone dead." "OK, lets strike a deal. You get 10 children with him and in 10 years I kill you. How does that sound?" "5 children and you kill him!" "Fuck. ... shit" the hooded figure cursed, "... Okey, deal!" The women reached out her hand to close to deal, but the hooded figure faltered. "... oh, nice try! I'm not going to fall for that one. If we touch it's you who dies." "Shit." This time it was the woman's time to curse. "But I really don't want to stand close to him, let alone anything else. ... Have you even heard his stories?! Nothing gets through to him. I told him he's not funny 3 times. He doesn't listen to anything. Yesterday I tried to make a joke and he just told me I have beautiful eye ... like my eyes can turn this wasteland fertile again. And I'm to spend 5 years with him. All my dreams and hopes wasted on an guy with the character of an unpainted brick wall?" The women sat on the ground sobbing. "Nothing matters anymore. Everyone is dead, my only dress in ruined, and now even death is no salvation." She continued to sob for a few minutes. "Fuck ... fuuuuuuuuckfuckfuck. sigh There really is no other way?" The women asked. The hooded figure shook its head. "Well, there better be some spirit in one of those storage cans, or it's going to be a long nuclear winter." When she returned into the main room of the bunker the women, and the hooded figure found the man dead. He hung himself from a door knob with his belt; his trousers at his ankles. Over him another hooded figure was standing. "Oh, is that you Clarice? Look what I've found. World is ended and he tries out erotic asphyxiation. Well, not on my watch, buddy.", and the figure took a good kick at the corpse. "Eric?! What have you done?! These two were the last hope for humanity!" The second hooded figure looked at the women, and then back at the corpse. "Well, not with one dead, that's for sure." - "What is wrong with you?! Once she's dead we're no longer needed and disappear! How could you!" - "Why are you screaming at me! How should I know! You could have told me!" While the two figures were arguing, the women sat down on the couch with a sanguine smile. Now that the worst was finally over it can finally get better. With this the women redefined the meaning of some words and literally lived happily ever after.	Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide. Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it. So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war. Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too. So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks. Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence. Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them. These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue. Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up. This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch. Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?” Hello. The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s de facto leader, to speak. “Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.” I am Death. Wilbur, the de jure Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised against eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night. The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet. “Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?” Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool. The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become… Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged. …unemployed. “I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the Memoranda as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes. I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane. Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors, “Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.” We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky. Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak, “Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“ Stop. “Wha- why?” You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan. Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness. Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid. A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments. Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom. It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist. * Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said, Hello.	Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide. Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it. So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war. Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too. So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks. Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence. Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them. These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue. Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up. This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled. Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth. Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream. "Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything." "A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly. "Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible." "Delay it? How can you do that?" "I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me." Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face. Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end." Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided. "I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough." Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you." Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away. Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him. "Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her.	Every time a human dies, time stands still. It stays still for me until I locate the newly freed soul, and give it passage to it's afterlife. Some to Valhalla, some to Olympus, others to Heaven, for some reason many of these modern humans choose to go to hell, because they think they belong there. No matter what it takes me hours to collect them, usher them and help them get connected with their spirit guide. Then time starts and another dies and I'm back at it. So it's gone for 100,000 years of human life. There have been times where work wasn't busy, and times when a year for humans went on for thousands of years for me because of a plague or war. Still I love my job. The feeling of joy that emanates from their soul when they reach their afterlife brings me joy that no living human can understand. Also the shapeshifting to their pleasing form is nice too. So 100,000 years later doing the best job a Phantasm can do and I almost lost my job. I don't understand human politics, but a large war broke out, and it led to a disease being loosed on humanity that killed 99.9996% of them in weeks. Weeks that seemed like millennia to me. There were seven billion of them you see, seven billion souls to usher, and sure I may have been less cheery about it, because I was rushing around like you wouldn't believe, but I'd never want this job to end, because with this job's end, so goes my existence. Now there stands just 5,341 of them.... 5,340 of them. These aren't the best and the brightest. That last one was cleaning a firearm "For protection" and didn't unload it first. He blew his brains out all over a nice marble statue. Shame there isn't anyone else around to clean it up. This leaves me with a lot of free time though. I've devised a plan to save humanity, and myself I just need to keep them alive in the mean time.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	A chill descended over the rag-tag assembly, and neither their small, poorly-made fire nor the tattered remains of their business casual attire served to warm them. Their conversation dropped from a murmur to a hush at the sound of a cracking branch. Jane’s eyes darted to the source of the noise. “Hey--” she nudged the man sitting beside her, “do you see that gaunt, lanky-looking fellow?” Hello. The survivors nearly jumped out of their sweater-vests. They quickly turned around towards the voice as they waited for Jane, the group’s de facto leader, to speak. “Who are you? And why are you wearing that robe? You’re not some kind of, er, cultist, I hope.” I am Death. Wilbur, the de jure Head of Foraging and a former corporate account, blinked twice and reminded the survivors that he had advised against eating the canned food Jane found earlier that night. The canned food was perfectly edible. You are not dead yet. “Oh,” said Jane, “then what is it that you want?” Death explained his predicament to the survivors. In the realm of Death and Death-related services, an apocalypse is about as close to a market bubble as one can come. When Death was reaping souls by the thousands, business was booming. Death had even purchased a new, state-of-the-art scythe to keep up with the demand. The trouble, Death explained, is that a scythe – especially the UltraCarbon MetaFiber SoulCleaver Deluxe with satellite radio – is an expensive tool. The heart of the problem is this: There are not enough human souls left to collect. As it stands, I have no hope of paying off the loan on my new scythe. And even if I were to pay off the loan, that would be the end for humanity. I would become… Death shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, go on” Jane urged. …unemployed. “I have a solution!” Jane and Wilbur simultaneously exclaimed. They jolted towards each other, each trying to pierce the other by means of eyes alone. Ever since the minutes after the apocalypse, when this small and bureaucratic group of survivors had drafted their Memoranda and Procedure for Life and Leadership in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland, Jane and Wilbur had been fighting an unspoken war. Jane was a natural leader, and the survivors tended to follow her directions. She believed that the key to rebuilding society was well-intentioned and virtuous leadership. But Wilbur had been enshrined in the Memoranda as the group’s rightful leader, and he believed that that the key to rebuilding society was careful attention to established rules and hierarchies with an even more careful eye kept on the lookout for loopholes. I am sure that you both have excellent solutions. I would like to first hear that of Wilbur, and then that of Jane. Wilbur strode calmly and authoritatively around the fire as he began his address to Death and the survivors, “Clearly, Mr. Death, you are faced with a grave difficulty. In the time it would take to rebuild human society and restock the population, interest will accrue such that you may become unable to repay your loan. Therefore, I propose that you repay your loan by grouping future human souls that we can be sure will, at some point in time, exist and promising those to the bank.” We do not have such complicated financial systems, Wilbur. It seems risky. Wilbur sat back down, looking decidedly content. Jane glowered at him and began to speak, “Mr. Death, if I may be blunt, Wilbur’s plan is terribly hazardous. What we need to do is to ensure the steady and rapid re-growth of human society. I have been devising multiple highly efficient agricultural techniques based on a book I found at the—“ Stop. “Wha- why?” You are taking too long. And you were being shrill. I choose Wilbur’s plan. Jane returned to her seat by the fire and thought, “Of course, Death’s a sexist.” The place where Death had been standing shimmered slightly as he popped out of existence – or, it would be more accurate to say, began existing in a different dimension – and then returned to its normal state of emptiness. Death walked through the void that was the Interdimensional Bank of Souls’ foyer and politely requested to speak with the high officials. His request was granted. Although even the highest officials at the Bank had never heard of the financial wizardry that Death proposed to them, they figured that as long as they got their payment it didn’t matter when they actually received the souls. Death had never failed to deliver souls to them, and besides, he had a big shiny new scythe – with satellite radio! They considered his debt paid. A great length of time passed. Jane, Wilbur, and all of the other survivors died. Most of them failed to have children. Their faded khakis and tattered sweater-vests decomposed along with the rest of their bodies, as their few children also grew old and also failed to procreate. Their children had no sweater-vests, so they wore furs. Their furs decomposed as well. And so on, and so on, until there were no more garments to decompose in the mud and no more humans to make garments. Up until now things had been going really, really well for the Interdimensional Bank of Souls. Executives and shareholders alike were thrilled by the novel technique Death had taught them, which was able to turn a Post-Apocalyptic Soul Recession into an unprecedented boom. It was at this point, however, that things began to go really, really poorly. Without any humans to harvest souls from there was no longer any usable currency. And since the currency in existence had been based upon the speculation that human souls would exist at a given time in the future, interdimensional beings discovered not only that their currency was worthless but that it had, in fact, been worthless for quite a long time. Suffice it to say that the Soul Economy crashed so rapidly and thoroughly that interdimensional society as a whole ceased to exist. * Some time after the crash a group of interdimensional beings sat gathered around a cosmic energy vortex. They detected a slight decrease in ambient temperature as well as the presence of a large mass distorting space-time. Death nudged the being at his side and asked if she detected the anomaly. She gave a disinterested nod. The anomaly slowly drew nearer. Death inhaled sharply as the anomalous lifeform loomed over him. It looked at the hodge-podge group of interdimensional beings, with their tattered robes and pathetically small energy vortex, and it said, Hello.	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Eighty-five. There were only eighty-five left. He had appointments with 40 more in the next two days. Beyond that the appointments were spaced out over the next 60 years. For thousands of years Death had done his job shuttling the souls of the dead humans on to the afterlife. He had become quite attached to them and knew that when they were all gone, he would never feel quite as fulfilled as he had since he took on his job. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he would find new purpose with another world or species or if he would just be let go. Either outcome was equally terrifying in his eyes, so he tried to do something he never had before. Delay his appointments long enough that more appointments are scheduled. Kiara didn't know what to do. She had stayed on her family's farm through the worst of the floods and earthquakes. Not for the first time she was glad that her great great grandfather had loved the mountains and was crazy enough to build a farm at an extreme elevation. She hated it growing up, and often mocked her younger brother for wanting to stay on the farm. Now it was just the two of them and she didn't know how long Ian would last. He had gotten a snakebite earlier while checking the fields and was hallucinating in the house. It was a bite that shouldn't be fatal except there wasn't a hospital anywhere around or even a pharmacy. She had been taking a break after graduating medical school when all hell broke loose. Her parents had died in some rioting while trying to get supplies. So here she was sitting on the front porch, as far as she knew the last woman on earth and about to be the last person on earth. Out in the field she saw a black figure cutting wheat. Great, now she was hallucinating too. Then her hallucination started walking toward her. A large figure in a black cloak which was walking toward the house holding a long black scythe with a mirror finish on the blade. She barely even reacted when it came and sat on the porch next to her. When it said her name and put a bony hand on her shoulder however she fell over with a scream. "Sorry, I realize I must be a bit unexpected. But I thought you were ok when you didn't say anything." "A-are you death? Did you come for my brother?" she said getting up hesitantly. "Yes and no. You see, I have an appointment with him in about two hours but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I thought I'd come early. Though I'd rather like to delay my appointment with him if possible." "Delay it? How can you do that?" "I have brought a few supplies for you. I think this medicine should help him. You are qualified to administer it to him. I will give it to you if you promise to help me." Kiara was stunned. She didn't know what to say or do and so she sat there and stared at death with her mouth open and a shocked expression on her face. Feeling a bit awkward Death opted to fill the silence, "I've carried this scythe for thousands of years, but today is the first time I've used it for the intended purpose. I've just been so busy. Now, there are so few of you left, I have a lot of downtime. I'd rather keep doing what I've been doing. I like it, I like humanity. I don't want to let it end." Again, Kiara was speechless. She had never imagined a casual conversation with death, even if the conversation was a bit one sided. "I'm here to make sure that humanity continues. My appointment with you, Kiara, is quite a bit more than fifty years away. I have confidence that with your help, we can keep humanity alive. Here, take the medicine for your brother. Also, here is a radio and a list of the names and locations of everyone left. I don't think you'll be able to get everyone, but there are enough to keep going. I don't think I'll be able to come back to you. But I'll leave something with everyone that is left. That should be enough." Kiara took the bag from Death, "I'm not sure I understand everything, but I'll do my best. Thank you." Death looked at her and said, "If you succeed, I shall be the one thanking you. Good luck." Then he turned and started walking away. Kiara looked in the bag and found everything she needed for her brother's care. She would worry about the rest of it after she had seen to him. "Thank you." She said again, though no one could hear her.	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Zoampa really missed hot coffee. A small pleasure yes, but even that would be welcome these days. He used to take his time before an introduction, finding a quiet diner somewhere nearby to sip coffee for awhile. Regardless of the land, he could always find a small diner serving coffee in the realm of the living, humans enjoyed those kinds of places. The acrylic had nearly worn from the table he sat at now. This place used to serve coffee, he was almost sure of it, but one could find nourishment here no longer. He turned his eyes to the miserable thing on the floor to his left. "You didn't find what you were looking for either, eh friend." This job had been so similar to the others recently. Thirst, hunger, then collapse. This human even welcomed the introduction, Zoampa could tell. No more struggle, no more weariness, in this world at least. The time between these trips grew, and the taste had faded from his mouth. Other gods of death grew lazy, neglecting their vows, and he was beginning to see the appeal. Leaving the ruin, he read the sign by the Interstate, Green River Next Exit "Utah..." He made note of the places he traveled to now, for he believed each visit would likely be his last. He opted to walk for awhile, rather than depart immediately. The town's namesake would have been beautiful to behold, had it still flowed or held any of the green that once lined its shores. A few miles further Zoampa found a horse, gaunt and not long dead. Its rider had died far earlier. He wondered if one of his brethren had been there to greet the rider. Walking along, he thought of the lives he shepherded centuries past. Vibrant and unique those lives had been, each bringing with it a story to be told to Zoampa and his kin's eager ears. He'd miss those stories, like he'd miss hot coffee. Ready to depart, having filled his memory of this place, he made for the road. He then came upon something new. It was clearly new because the paint on the old tin had yet to fade. Zion food, water, refuge 260 miles Southwest "Zion...the world to come," Zoampa spoke aloud. "No need to leave just yet."	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Under the blistering sun, a woman covered in rags tiredly walks. Her eyes squint to protect themselves from the intense dust, thrown into her face by the wind that whips her long, unkempt hair about herself. The bandages wrapped around her feet are bloody and torn, and as time draws, her lopsided gait slows down, until she can merely stand and stare into the bleak storm. Suddenly, she’s aware of a presence. She doesn’t look, but burning white eyes stare a hole into her. She’s frozen in place, and as the figure approaches, she shakes, her breathing rapid and broken. Now with the blinding shadow in the corner of her eye, the woman is aware of thoughts that aren’t hers. Find them. Help them. That is your duty. The black smoke clears from her mind, and she is alone. With her heart thumping in her ears, her feet move once again with renewed vigor. She knows her direction. Eventually, the sun begins to dip below the horizon. The orange light cuts into the dust, emphasizing the thickness of it. If the orange fades, she’ll be engulfed in complete darkness. Ahead, a huge shadow starts to fade into the fog. The rectangular shape starts to solidify, but first the woman comes across a tall wire fence. She walks along it, until she comes across a large gate. The woman notices the rail that the gate moves along, and she pushes the heavy steel in that direction. Heaving with all her might, muscles and bone straining, it manages to slide an inch towards its goal before two beams are lighting her up. The scavengers return. ___ The woman in rags sits in the darkness. She keeps her eyes open but unfocused, as the sounds of a heated debate fills her ears. The survivors are wondering where the woman came from, and if there are others. As the noise settles, a tall man steps through the doorway. He is wearing a thick brown jacket, the same color as his work boots. His beard covers his face, and his messy hair is hidden under a suede cap. His emerald eyes seem to pierce into her. The tall man gets on his knees so that his face is next to hers, and he speaks to her. He is Jack, and he’s asking if she can work. The woman’s eyes focus on his, and she becomes aware of the black presence boring into the back of her head. The woman’s body shakes, and she swiftly nods to Jack. He stands back up, and so does she, leaving the black smoke behind as she follows Jack out of the room. Six more people stare at her now, lit by the yellow and orange glow candles on the tables and the floor. A man with grey hair and round glasses talks to her about medicine. She stays silent while a woman with short, scruffy hair puts a heavy bundle of clothes in her arms, and asks the woman in rags for her name. She closes her eyes, and her raspy voice breathes out, “Katrina.” ___ The sun is up again, and a heavy yellow coat covers Katrina’s torso, with tough jeans over her legs. Her thick boots are laced in a way that the survivors haven’t seen before. Katrina’s hair is tied back with a hair band, put there by the woman with short, scruffy hair. While most of the survivors are preparing a large car for leaving the fence, Jack and a man with jet black hair, who introduces himself as Kieran, are showing her how to defend herself. She stands behind a line of tape on the ground, and Kieran is holding a stick of black plastic out to her. The instant Katrina’s hand touches it, the sudden black smoke descends upon her, but her vision clears as she blinks away tears. She swallows the lump in her throat, and steadies her shaking. The burning white eyes are in front of her as she aims, but she focuses on the concrete wall, where several targets are painted. On her second shot, Katrina’s muscles strain to steady the weapon. On her forth, the bullet embeds itself within the boundaries of the target. After a few more, Jack shows her how to reload her gun. Ten minutes pass, and the large car is ready to move. Katrina puts her gun to the side while she helps three people push the heavy gate open. The woman with short, scruffy hair drives the car through, and leaves the engine on as she helps close the gate. Finally, with her gun held tightly, Katrina steps into the car, and Kieran sits next to her. Jack sits in the front, beside the woman who clutches the wheel, and the car moves away from the compound. The men call the woman driving Alice, during short conversations that involve the places they’ve been, and the places they should go. Kieran carefully asks Katrina where she’s from, but she ignores him. When the car has traveled a certain distance, Alice slows it down while Katrina notices the survivors are looking for something. Buildings and other cars surround them, creating alleys and turn-offs, and little dark corners that remind Katrina of the black smoke. Finally, the car stops, and Jack turns around to catch Katrina’s attention with those piercing emerald eyes. He tells her to stay close to the group, and to look for sealed cans and bottles of water. Finally, he takes her flashlight out of her backpack and uses the strap on her shoulder to fix it in place. They all pour out of the car, all of the survivors keeping their eyes on their surroundings. Katrina follows them to glass double doors of a large building. With the back end of his gun, Kieran breaks the glass and each of them carefully steps inside. The wind, suddenly gaining an entrance to this building, immediately lifts the small dust particles that were resting inside and makes them dance in the air. The survivors turn on each of their flashlights, and Katrina follows their lead after a second of fumbling with the button on her shoulder. The large room is filled with long walls of shelves, while little, mostly plastic items are strewn haphazardly among them and over the floor. The stench of rotting meat is nearby. Kieran and Jack go ahead down a path created by the shelves, while Alice waits for Katrina to catch up, so that the two can follow the others together. Katrina knows what kind of sealed cans she’s supposed to be looking out for when Alice gives her some to put in her backpack. Katrina is kneeling, fiddling with the zip, when suddenly the deathly quiet is cut by a shout from Jack. He points his gun ahead of him, and it discharges once, and then twice, and the sounds of the others scrambling are replaced by a loud ringing. Katrina swiftly steps up, away from her bag, and she holds her gun how she was shown, pointing it towards the corner that Jack is backing away from. Katrina feels the freezing, wet substance against her back as she finds herself pressed against the black figure. Those burning eyes are screaming into her, and the ringing in her ears has been replaced with a dull, heavy breathing. She’s almost suffocating in the black smoke. A large shape comes into view around the corner, a massive arm swiping at Jack as he discharges his weapon once again, but his head is flung towards the floor and his body crumples, and Alice and Kieran both fire at the creature. Almost blinded by the black smoke, to the sound of nothing but the heavy breathing and her heartbeat, Katrina strides forward, past the survivors and up to the creature. She presses her rifle up to the greasy flesh and pulls the trigger, bursting a hole into it. She feels the creature roar, and its large paw swipes at her face, too. Katrina feels the agony of a thousand knives, but she doesn’t fall to the ground. She feels her skin hanging away from her face, but she stares at the creature where she can see the soulless, black eyes, shining back against her torch. She points her gun up to where those eyes are, and fires twice more as its arm hits her in the side. This time, she doesn’t flinch as the thick flesh and the sharp claws tear into her. Her gun discharges twice again, as the creatures head continues to erupt in a shower of blood with every hit. Katrina is aware of the holes forming from Alice and Kieran’s guns, she watches the creature fall back, toppling into the shelf beside it. The shelf clatters to the ground under the weight of the thing, but holes continue to burst into the fallen creature as the survivors continue to fire. Katrina steps forward towards the body of Jack on the ground, and she falls to her knees beside him. His blood pools next to him, running down the cracks in the tiles that surround him. She stares into Jack’s unfocused, lifeless green eyes and she knows he is gone. Katrina is briefly brought back to where she was before. The place where there are no guns to fight the monsters. She wonders if Jack is there. As she watches over his body, she feels three figures behind her. One of them, the darkest, pierces through the back of her head, and once more, Katrina knows thoughts that are not her own. Without death, there is no life. Without life, there is nothing. Help them. Protect them. That is your duty.	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	I’ve always been efficient. In fact, I am the most efficient of all of the boss man’s posse. Oops, I need to capitalize the b, in case he knows. Of course he knows. Oops, “He” knows. We had the big release date for the End-all Project, or as you might call it – The “Apocalypse” planned for every millennium, but things never actually went through. You know, organizational problems, this and that. Through all of that, who was always early to work and always the last to leave? THIS guy. Always punctual. And I didn’t complain about the name of the project. Apocalypse doesn’t sound important or even ominous. Sounds like a crappy black metal band from one of those cold, dark, northern cities I used to love to get a beer at. Anywho. The “Apocalypse” happened and unlike what everyone expected it to be, it was pretty tame. No fire and brimstone. It was mostly an untreatable version of the flu, for Boss-sakes. I just had to show up and direct one person to another, make then want to hug and kiss and touch, etc. I essentially masterminded this with the Department of the Muses. They did the groundwork, making Hollywood make sappy movies for about 20 years straight, and making the greeting card industry create a flurry of “Care for your ___” days. The most ridiculous one that stupid humans bought was “Care for your Mall” day. Hollywood actually convinced people to go hug every object they wanted to own. You’d be surprised how many people want to own an entire mall’s worth of stuff. So, the earth ended, a lot phlegmy and mucus-ey than expected. And with that day, a lot of jobs ended. The Angels were always ass-kissers and so they swooped up all the cleanup jobs. The Muses ended up getting a lot of entertainment deals to amuse the Boss man and his buds and the new fresh-faced tenants of heaven. Of course, everyone else moved to hell, where all the jobs are. Menial, but steady. And that leaves me, freaking DEATH, where? Yep. Sitting in front of an empty desk. No new emails. I cannot lose this job! It’s not really the perks or even the compensation. I’ve paid all my debts. I will go insane not knowing what to do with myself. And you know what they say – people go quickly, once they retire. Nuh, uh, not this guy. And I am not about to go to hell looking for a job – I like my cubicle at a cozy 68 degrees at all times. I am smart and I am writing this in an encrypted journal that not even the Boss man can break..I think. This is what I did - I found this tribe of Yak herders in Mongolia, who just refused to die in this current project. Something about eating a diet almost entire based on Yak secretions seemed to make them immune to any disease. That, and something this guy did, on the down low. I put vitamins in their food. I stole state-of-the-art military immunizations, including one a doomed nerd made for this particular “Apocalyptic” flu before he sneezed himself to death. I, Death, have been making my tribe healthier and healthier by the day, over centuries. That, and their Genghis Khan genes, make them nearly indestructible. Now all I have to do, is to make sure that no one pays attention to them by making them very, very boringly religious, and absolutely unnoticeable. I want to make them so boring that God himself would not care. So, me and my buddy Elsa, the Muse have been shaving signs from the Boss into Yak fur, leaving images of his Mom in Yak cheese, etc, over centuries. Signs that tell my new little boring Genghises to always be good, always repent, always live in fear, always cower and always fear the reaper. It hasn’t been easy. I tried this with the Vikings before, at an earlier release date, and they were unmanageable to say the least. So, dear reader, as of now, I still have a job. My tribe has grown to about a million. Almost all of them are very, very Boss-fearing. Yes, some return to their Pagan roots, but they are quickly taken care of by the others. Everyone who lives, lives to about a 105 years. It’s a long wait, but I’ve waited before (for Keith Richards and Ozzy Osbourne). But, I have always been an optimist. Elsa and I are currently writing a pilot for one of the new shows that the Department of the Muses, has accepted to air for the people in heaven. It is about how everyone should care for each other and that everything is finally alright, with a touch of toilet humor. Keeps them distracted, keeps the Boss man happy. And I get my paycheck.	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Another one bites the dust", he thought. He used to like that song, but now it felt different. Death sat grimly on rusty car watching the human draw his final breathes. It had been 11 years since international disaster lead to the nuclear holocaust, a moment in time not even Death enjoyed. Do you know how hard it is to reap billions of lives? It took nearly a decade just to finish that. It was only after those 10 long years of coaxing the final ghosts out of hiding that Death realized he might soon be unemployed. Everyone always asked what happens to them after they die, but nobody ever asked what happened to death once everyone was already dead. After all, unemployed could have an entirely different meaning for Death, and it's not like anyone wrote it in his job description. Can Death die? Would he get a new job? Maybe a nice cushy one like that do-nothing Time. Death pondered these questions while out of the shadows a creature drew near to him. Startled, he realized it was another human. This human was in rough shape. He was so skinny his body almost looked malformed. He was wearing a rank plaid shirt, his beard covered in debris, twisting in knots and locks. In fact, the first thing he did when he found the scissors on the dead human was cut these locks from his beard. Then he scavenged the corpse for provisions. "This human might have a chance", he thought, "I shall call him... Rick." Death followed as Rick rummaged through the outskirts of the city, carefully whispering when he noticed a loose steel beam about to fall on Rick, grabbing his attention long enough to avoid disaster. Death could sense another meatbag nearby, so he attempted to drive Rick towards him. Death pushed a washing machine out of a nearby window, grabbing their attention as they turned the corner into each other, and then proceeded to fight. Rick had ducked a machete and pinned the other human to the ground, knocking off his baseball cap, inscribed with just "P". With the upper hand, Rick overpowered the other human and drove his boot knife into the other mans chest multiple times. The plaid shirt was an even darker red now. Rick leaned against the buildings stones, holding his leg. Apparently Mr. P over there got Rick with his machete just before he was stabbed. Death could immediately tell it was a fatal femoral artery injury. Death brought his skeletal hand to his face. Maybe humans were destined to die, he thought. Sighing, he began reaping them. He wasn't nice about it either, I mean, he really made sure they knew what idiots they were. He tore their souls out slower than usual and let them linger in his hands a few moments. Nothing was more painful to a human soul than lingering about, each second feeling like an eternity. He let the souls go, and both drifted towards the ground. Typical, he thought. They disappeared into the cracked cement. ... Death found another human, this time a woman. Any human would probably have mistaken her for a man, and she probably wanted it that way. Her hair was cut short, and she had a stocky build with wide shoulders. She looked meaner than Rick did. He just happened to find her as she ran into another human, a rare coincidence these days despite his most recent encounter. To his surprise, she didn't start beating him to death, and he her. They started talking, and soon began venturing together. Maybe there was some hope after all.	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Ah, shit. Shit." Death muttered, wiping the dirt and dust off his cloak. "Ah, fuck." He exclaimed, nearly hitting a building. "Jesus, I really need to talk to the big man about these flight controls.." He said, making a series of quick turns. "Alright. Let's see.." Death whispered to himself, going through an endless list. "Hyrell Nuclear Power." He said, looking up from the list and quickly parking in what remained of the area. After he had exited his vehicle, he wasted no time getting to the front door of the building. "HEY! HEY! YOU!" Death screamed in an echoing, gravelly voice. The small group of survivors quickly turned around, with the leader firing a short burst of bullets at him in fear. Death stopped, and looked at his torn cloak. "Oh. Nice. Thanks, shithead." He said, staring at the leader with his empty sockets. The leader managed to put a sentence together. "W-who..who are you?" Death rolled his nonexistent eyes. "Seriously? You can't tell?" He said, motioning towards himself. "Cloak of darkness, skeleton, voice of a demon? Big ass scythe?!" The leader lowered his gun. "N-no.." the leader spoke. Death sighed. "I'M DEATH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He quickly exclaimed, his voice booming. "Christ.." Death muttered, holding his forehead. "Alright, you shitskulls. I'm here to save you." He said, rage in his voice. "You retards thought it would be a great idea to run into a nuclear power plant that hasn't been maintained for a couple of years. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, because your dumb machines would take care of the situation. But, because some fucking survivor came and stole all of the water, which means there's no coolant. The worker robots, knowing this, have to cool down the plant. They decide to use the liquid nitrogen inside of them. But, because of the fact that liquid nitrogen is the shittiest coolant ever, it produces toxic gas and barely cools it down. So that means hundreds of bots are gone each day, and the toxic gas is all over the plant. Oh, and the plant is going to melt down today." The group stared at him. "How do you know all this?" An old man asked. "Because I'm fucking death." Death said, little flickers of flame in the corners of his sockets. "Anyway, stay out of the goddamn plant." He said, pointing at the building. A young child popped out of the small crowd. "Why are you helping us, mister?" She asked, head tilted to the side. Death put his hands in his pockets. "Eh, because ^I'd^lose^my^job." The crowd quickly looked at each other in confusion. "What?" The leader asked. Death kicked a rock. "Cause I'd l^o^s^e^my^job.." He muttered. The leader yelled. "Just cut the shit!" Death looked up. "I'D LOSE MY JOB!" Death yelled back. The group started to get angry. "So you just care about yourself?" Someone yelled from the crowd. "Yeah, I do." Death said. "Well that's a dick move!" They yelled again. "YOU KNOW YOUR MOM WENT TO HELL BECAUSE SHE KICKED DOGS, RIGHT?!" Death screamed at the mystery man. "Anyway. You fuckwits need to head to New York. Mass graves there. I can bring some back to life, and you can fuck and save humanity." The leader stood there, face in hand. "You know New York is hundreds of miles away? And that the path is full of mutants and monsters?" Death nodded. "Well, then you'll need an escort. The scythe isn't just for show, pal." Death said, spinning the scythe. "Man, I fuckin' love doing that." The leader turned back towards the crowd. "Well, you heard him. Let's get going." The leader said, motioning for the group to follow. Their journey had begun. "Is no one going to mention the fact that we're going to fuck dead people?" Asked a passerby. Made by /u/Nuclear-Sloth Sequels done by popular request Subreddit coming soon!	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death’s job had gotten quite stale the last thousand years or so. In the early days of humanity, he made it a game, taking the form of a pretty lady or a crying baby to lead someone away, into the woods or towards a desert where he would take them back to their maker. Of course, doing this for thousands of years was a little much, even for Death. He had become much more orderly, requesting an office and a staff to compile a list of those he needed to bring in that day. He had seen every way a human could be killed, and had brought all their souls back with him. For a while his job had gotten very hectic. Radiation, famine, war, disease, all of this was making his job Hell. It wasn’t his job to ask questions, just to take souls, and he continued to do his job dutifully. Worrying about living wasn’t his problem. “Death, I need you to come see me in my office today,” Death heard over the intercom. Great, he thought. Gabe and his damn micromanaging. Death got up from his cushy office chair, and looked at his phone. 8:30. In other words, too early. He turned off the screen, and caught his own reflection in it. He was looking especially bony lately, it seemed to him. After examining the definition of his cheekbones for a bit, Death headed out the door to meet with Gabe up on the 6th floor. Death came in without a knock, and eased into one of the chairs in front of Gabriel. Gabriel’s office was lavish, a perk of being the Boss’s secretary. The ceiling had been decorated by the soul of Michelangelo himself. Beautiful rugs were laid together, covering the floor. A couple of Gabriel’s greatest achievements were shown off in paintings on the walls. “You’ve lost that spring in your step, huh Death?” Gabriel asked, smiling. Gabriel was a good looking guy, or at least this persona of him was. He usually took the form of a young man, wearing a nice, tucked in light-blue button down, and dark blue dress pants. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and tucked away behind his ears. “Well anyways, I asked you to come so we could talk about work. You know, you’ve brought in a lot of souls lately.” “Well, yes, there’s a lot people,” was Death’ s response. “Well, there were a lot of people,” Gabriel said. “So we need to talk about your job for a bit. You think you could, well, help people for a bit? Keep them alive instead of taking their souls?” Death gave a tight-lipped smile that showed no friendliness. He leaned forward and looked at the things on Gabriel’s desk. A coffee mug, a telephone, a few books. No camera. He got up and looked around the room, trying to find one. Maybe even a recording device. This was a joke, and he needed to get back to work. “I know what you’re thinking Death,” Gabriel said to him. “This isn’t something I would usually ask you, but, well, we’ve run into a problem of sorts. So, the Boss has been away for a little vacation with his son. You know him, always complaining about not seeing his dad ever. Anyways, they’ve been out of town, and I couldn’t really hold down the fort like he expected me to.” Gabriel twiddled his thumbs. He met Death’s glare for a moment, and quickly turned away. “So, I just need you to stop killing people for a bit.” “And help them live?” Death asked. His voice was filled with surprise and annoyance. “That’s not my job Gabe. That’s like asking you to kill someone. You know you can’t do it.” “Well, we’ve never been in this situation before. Look, you know what the boss is going to say if he gets back and finds us in this situation. He’ll kick us both out. We’ll be done for. He can make new helpers. We have to combine forces for a bit, Death.” Gabriel was pleading for his help. Death couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “And how would I help with this, Gabe? Everything I touch dies.” “See, that’s how you can help.” Gabriel said. “They need food. Kill a deer or two near their camps and place them in traps for them. They need to avoid some of the more vicious animals, like bears, lions or wolves. So maybe you could bring the souls of some of those guys back to me? Just make their lives a little bit easier, you know? By killing things.” Death sat back down at Gabriel’s desk, thinking. This didn’t seem so bad to him. Taking souls could get old after several millennia. This was very different from what he was used to. And Death felt he could use a change. “You know what Gabe? I’ll do it. I’ll save some humans for you. But look, I want a better office, okay? I mean, it’s kind of bland in there.” “Done.” “And I need a coffee machine too alright? I get tired too, you ever think of that?” “Okay, done.” “And some vacation days now and then. And a raise. And be generous with it, or I might start giving out hugs to some villagers.” Gabriel shook his head, muttering “You got it, Death.”	GLUTTONY - NOT ONLY A SIN OF MAN IN TIME OF FIRE - MY PIT'S DESIRE CONSUMPTION OF ALL I CAN _____ MAN SAW A SKELETON - A REFLECTION OF FEAR BEETLES - GRUBS - CHEWY CREEK CHUBS I AM A SKELETON - AND I AM NEAR _____ STARVING IN MY HOUR DARKEST SEEDS DOOMED BY ROT OF LAND - POWER TO CHANGE IN MY HAND FOR WHAT IS THE SCYTHE WITHOUT THE HARVEST?
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Under the blistering sun, a woman covered in rags tiredly walks. Her eyes squint to protect themselves from the intense dust, thrown into her face by the wind that whips her long, unkempt hair about herself. The bandages wrapped around her feet are bloody and torn, and as time draws, her lopsided gait slows down, until she can merely stand and stare into the bleak storm. Suddenly, she’s aware of a presence. She doesn’t look, but burning white eyes stare a hole into her. She’s frozen in place, and as the figure approaches, she shakes, her breathing rapid and broken. Now with the blinding shadow in the corner of her eye, the woman is aware of thoughts that aren’t hers. Find them. Help them. That is your duty. The black smoke clears from her mind, and she is alone. With her heart thumping in her ears, her feet move once again with renewed vigor. She knows her direction. Eventually, the sun begins to dip below the horizon. The orange light cuts into the dust, emphasizing the thickness of it. If the orange fades, she’ll be engulfed in complete darkness. Ahead, a huge shadow starts to fade into the fog. The rectangular shape starts to solidify, but first the woman comes across a tall wire fence. She walks along it, until she comes across a large gate. The woman notices the rail that the gate moves along, and she pushes the heavy steel in that direction. Heaving with all her might, muscles and bone straining, it manages to slide an inch towards its goal before two beams are lighting her up. The scavengers return. ___ The woman in rags sits in the darkness. She keeps her eyes open but unfocused, as the sounds of a heated debate fills her ears. The survivors are wondering where the woman came from, and if there are others. As the noise settles, a tall man steps through the doorway. He is wearing a thick brown jacket, the same color as his work boots. His beard covers his face, and his messy hair is hidden under a suede cap. His emerald eyes seem to pierce into her. The tall man gets on his knees so that his face is next to hers, and he speaks to her. He is Jack, and he’s asking if she can work. The woman’s eyes focus on his, and she becomes aware of the black presence boring into the back of her head. The woman’s body shakes, and she swiftly nods to Jack. He stands back up, and so does she, leaving the black smoke behind as she follows Jack out of the room. Six more people stare at her now, lit by the yellow and orange glow candles on the tables and the floor. A man with grey hair and round glasses talks to her about medicine. She stays silent while a woman with short, scruffy hair puts a heavy bundle of clothes in her arms, and asks the woman in rags for her name. She closes her eyes, and her raspy voice breathes out, “Katrina.” ___ The sun is up again, and a heavy yellow coat covers Katrina’s torso, with tough jeans over her legs. Her thick boots are laced in a way that the survivors haven’t seen before. Katrina’s hair is tied back with a hair band, put there by the woman with short, scruffy hair. While most of the survivors are preparing a large car for leaving the fence, Jack and a man with jet black hair, who introduces himself as Kieran, are showing her how to defend herself. She stands behind a line of tape on the ground, and Kieran is holding a stick of black plastic out to her. The instant Katrina’s hand touches it, the sudden black smoke descends upon her, but her vision clears as she blinks away tears. She swallows the lump in her throat, and steadies her shaking. The burning white eyes are in front of her as she aims, but she focuses on the concrete wall, where several targets are painted. On her second shot, Katrina’s muscles strain to steady the weapon. On her forth, the bullet embeds itself within the boundaries of the target. After a few more, Jack shows her how to reload her gun. Ten minutes pass, and the large car is ready to move. Katrina puts her gun to the side while she helps three people push the heavy gate open. The woman with short, scruffy hair drives the car through, and leaves the engine on as she helps close the gate. Finally, with her gun held tightly, Katrina steps into the car, and Kieran sits next to her. Jack sits in the front, beside the woman who clutches the wheel, and the car moves away from the compound. The men call the woman driving Alice, during short conversations that involve the places they’ve been, and the places they should go. Kieran carefully asks Katrina where she’s from, but she ignores him. When the car has traveled a certain distance, Alice slows it down while Katrina notices the survivors are looking for something. Buildings and other cars surround them, creating alleys and turn-offs, and little dark corners that remind Katrina of the black smoke. Finally, the car stops, and Jack turns around to catch Katrina’s attention with those piercing emerald eyes. He tells her to stay close to the group, and to look for sealed cans and bottles of water. Finally, he takes her flashlight out of her backpack and uses the strap on her shoulder to fix it in place. They all pour out of the car, all of the survivors keeping their eyes on their surroundings. Katrina follows them to glass double doors of a large building. With the back end of his gun, Kieran breaks the glass and each of them carefully steps inside. The wind, suddenly gaining an entrance to this building, immediately lifts the small dust particles that were resting inside and makes them dance in the air. The survivors turn on each of their flashlights, and Katrina follows their lead after a second of fumbling with the button on her shoulder. The large room is filled with long walls of shelves, while little, mostly plastic items are strewn haphazardly among them and over the floor. The stench of rotting meat is nearby. Kieran and Jack go ahead down a path created by the shelves, while Alice waits for Katrina to catch up, so that the two can follow the others together. Katrina knows what kind of sealed cans she’s supposed to be looking out for when Alice gives her some to put in her backpack. Katrina is kneeling, fiddling with the zip, when suddenly the deathly quiet is cut by a shout from Jack. He points his gun ahead of him, and it discharges once, and then twice, and the sounds of the others scrambling are replaced by a loud ringing. Katrina swiftly steps up, away from her bag, and she holds her gun how she was shown, pointing it towards the corner that Jack is backing away from. Katrina feels the freezing, wet substance against her back as she finds herself pressed against the black figure. Those burning eyes are screaming into her, and the ringing in her ears has been replaced with a dull, heavy breathing. She’s almost suffocating in the black smoke. A large shape comes into view around the corner, a massive arm swiping at Jack as he discharges his weapon once again, but his head is flung towards the floor and his body crumples, and Alice and Kieran both fire at the creature. Almost blinded by the black smoke, to the sound of nothing but the heavy breathing and her heartbeat, Katrina strides forward, past the survivors and up to the creature. She presses her rifle up to the greasy flesh and pulls the trigger, bursting a hole into it. She feels the creature roar, and its large paw swipes at her face, too. Katrina feels the agony of a thousand knives, but she doesn’t fall to the ground. She feels her skin hanging away from her face, but she stares at the creature where she can see the soulless, black eyes, shining back against her torch. She points her gun up to where those eyes are, and fires twice more as its arm hits her in the side. This time, she doesn’t flinch as the thick flesh and the sharp claws tear into her. Her gun discharges twice again, as the creatures head continues to erupt in a shower of blood with every hit. Katrina is aware of the holes forming from Alice and Kieran’s guns, she watches the creature fall back, toppling into the shelf beside it. The shelf clatters to the ground under the weight of the thing, but holes continue to burst into the fallen creature as the survivors continue to fire. Katrina steps forward towards the body of Jack on the ground, and she falls to her knees beside him. His blood pools next to him, running down the cracks in the tiles that surround him. She stares into Jack’s unfocused, lifeless green eyes and she knows he is gone. Katrina is briefly brought back to where she was before. The place where there are no guns to fight the monsters. She wonders if Jack is there. As she watches over his body, she feels three figures behind her. One of them, the darkest, pierces through the back of her head, and once more, Katrina knows thoughts that are not her own. Without death, there is no life. Without life, there is nothing. Help them. Protect them. That is your duty.	Zoampa really missed hot coffee. A small pleasure yes, but even that would be welcome these days. He used to take his time before an introduction, finding a quiet diner somewhere nearby to sip coffee for awhile. Regardless of the land, he could always find a small diner serving coffee in the realm of the living, humans enjoyed those kinds of places. The acrylic had nearly worn from the table he sat at now. This place used to serve coffee, he was almost sure of it, but one could find nourishment here no longer. He turned his eyes to the miserable thing on the floor to his left. "You didn't find what you were looking for either, eh friend." This job had been so similar to the others recently. Thirst, hunger, then collapse. This human even welcomed the introduction, Zoampa could tell. No more struggle, no more weariness, in this world at least. The time between these trips grew, and the taste had faded from his mouth. Other gods of death grew lazy, neglecting their vows, and he was beginning to see the appeal. Leaving the ruin, he read the sign by the Interstate, Green River Next Exit "Utah..." He made note of the places he traveled to now, for he believed each visit would likely be his last. He opted to walk for awhile, rather than depart immediately. The town's namesake would have been beautiful to behold, had it still flowed or held any of the green that once lined its shores. A few miles further Zoampa found a horse, gaunt and not long dead. Its rider had died far earlier. He wondered if one of his brethren had been there to greet the rider. Walking along, he thought of the lives he shepherded centuries past. Vibrant and unique those lives had been, each bringing with it a story to be told to Zoampa and his kin's eager ears. He'd miss those stories, like he'd miss hot coffee. Ready to depart, having filled his memory of this place, he made for the road. He then came upon something new. It was clearly new because the paint on the old tin had yet to fade. Zion food, water, refuge 260 miles Southwest "Zion...the world to come," Zoampa spoke aloud. "No need to leave just yet."
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	I’ve always been efficient. In fact, I am the most efficient of all of the boss man’s posse. Oops, I need to capitalize the b, in case he knows. Of course he knows. Oops, “He” knows. We had the big release date for the End-all Project, or as you might call it – The “Apocalypse” planned for every millennium, but things never actually went through. You know, organizational problems, this and that. Through all of that, who was always early to work and always the last to leave? THIS guy. Always punctual. And I didn’t complain about the name of the project. Apocalypse doesn’t sound important or even ominous. Sounds like a crappy black metal band from one of those cold, dark, northern cities I used to love to get a beer at. Anywho. The “Apocalypse” happened and unlike what everyone expected it to be, it was pretty tame. No fire and brimstone. It was mostly an untreatable version of the flu, for Boss-sakes. I just had to show up and direct one person to another, make then want to hug and kiss and touch, etc. I essentially masterminded this with the Department of the Muses. They did the groundwork, making Hollywood make sappy movies for about 20 years straight, and making the greeting card industry create a flurry of “Care for your ___” days. The most ridiculous one that stupid humans bought was “Care for your Mall” day. Hollywood actually convinced people to go hug every object they wanted to own. You’d be surprised how many people want to own an entire mall’s worth of stuff. So, the earth ended, a lot phlegmy and mucus-ey than expected. And with that day, a lot of jobs ended. The Angels were always ass-kissers and so they swooped up all the cleanup jobs. The Muses ended up getting a lot of entertainment deals to amuse the Boss man and his buds and the new fresh-faced tenants of heaven. Of course, everyone else moved to hell, where all the jobs are. Menial, but steady. And that leaves me, freaking DEATH, where? Yep. Sitting in front of an empty desk. No new emails. I cannot lose this job! It’s not really the perks or even the compensation. I’ve paid all my debts. I will go insane not knowing what to do with myself. And you know what they say – people go quickly, once they retire. Nuh, uh, not this guy. And I am not about to go to hell looking for a job – I like my cubicle at a cozy 68 degrees at all times. I am smart and I am writing this in an encrypted journal that not even the Boss man can break..I think. This is what I did - I found this tribe of Yak herders in Mongolia, who just refused to die in this current project. Something about eating a diet almost entire based on Yak secretions seemed to make them immune to any disease. That, and something this guy did, on the down low. I put vitamins in their food. I stole state-of-the-art military immunizations, including one a doomed nerd made for this particular “Apocalyptic” flu before he sneezed himself to death. I, Death, have been making my tribe healthier and healthier by the day, over centuries. That, and their Genghis Khan genes, make them nearly indestructible. Now all I have to do, is to make sure that no one pays attention to them by making them very, very boringly religious, and absolutely unnoticeable. I want to make them so boring that God himself would not care. So, me and my buddy Elsa, the Muse have been shaving signs from the Boss into Yak fur, leaving images of his Mom in Yak cheese, etc, over centuries. Signs that tell my new little boring Genghises to always be good, always repent, always live in fear, always cower and always fear the reaper. It hasn’t been easy. I tried this with the Vikings before, at an earlier release date, and they were unmanageable to say the least. So, dear reader, as of now, I still have a job. My tribe has grown to about a million. Almost all of them are very, very Boss-fearing. Yes, some return to their Pagan roots, but they are quickly taken care of by the others. Everyone who lives, lives to about a 105 years. It’s a long wait, but I’ve waited before (for Keith Richards and Ozzy Osbourne). But, I have always been an optimist. Elsa and I are currently writing a pilot for one of the new shows that the Department of the Muses, has accepted to air for the people in heaven. It is about how everyone should care for each other and that everything is finally alright, with a touch of toilet humor. Keeps them distracted, keeps the Boss man happy. And I get my paycheck.	Zoampa really missed hot coffee. A small pleasure yes, but even that would be welcome these days. He used to take his time before an introduction, finding a quiet diner somewhere nearby to sip coffee for awhile. Regardless of the land, he could always find a small diner serving coffee in the realm of the living, humans enjoyed those kinds of places. The acrylic had nearly worn from the table he sat at now. This place used to serve coffee, he was almost sure of it, but one could find nourishment here no longer. He turned his eyes to the miserable thing on the floor to his left. "You didn't find what you were looking for either, eh friend." This job had been so similar to the others recently. Thirst, hunger, then collapse. This human even welcomed the introduction, Zoampa could tell. No more struggle, no more weariness, in this world at least. The time between these trips grew, and the taste had faded from his mouth. Other gods of death grew lazy, neglecting their vows, and he was beginning to see the appeal. Leaving the ruin, he read the sign by the Interstate, Green River Next Exit "Utah..." He made note of the places he traveled to now, for he believed each visit would likely be his last. He opted to walk for awhile, rather than depart immediately. The town's namesake would have been beautiful to behold, had it still flowed or held any of the green that once lined its shores. A few miles further Zoampa found a horse, gaunt and not long dead. Its rider had died far earlier. He wondered if one of his brethren had been there to greet the rider. Walking along, he thought of the lives he shepherded centuries past. Vibrant and unique those lives had been, each bringing with it a story to be told to Zoampa and his kin's eager ears. He'd miss those stories, like he'd miss hot coffee. Ready to depart, having filled his memory of this place, he made for the road. He then came upon something new. It was clearly new because the paint on the old tin had yet to fade. Zion food, water, refuge 260 miles Southwest "Zion...the world to come," Zoampa spoke aloud. "No need to leave just yet."
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer. "Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around. Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward. She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate. The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base. They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury. Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction. She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself. Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Another one bites the dust", he thought. He used to like that song, but now it felt different. Death sat grimly on rusty car watching the human draw his final breathes. It had been 11 years since international disaster lead to the nuclear holocaust, a moment in time not even Death enjoyed. Do you know how hard it is to reap billions of lives? It took nearly a decade just to finish that. It was only after those 10 long years of coaxing the final ghosts out of hiding that Death realized he might soon be unemployed. Everyone always asked what happens to them after they die, but nobody ever asked what happened to death once everyone was already dead. After all, unemployed could have an entirely different meaning for Death, and it's not like anyone wrote it in his job description. Can Death die? Would he get a new job? Maybe a nice cushy one like that do-nothing Time. Death pondered these questions while out of the shadows a creature drew near to him. Startled, he realized it was another human. This human was in rough shape. He was so skinny his body almost looked malformed. He was wearing a rank plaid shirt, his beard covered in debris, twisting in knots and locks. In fact, the first thing he did when he found the scissors on the dead human was cut these locks from his beard. Then he scavenged the corpse for provisions. "This human might have a chance", he thought, "I shall call him... Rick." Death followed as Rick rummaged through the outskirts of the city, carefully whispering when he noticed a loose steel beam about to fall on Rick, grabbing his attention long enough to avoid disaster. Death could sense another meatbag nearby, so he attempted to drive Rick towards him. Death pushed a washing machine out of a nearby window, grabbing their attention as they turned the corner into each other, and then proceeded to fight. Rick had ducked a machete and pinned the other human to the ground, knocking off his baseball cap, inscribed with just "P". With the upper hand, Rick overpowered the other human and drove his boot knife into the other mans chest multiple times. The plaid shirt was an even darker red now. Rick leaned against the buildings stones, holding his leg. Apparently Mr. P over there got Rick with his machete just before he was stabbed. Death could immediately tell it was a fatal femoral artery injury. Death brought his skeletal hand to his face. Maybe humans were destined to die, he thought. Sighing, he began reaping them. He wasn't nice about it either, I mean, he really made sure they knew what idiots they were. He tore their souls out slower than usual and let them linger in his hands a few moments. Nothing was more painful to a human soul than lingering about, each second feeling like an eternity. He let the souls go, and both drifted towards the ground. Typical, he thought. They disappeared into the cracked cement. ... Death found another human, this time a woman. Any human would probably have mistaken her for a man, and she probably wanted it that way. Her hair was cut short, and she had a stocky build with wide shoulders. She looked meaner than Rick did. He just happened to find her as she ran into another human, a rare coincidence these days despite his most recent encounter. To his surprise, she didn't start beating him to death, and he her. They started talking, and soon began venturing together. Maybe there was some hope after all.	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Ah, shit. Shit." Death muttered, wiping the dirt and dust off his cloak. "Ah, fuck." He exclaimed, nearly hitting a building. "Jesus, I really need to talk to the big man about these flight controls.." He said, making a series of quick turns. "Alright. Let's see.." Death whispered to himself, going through an endless list. "Hyrell Nuclear Power." He said, looking up from the list and quickly parking in what remained of the area. After he had exited his vehicle, he wasted no time getting to the front door of the building. "HEY! HEY! YOU!" Death screamed in an echoing, gravelly voice. The small group of survivors quickly turned around, with the leader firing a short burst of bullets at him in fear. Death stopped, and looked at his torn cloak. "Oh. Nice. Thanks, shithead." He said, staring at the leader with his empty sockets. The leader managed to put a sentence together. "W-who..who are you?" Death rolled his nonexistent eyes. "Seriously? You can't tell?" He said, motioning towards himself. "Cloak of darkness, skeleton, voice of a demon? Big ass scythe?!" The leader lowered his gun. "N-no.." the leader spoke. Death sighed. "I'M DEATH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He quickly exclaimed, his voice booming. "Christ.." Death muttered, holding his forehead. "Alright, you shitskulls. I'm here to save you." He said, rage in his voice. "You retards thought it would be a great idea to run into a nuclear power plant that hasn't been maintained for a couple of years. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, because your dumb machines would take care of the situation. But, because some fucking survivor came and stole all of the water, which means there's no coolant. The worker robots, knowing this, have to cool down the plant. They decide to use the liquid nitrogen inside of them. But, because of the fact that liquid nitrogen is the shittiest coolant ever, it produces toxic gas and barely cools it down. So that means hundreds of bots are gone each day, and the toxic gas is all over the plant. Oh, and the plant is going to melt down today." The group stared at him. "How do you know all this?" An old man asked. "Because I'm fucking death." Death said, little flickers of flame in the corners of his sockets. "Anyway, stay out of the goddamn plant." He said, pointing at the building. A young child popped out of the small crowd. "Why are you helping us, mister?" She asked, head tilted to the side. Death put his hands in his pockets. "Eh, because ^I'd^lose^my^job." The crowd quickly looked at each other in confusion. "What?" The leader asked. Death kicked a rock. "Cause I'd l^o^s^e^my^job.." He muttered. The leader yelled. "Just cut the shit!" Death looked up. "I'D LOSE MY JOB!" Death yelled back. The group started to get angry. "So you just care about yourself?" Someone yelled from the crowd. "Yeah, I do." Death said. "Well that's a dick move!" They yelled again. "YOU KNOW YOUR MOM WENT TO HELL BECAUSE SHE KICKED DOGS, RIGHT?!" Death screamed at the mystery man. "Anyway. You fuckwits need to head to New York. Mass graves there. I can bring some back to life, and you can fuck and save humanity." The leader stood there, face in hand. "You know New York is hundreds of miles away? And that the path is full of mutants and monsters?" Death nodded. "Well, then you'll need an escort. The scythe isn't just for show, pal." Death said, spinning the scythe. "Man, I fuckin' love doing that." The leader turned back towards the crowd. "Well, you heard him. Let's get going." The leader said, motioning for the group to follow. Their journey had begun. "Is no one going to mention the fact that we're going to fuck dead people?" Asked a passerby. Made by /u/Nuclear-Sloth Sequels done by popular request Subreddit coming soon!	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained. In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull. The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood. The chanting stopped. The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death. A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!" Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put that incantation in his little joke of a ritual book. "Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order." "But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-" "That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job." "My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart. Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave. "That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!" He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor.	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death’s job had gotten quite stale the last thousand years or so. In the early days of humanity, he made it a game, taking the form of a pretty lady or a crying baby to lead someone away, into the woods or towards a desert where he would take them back to their maker. Of course, doing this for thousands of years was a little much, even for Death. He had become much more orderly, requesting an office and a staff to compile a list of those he needed to bring in that day. He had seen every way a human could be killed, and had brought all their souls back with him. For a while his job had gotten very hectic. Radiation, famine, war, disease, all of this was making his job Hell. It wasn’t his job to ask questions, just to take souls, and he continued to do his job dutifully. Worrying about living wasn’t his problem. “Death, I need you to come see me in my office today,” Death heard over the intercom. Great, he thought. Gabe and his damn micromanaging. Death got up from his cushy office chair, and looked at his phone. 8:30. In other words, too early. He turned off the screen, and caught his own reflection in it. He was looking especially bony lately, it seemed to him. After examining the definition of his cheekbones for a bit, Death headed out the door to meet with Gabe up on the 6th floor. Death came in without a knock, and eased into one of the chairs in front of Gabriel. Gabriel’s office was lavish, a perk of being the Boss’s secretary. The ceiling had been decorated by the soul of Michelangelo himself. Beautiful rugs were laid together, covering the floor. A couple of Gabriel’s greatest achievements were shown off in paintings on the walls. “You’ve lost that spring in your step, huh Death?” Gabriel asked, smiling. Gabriel was a good looking guy, or at least this persona of him was. He usually took the form of a young man, wearing a nice, tucked in light-blue button down, and dark blue dress pants. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and tucked away behind his ears. “Well anyways, I asked you to come so we could talk about work. You know, you’ve brought in a lot of souls lately.” “Well, yes, there’s a lot people,” was Death’ s response. “Well, there were a lot of people,” Gabriel said. “So we need to talk about your job for a bit. You think you could, well, help people for a bit? Keep them alive instead of taking their souls?” Death gave a tight-lipped smile that showed no friendliness. He leaned forward and looked at the things on Gabriel’s desk. A coffee mug, a telephone, a few books. No camera. He got up and looked around the room, trying to find one. Maybe even a recording device. This was a joke, and he needed to get back to work. “I know what you’re thinking Death,” Gabriel said to him. “This isn’t something I would usually ask you, but, well, we’ve run into a problem of sorts. So, the Boss has been away for a little vacation with his son. You know him, always complaining about not seeing his dad ever. Anyways, they’ve been out of town, and I couldn’t really hold down the fort like he expected me to.” Gabriel twiddled his thumbs. He met Death’s glare for a moment, and quickly turned away. “So, I just need you to stop killing people for a bit.” “And help them live?” Death asked. His voice was filled with surprise and annoyance. “That’s not my job Gabe. That’s like asking you to kill someone. You know you can’t do it.” “Well, we’ve never been in this situation before. Look, you know what the boss is going to say if he gets back and finds us in this situation. He’ll kick us both out. We’ll be done for. He can make new helpers. We have to combine forces for a bit, Death.” Gabriel was pleading for his help. Death couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “And how would I help with this, Gabe? Everything I touch dies.” “See, that’s how you can help.” Gabriel said. “They need food. Kill a deer or two near their camps and place them in traps for them. They need to avoid some of the more vicious animals, like bears, lions or wolves. So maybe you could bring the souls of some of those guys back to me? Just make their lives a little bit easier, you know? By killing things.” Death sat back down at Gabriel’s desk, thinking. This didn’t seem so bad to him. Taking souls could get old after several millennia. This was very different from what he was used to. And Death felt he could use a change. “You know what Gabe? I’ll do it. I’ll save some humans for you. But look, I want a better office, okay? I mean, it’s kind of bland in there.” “Done.” “And I need a coffee machine too alright? I get tired too, you ever think of that?” “Okay, done.” “And some vacation days now and then. And a raise. And be generous with it, or I might start giving out hugs to some villagers.” Gabriel shook his head, muttering “You got it, Death.”	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The ocean was calm. For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter. There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach. A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more. The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay. Oh, how it burned. Oh, how it all burned. But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life? It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie. How ironic it was. Life did go out with a bang. And here we were, whimpering. Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing. It'd have to find some way to entertain himself. It'd be here for some time.	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Who are you?" Michael yelled at the approaching silhouette that seemed to be dragging itself through the spiralling cloud of red, desert dust, toward them. He raised a hand to his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at the figure - trying to decide if he should grab his little sister's hand and run far away from here, never turning, never looking back. But he knew they couldn't run. They'd probably die if they stayed, but he was certain they would die if they ran. It had been so long since they'd seen someone else - anyone else. He had thought they were the last. The figure was tall - even hunched over as it was, struggling to walk, Michael guessed it must have been at least seven foot. It clutched something long and curved in its right hand. "Michael, Cibby is scared," whispered Isabella, clutching her beloved, no-legged doll tightly in the crook of her good arm. Michael looked at his little sister, sighed, then crouched down until he was eye level with her. Sweat was pouring out from her burning forehead and dribbling down to her torn, lilac tee. It was a sweat that they couldn't replace; there was no water here. There seemed to be no water left on Earth. He gently ran the back of his fingers down Isabella's cheek. "Me too, Izzy. But we all need to be brave right now. Whoever is coming, we need their help. You're still not better - although, I'm sure you will be soon," he added, "and, well, we've not seen anyone since..." His voice trailed off as he thought of their parents. Isabella bit her lip, looked up at the swirling, tombstone sky above and nodded. "We'll be brave." "Good girl. Make sure you stay behind me, okay? Let me talk to him," Michael commanded, stepping in front of his sister. "And if... anything happens to me. Anything bad, I want you to run as fast as you can, back the way we came." Michael turned to face the approaching figure. He could now make out the ragged cloak that hung loose around the thin body; the pointed blade that trailed on the desert floor, biting into the earth as it dragged along. But he couldn't see the features of the face hidden in the brooding shadow of the hood. "Hello!" said Michael, raising a hand. The figure didn't respond; it continued trudging toward them. "We- we don't mean you harm. My sister's sick and we've not had water for-" Michael's mouth dropped open when he saw the skeletal feet poking out from the bottom of the cloak. "Oh, Jesus." Now he was ready to run. He'd rather die on the radiation plains, his skin peeling and his heart dripping, than let this monstrosity come any closer. But his curiosity had never been greater; it took hold of his body and froze it in place. "What the fuck are you?" he mouthed. The figure stopped a few feet from him. It tilted its head to the side, raised a bony hand to its face and peeled back its hood. "Oh, shit. Izzy," he said, as he reached behind him, fumbling for his sister's hand, "get ready to run. Okay?" "Pleaaase," came the terrible, pleading voice; it sounded as if it was being dragged through broken glass, as it rose up through the creature's throat. Isabella poked her head out from behind her brother. She gasped. "Pleaaase," came the voice again. The creature raised a hand, its fingers reaching toward them. Then, it collapsed onto its knees, its scythe dropping to the ground. "Let's go, okay sis?" said Michael, trying not to show the fear in his voice. "...we can't go. I think it needs our help," said Izzy. "It's in pain." "Izzy! What are you doing?" Michael hissed, as his sister slowly walked toward the creature, until she stood only a foot away from it. "My name is Izzy," she said, before bursting into a cough that ripped her throat and tore at her lungs. It took her a moment to recover; she wiped the blood from her lips onto her arm. "This - this is Cibby, and that's my brother Michael," said the girl. "We don't have any water, but we have a little food. Would you like some?" The creature stared at Izzy for a moment, before, with what looked like great effort, stretched a hand out toward her. "Don't!" shouted Michael, but it was too late. Izzy had already taken the pale hand in hers. It took only a second for her to fall limply to the ground, doll by her side. "Izzy!" Michael screamed, running toward his sister and skidding to the ground next to her. "Oh God, Izzy," he said, as snot and hot tears mixed in his mouth. Her eyes were shut and her chest was perfectly still. "Please don't be dead. Please please please." He shook her gently at first, then more firmly, then urgently. But his sister didn't respond. She didn't move. Michael picked up Izzy's doll, and placed it into her limp, open hand. Then, he buried his head into her chest and wept. The cloaked figured slowly got back to its feet. It bent down and picked up its scythe. "What did you do to her, you- you monster!" Michael asked, his voice trembling as he turned to the creature. "She was just a little girl and you-" He saw her left arm move first. The arm that hadn't moved since the mines. "What? Izzy?" Her eyes slowly opened. The trace of a smile curved over her lips. "Izzy!" he repeated through sobs and laughter. "Oh God, Izzy, you're alive. Please - please, don't ever do that to me again." He kissed her cheeks a dozen times, and her forehead nearer a hundred, before hugging her tightly. "He... he made me better," she said, as her brother finally released her, raising her neck and looking up at the creature. Michael stared anew at the cloaked figure. It looked stronger now. Taller, too. It took Michael a few moments to be able to whisper: "thank you." The creature nodded, before lifting his scythe high into the air. "What are you..." The creature brought the instrument down fiercely, tip first, burying it deep into the dry earth. A fountain of clear liquid erupted from the hole as he withdrew it. It didn't take long for a soft blanket of grass to begin sprouting underneath Izzy, quickly spreading out as if it was a puddle of water. It didn't take long for her to find the first tulip that had grown in a hundred years. Then, the first apple tree. Izzy whispered to her brother and pressed something into his hands. When the cloaked figure was finally satisfied by the sparkling oasis, he pointed a finger toward Michael and gestured for him to step forward. He did so. "My sister wanted you to have this," Michael said, offering out a hand. Death paused for a moment, unsure, before reaching out and taking the doll. He looked at it curiously, turning it over twice. Then, he dropped it into a deep, dark pocket on the side of his cloak. "There are others," he said, in a soft rumble. "Only a few. You must bring them here." "How - how will I find them?" "You will," it replied. "She will be safe, here. Nothing evil can step foot into my garden." It turned and took three steps away from him, before pausing. "I will see you again, someday," it whispered, not quite loud enough for Izzy to hear. Then, it continued its slow walk into the dancing dust of the desert. "Thank you," Michael whispered, as the figure drifted out of sight. --- more on /r/nickofnight	It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it. I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops. There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways. "Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump. I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Another one bites the dust", he thought. He used to like that song, but now it felt different. Death sat grimly on rusty car watching the human draw his final breathes. It had been 11 years since international disaster lead to the nuclear holocaust, a moment in time not even Death enjoyed. Do you know how hard it is to reap billions of lives? It took nearly a decade just to finish that. It was only after those 10 long years of coaxing the final ghosts out of hiding that Death realized he might soon be unemployed. Everyone always asked what happens to them after they die, but nobody ever asked what happened to death once everyone was already dead. After all, unemployed could have an entirely different meaning for Death, and it's not like anyone wrote it in his job description. Can Death die? Would he get a new job? Maybe a nice cushy one like that do-nothing Time. Death pondered these questions while out of the shadows a creature drew near to him. Startled, he realized it was another human. This human was in rough shape. He was so skinny his body almost looked malformed. He was wearing a rank plaid shirt, his beard covered in debris, twisting in knots and locks. In fact, the first thing he did when he found the scissors on the dead human was cut these locks from his beard. Then he scavenged the corpse for provisions. "This human might have a chance", he thought, "I shall call him... Rick." Death followed as Rick rummaged through the outskirts of the city, carefully whispering when he noticed a loose steel beam about to fall on Rick, grabbing his attention long enough to avoid disaster. Death could sense another meatbag nearby, so he attempted to drive Rick towards him. Death pushed a washing machine out of a nearby window, grabbing their attention as they turned the corner into each other, and then proceeded to fight. Rick had ducked a machete and pinned the other human to the ground, knocking off his baseball cap, inscribed with just "P". With the upper hand, Rick overpowered the other human and drove his boot knife into the other mans chest multiple times. The plaid shirt was an even darker red now. Rick leaned against the buildings stones, holding his leg. Apparently Mr. P over there got Rick with his machete just before he was stabbed. Death could immediately tell it was a fatal femoral artery injury. Death brought his skeletal hand to his face. Maybe humans were destined to die, he thought. Sighing, he began reaping them. He wasn't nice about it either, I mean, he really made sure they knew what idiots they were. He tore their souls out slower than usual and let them linger in his hands a few moments. Nothing was more painful to a human soul than lingering about, each second feeling like an eternity. He let the souls go, and both drifted towards the ground. Typical, he thought. They disappeared into the cracked cement. ... Death found another human, this time a woman. Any human would probably have mistaken her for a man, and she probably wanted it that way. Her hair was cut short, and she had a stocky build with wide shoulders. She looked meaner than Rick did. He just happened to find her as she ran into another human, a rare coincidence these days despite his most recent encounter. To his surprise, she didn't start beating him to death, and he her. They started talking, and soon began venturing together. Maybe there was some hope after all.	Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer. "Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around. Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward. She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate. The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base. They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury. Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction. She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself. Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Ah, shit. Shit." Death muttered, wiping the dirt and dust off his cloak. "Ah, fuck." He exclaimed, nearly hitting a building. "Jesus, I really need to talk to the big man about these flight controls.." He said, making a series of quick turns. "Alright. Let's see.." Death whispered to himself, going through an endless list. "Hyrell Nuclear Power." He said, looking up from the list and quickly parking in what remained of the area. After he had exited his vehicle, he wasted no time getting to the front door of the building. "HEY! HEY! YOU!" Death screamed in an echoing, gravelly voice. The small group of survivors quickly turned around, with the leader firing a short burst of bullets at him in fear. Death stopped, and looked at his torn cloak. "Oh. Nice. Thanks, shithead." He said, staring at the leader with his empty sockets. The leader managed to put a sentence together. "W-who..who are you?" Death rolled his nonexistent eyes. "Seriously? You can't tell?" He said, motioning towards himself. "Cloak of darkness, skeleton, voice of a demon? Big ass scythe?!" The leader lowered his gun. "N-no.." the leader spoke. Death sighed. "I'M DEATH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He quickly exclaimed, his voice booming. "Christ.." Death muttered, holding his forehead. "Alright, you shitskulls. I'm here to save you." He said, rage in his voice. "You retards thought it would be a great idea to run into a nuclear power plant that hasn't been maintained for a couple of years. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, because your dumb machines would take care of the situation. But, because some fucking survivor came and stole all of the water, which means there's no coolant. The worker robots, knowing this, have to cool down the plant. They decide to use the liquid nitrogen inside of them. But, because of the fact that liquid nitrogen is the shittiest coolant ever, it produces toxic gas and barely cools it down. So that means hundreds of bots are gone each day, and the toxic gas is all over the plant. Oh, and the plant is going to melt down today." The group stared at him. "How do you know all this?" An old man asked. "Because I'm fucking death." Death said, little flickers of flame in the corners of his sockets. "Anyway, stay out of the goddamn plant." He said, pointing at the building. A young child popped out of the small crowd. "Why are you helping us, mister?" She asked, head tilted to the side. Death put his hands in his pockets. "Eh, because ^I'd^lose^my^job." The crowd quickly looked at each other in confusion. "What?" The leader asked. Death kicked a rock. "Cause I'd l^o^s^e^my^job.." He muttered. The leader yelled. "Just cut the shit!" Death looked up. "I'D LOSE MY JOB!" Death yelled back. The group started to get angry. "So you just care about yourself?" Someone yelled from the crowd. "Yeah, I do." Death said. "Well that's a dick move!" They yelled again. "YOU KNOW YOUR MOM WENT TO HELL BECAUSE SHE KICKED DOGS, RIGHT?!" Death screamed at the mystery man. "Anyway. You fuckwits need to head to New York. Mass graves there. I can bring some back to life, and you can fuck and save humanity." The leader stood there, face in hand. "You know New York is hundreds of miles away? And that the path is full of mutants and monsters?" Death nodded. "Well, then you'll need an escort. The scythe isn't just for show, pal." Death said, spinning the scythe. "Man, I fuckin' love doing that." The leader turned back towards the crowd. "Well, you heard him. Let's get going." The leader said, motioning for the group to follow. Their journey had begun. "Is no one going to mention the fact that we're going to fuck dead people?" Asked a passerby. Made by /u/Nuclear-Sloth Sequels done by popular request Subreddit coming soon!	Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer. "Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around. Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward. She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate. The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base. They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury. Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction. She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself. Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death’s job had gotten quite stale the last thousand years or so. In the early days of humanity, he made it a game, taking the form of a pretty lady or a crying baby to lead someone away, into the woods or towards a desert where he would take them back to their maker. Of course, doing this for thousands of years was a little much, even for Death. He had become much more orderly, requesting an office and a staff to compile a list of those he needed to bring in that day. He had seen every way a human could be killed, and had brought all their souls back with him. For a while his job had gotten very hectic. Radiation, famine, war, disease, all of this was making his job Hell. It wasn’t his job to ask questions, just to take souls, and he continued to do his job dutifully. Worrying about living wasn’t his problem. “Death, I need you to come see me in my office today,” Death heard over the intercom. Great, he thought. Gabe and his damn micromanaging. Death got up from his cushy office chair, and looked at his phone. 8:30. In other words, too early. He turned off the screen, and caught his own reflection in it. He was looking especially bony lately, it seemed to him. After examining the definition of his cheekbones for a bit, Death headed out the door to meet with Gabe up on the 6th floor. Death came in without a knock, and eased into one of the chairs in front of Gabriel. Gabriel’s office was lavish, a perk of being the Boss’s secretary. The ceiling had been decorated by the soul of Michelangelo himself. Beautiful rugs were laid together, covering the floor. A couple of Gabriel’s greatest achievements were shown off in paintings on the walls. “You’ve lost that spring in your step, huh Death?” Gabriel asked, smiling. Gabriel was a good looking guy, or at least this persona of him was. He usually took the form of a young man, wearing a nice, tucked in light-blue button down, and dark blue dress pants. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and tucked away behind his ears. “Well anyways, I asked you to come so we could talk about work. You know, you’ve brought in a lot of souls lately.” “Well, yes, there’s a lot people,” was Death’ s response. “Well, there were a lot of people,” Gabriel said. “So we need to talk about your job for a bit. You think you could, well, help people for a bit? Keep them alive instead of taking their souls?” Death gave a tight-lipped smile that showed no friendliness. He leaned forward and looked at the things on Gabriel’s desk. A coffee mug, a telephone, a few books. No camera. He got up and looked around the room, trying to find one. Maybe even a recording device. This was a joke, and he needed to get back to work. “I know what you’re thinking Death,” Gabriel said to him. “This isn’t something I would usually ask you, but, well, we’ve run into a problem of sorts. So, the Boss has been away for a little vacation with his son. You know him, always complaining about not seeing his dad ever. Anyways, they’ve been out of town, and I couldn’t really hold down the fort like he expected me to.” Gabriel twiddled his thumbs. He met Death’s glare for a moment, and quickly turned away. “So, I just need you to stop killing people for a bit.” “And help them live?” Death asked. His voice was filled with surprise and annoyance. “That’s not my job Gabe. That’s like asking you to kill someone. You know you can’t do it.” “Well, we’ve never been in this situation before. Look, you know what the boss is going to say if he gets back and finds us in this situation. He’ll kick us both out. We’ll be done for. He can make new helpers. We have to combine forces for a bit, Death.” Gabriel was pleading for his help. Death couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “And how would I help with this, Gabe? Everything I touch dies.” “See, that’s how you can help.” Gabriel said. “They need food. Kill a deer or two near their camps and place them in traps for them. They need to avoid some of the more vicious animals, like bears, lions or wolves. So maybe you could bring the souls of some of those guys back to me? Just make their lives a little bit easier, you know? By killing things.” Death sat back down at Gabriel’s desk, thinking. This didn’t seem so bad to him. Taking souls could get old after several millennia. This was very different from what he was used to. And Death felt he could use a change. “You know what Gabe? I’ll do it. I’ll save some humans for you. But look, I want a better office, okay? I mean, it’s kind of bland in there.” “Done.” “And I need a coffee machine too alright? I get tired too, you ever think of that?” “Okay, done.” “And some vacation days now and then. And a raise. And be generous with it, or I might start giving out hugs to some villagers.” Gabriel shook his head, muttering “You got it, Death.”	Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer. "Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around. Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward. She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate. The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base. They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury. Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction. She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself. Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The ocean was calm. For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter. There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach. A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more. The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay. Oh, how it burned. Oh, how it all burned. But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life? It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie. How ironic it was. Life did go out with a bang. And here we were, whimpering. Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing. It'd have to find some way to entertain himself. It'd be here for some time.	Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer. "Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around. Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward. She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate. The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base. They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury. Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction. She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself. Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Who are you?" Michael yelled at the approaching silhouette that seemed to be dragging itself through the spiralling cloud of red, desert dust, toward them. He raised a hand to his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at the figure - trying to decide if he should grab his little sister's hand and run far away from here, never turning, never looking back. But he knew they couldn't run. They'd probably die if they stayed, but he was certain they would die if they ran. It had been so long since they'd seen someone else - anyone else. He had thought they were the last. The figure was tall - even hunched over as it was, struggling to walk, Michael guessed it must have been at least seven foot. It clutched something long and curved in its right hand. "Michael, Cibby is scared," whispered Isabella, clutching her beloved, no-legged doll tightly in the crook of her good arm. Michael looked at his little sister, sighed, then crouched down until he was eye level with her. Sweat was pouring out from her burning forehead and dribbling down to her torn, lilac tee. It was a sweat that they couldn't replace; there was no water here. There seemed to be no water left on Earth. He gently ran the back of his fingers down Isabella's cheek. "Me too, Izzy. But we all need to be brave right now. Whoever is coming, we need their help. You're still not better - although, I'm sure you will be soon," he added, "and, well, we've not seen anyone since..." His voice trailed off as he thought of their parents. Isabella bit her lip, looked up at the swirling, tombstone sky above and nodded. "We'll be brave." "Good girl. Make sure you stay behind me, okay? Let me talk to him," Michael commanded, stepping in front of his sister. "And if... anything happens to me. Anything bad, I want you to run as fast as you can, back the way we came." Michael turned to face the approaching figure. He could now make out the ragged cloak that hung loose around the thin body; the pointed blade that trailed on the desert floor, biting into the earth as it dragged along. But he couldn't see the features of the face hidden in the brooding shadow of the hood. "Hello!" said Michael, raising a hand. The figure didn't respond; it continued trudging toward them. "We- we don't mean you harm. My sister's sick and we've not had water for-" Michael's mouth dropped open when he saw the skeletal feet poking out from the bottom of the cloak. "Oh, Jesus." Now he was ready to run. He'd rather die on the radiation plains, his skin peeling and his heart dripping, than let this monstrosity come any closer. But his curiosity had never been greater; it took hold of his body and froze it in place. "What the fuck are you?" he mouthed. The figure stopped a few feet from him. It tilted its head to the side, raised a bony hand to its face and peeled back its hood. "Oh, shit. Izzy," he said, as he reached behind him, fumbling for his sister's hand, "get ready to run. Okay?" "Pleaaase," came the terrible, pleading voice; it sounded as if it was being dragged through broken glass, as it rose up through the creature's throat. Isabella poked her head out from behind her brother. She gasped. "Pleaaase," came the voice again. The creature raised a hand, its fingers reaching toward them. Then, it collapsed onto its knees, its scythe dropping to the ground. "Let's go, okay sis?" said Michael, trying not to show the fear in his voice. "...we can't go. I think it needs our help," said Izzy. "It's in pain." "Izzy! What are you doing?" Michael hissed, as his sister slowly walked toward the creature, until she stood only a foot away from it. "My name is Izzy," she said, before bursting into a cough that ripped her throat and tore at her lungs. It took her a moment to recover; she wiped the blood from her lips onto her arm. "This - this is Cibby, and that's my brother Michael," said the girl. "We don't have any water, but we have a little food. Would you like some?" The creature stared at Izzy for a moment, before, with what looked like great effort, stretched a hand out toward her. "Don't!" shouted Michael, but it was too late. Izzy had already taken the pale hand in hers. It took only a second for her to fall limply to the ground, doll by her side. "Izzy!" Michael screamed, running toward his sister and skidding to the ground next to her. "Oh God, Izzy," he said, as snot and hot tears mixed in his mouth. Her eyes were shut and her chest was perfectly still. "Please don't be dead. Please please please." He shook her gently at first, then more firmly, then urgently. But his sister didn't respond. She didn't move. Michael picked up Izzy's doll, and placed it into her limp, open hand. Then, he buried his head into her chest and wept. The cloaked figured slowly got back to its feet. It bent down and picked up its scythe. "What did you do to her, you- you monster!" Michael asked, his voice trembling as he turned to the creature. "She was just a little girl and you-" He saw her left arm move first. The arm that hadn't moved since the mines. "What? Izzy?" Her eyes slowly opened. The trace of a smile curved over her lips. "Izzy!" he repeated through sobs and laughter. "Oh God, Izzy, you're alive. Please - please, don't ever do that to me again." He kissed her cheeks a dozen times, and her forehead nearer a hundred, before hugging her tightly. "He... he made me better," she said, as her brother finally released her, raising her neck and looking up at the creature. Michael stared anew at the cloaked figure. It looked stronger now. Taller, too. It took Michael a few moments to be able to whisper: "thank you." The creature nodded, before lifting his scythe high into the air. "What are you..." The creature brought the instrument down fiercely, tip first, burying it deep into the dry earth. A fountain of clear liquid erupted from the hole as he withdrew it. It didn't take long for a soft blanket of grass to begin sprouting underneath Izzy, quickly spreading out as if it was a puddle of water. It didn't take long for her to find the first tulip that had grown in a hundred years. Then, the first apple tree. Izzy whispered to her brother and pressed something into his hands. When the cloaked figure was finally satisfied by the sparkling oasis, he pointed a finger toward Michael and gestured for him to step forward. He did so. "My sister wanted you to have this," Michael said, offering out a hand. Death paused for a moment, unsure, before reaching out and taking the doll. He looked at it curiously, turning it over twice. Then, he dropped it into a deep, dark pocket on the side of his cloak. "There are others," he said, in a soft rumble. "Only a few. You must bring them here." "How - how will I find them?" "You will," it replied. "She will be safe, here. Nothing evil can step foot into my garden." It turned and took three steps away from him, before pausing. "I will see you again, someday," it whispered, not quite loud enough for Izzy to hear. Then, it continued its slow walk into the dancing dust of the desert. "Thank you," Michael whispered, as the figure drifted out of sight. --- more on /r/nickofnight	Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer. "Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around. Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward. She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate. The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base. They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury. Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction. She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself. Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death’s job had gotten quite stale the last thousand years or so. In the early days of humanity, he made it a game, taking the form of a pretty lady or a crying baby to lead someone away, into the woods or towards a desert where he would take them back to their maker. Of course, doing this for thousands of years was a little much, even for Death. He had become much more orderly, requesting an office and a staff to compile a list of those he needed to bring in that day. He had seen every way a human could be killed, and had brought all their souls back with him. For a while his job had gotten very hectic. Radiation, famine, war, disease, all of this was making his job Hell. It wasn’t his job to ask questions, just to take souls, and he continued to do his job dutifully. Worrying about living wasn’t his problem. “Death, I need you to come see me in my office today,” Death heard over the intercom. Great, he thought. Gabe and his damn micromanaging. Death got up from his cushy office chair, and looked at his phone. 8:30. In other words, too early. He turned off the screen, and caught his own reflection in it. He was looking especially bony lately, it seemed to him. After examining the definition of his cheekbones for a bit, Death headed out the door to meet with Gabe up on the 6th floor. Death came in without a knock, and eased into one of the chairs in front of Gabriel. Gabriel’s office was lavish, a perk of being the Boss’s secretary. The ceiling had been decorated by the soul of Michelangelo himself. Beautiful rugs were laid together, covering the floor. A couple of Gabriel’s greatest achievements were shown off in paintings on the walls. “You’ve lost that spring in your step, huh Death?” Gabriel asked, smiling. Gabriel was a good looking guy, or at least this persona of him was. He usually took the form of a young man, wearing a nice, tucked in light-blue button down, and dark blue dress pants. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and tucked away behind his ears. “Well anyways, I asked you to come so we could talk about work. You know, you’ve brought in a lot of souls lately.” “Well, yes, there’s a lot people,” was Death’ s response. “Well, there were a lot of people,” Gabriel said. “So we need to talk about your job for a bit. You think you could, well, help people for a bit? Keep them alive instead of taking their souls?” Death gave a tight-lipped smile that showed no friendliness. He leaned forward and looked at the things on Gabriel’s desk. A coffee mug, a telephone, a few books. No camera. He got up and looked around the room, trying to find one. Maybe even a recording device. This was a joke, and he needed to get back to work. “I know what you’re thinking Death,” Gabriel said to him. “This isn’t something I would usually ask you, but, well, we’ve run into a problem of sorts. So, the Boss has been away for a little vacation with his son. You know him, always complaining about not seeing his dad ever. Anyways, they’ve been out of town, and I couldn’t really hold down the fort like he expected me to.” Gabriel twiddled his thumbs. He met Death’s glare for a moment, and quickly turned away. “So, I just need you to stop killing people for a bit.” “And help them live?” Death asked. His voice was filled with surprise and annoyance. “That’s not my job Gabe. That’s like asking you to kill someone. You know you can’t do it.” “Well, we’ve never been in this situation before. Look, you know what the boss is going to say if he gets back and finds us in this situation. He’ll kick us both out. We’ll be done for. He can make new helpers. We have to combine forces for a bit, Death.” Gabriel was pleading for his help. Death couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “And how would I help with this, Gabe? Everything I touch dies.” “See, that’s how you can help.” Gabriel said. “They need food. Kill a deer or two near their camps and place them in traps for them. They need to avoid some of the more vicious animals, like bears, lions or wolves. So maybe you could bring the souls of some of those guys back to me? Just make their lives a little bit easier, you know? By killing things.” Death sat back down at Gabriel’s desk, thinking. This didn’t seem so bad to him. Taking souls could get old after several millennia. This was very different from what he was used to. And Death felt he could use a change. “You know what Gabe? I’ll do it. I’ll save some humans for you. But look, I want a better office, okay? I mean, it’s kind of bland in there.” “Done.” “And I need a coffee machine too alright? I get tired too, you ever think of that?” “Okay, done.” “And some vacation days now and then. And a raise. And be generous with it, or I might start giving out hugs to some villagers.” Gabriel shook his head, muttering “You got it, Death.”	"Ah, shit. Shit." Death muttered, wiping the dirt and dust off his cloak. "Ah, fuck." He exclaimed, nearly hitting a building. "Jesus, I really need to talk to the big man about these flight controls.." He said, making a series of quick turns. "Alright. Let's see.." Death whispered to himself, going through an endless list. "Hyrell Nuclear Power." He said, looking up from the list and quickly parking in what remained of the area. After he had exited his vehicle, he wasted no time getting to the front door of the building. "HEY! HEY! YOU!" Death screamed in an echoing, gravelly voice. The small group of survivors quickly turned around, with the leader firing a short burst of bullets at him in fear. Death stopped, and looked at his torn cloak. "Oh. Nice. Thanks, shithead." He said, staring at the leader with his empty sockets. The leader managed to put a sentence together. "W-who..who are you?" Death rolled his nonexistent eyes. "Seriously? You can't tell?" He said, motioning towards himself. "Cloak of darkness, skeleton, voice of a demon? Big ass scythe?!" The leader lowered his gun. "N-no.." the leader spoke. Death sighed. "I'M DEATH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He quickly exclaimed, his voice booming. "Christ.." Death muttered, holding his forehead. "Alright, you shitskulls. I'm here to save you." He said, rage in his voice. "You retards thought it would be a great idea to run into a nuclear power plant that hasn't been maintained for a couple of years. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, because your dumb machines would take care of the situation. But, because some fucking survivor came and stole all of the water, which means there's no coolant. The worker robots, knowing this, have to cool down the plant. They decide to use the liquid nitrogen inside of them. But, because of the fact that liquid nitrogen is the shittiest coolant ever, it produces toxic gas and barely cools it down. So that means hundreds of bots are gone each day, and the toxic gas is all over the plant. Oh, and the plant is going to melt down today." The group stared at him. "How do you know all this?" An old man asked. "Because I'm fucking death." Death said, little flickers of flame in the corners of his sockets. "Anyway, stay out of the goddamn plant." He said, pointing at the building. A young child popped out of the small crowd. "Why are you helping us, mister?" She asked, head tilted to the side. Death put his hands in his pockets. "Eh, because ^I'd^lose^my^job." The crowd quickly looked at each other in confusion. "What?" The leader asked. Death kicked a rock. "Cause I'd l^o^s^e^my^job.." He muttered. The leader yelled. "Just cut the shit!" Death looked up. "I'D LOSE MY JOB!" Death yelled back. The group started to get angry. "So you just care about yourself?" Someone yelled from the crowd. "Yeah, I do." Death said. "Well that's a dick move!" They yelled again. "YOU KNOW YOUR MOM WENT TO HELL BECAUSE SHE KICKED DOGS, RIGHT?!" Death screamed at the mystery man. "Anyway. You fuckwits need to head to New York. Mass graves there. I can bring some back to life, and you can fuck and save humanity." The leader stood there, face in hand. "You know New York is hundreds of miles away? And that the path is full of mutants and monsters?" Death nodded. "Well, then you'll need an escort. The scythe isn't just for show, pal." Death said, spinning the scythe. "Man, I fuckin' love doing that." The leader turned back towards the crowd. "Well, you heard him. Let's get going." The leader said, motioning for the group to follow. Their journey had begun. "Is no one going to mention the fact that we're going to fuck dead people?" Asked a passerby. Made by /u/Nuclear-Sloth Sequels done by popular request Subreddit coming soon!
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	Death’s job had gotten quite stale the last thousand years or so. In the early days of humanity, he made it a game, taking the form of a pretty lady or a crying baby to lead someone away, into the woods or towards a desert where he would take them back to their maker. Of course, doing this for thousands of years was a little much, even for Death. He had become much more orderly, requesting an office and a staff to compile a list of those he needed to bring in that day. He had seen every way a human could be killed, and had brought all their souls back with him. For a while his job had gotten very hectic. Radiation, famine, war, disease, all of this was making his job Hell. It wasn’t his job to ask questions, just to take souls, and he continued to do his job dutifully. Worrying about living wasn’t his problem. “Death, I need you to come see me in my office today,” Death heard over the intercom. Great, he thought. Gabe and his damn micromanaging. Death got up from his cushy office chair, and looked at his phone. 8:30. In other words, too early. He turned off the screen, and caught his own reflection in it. He was looking especially bony lately, it seemed to him. After examining the definition of his cheekbones for a bit, Death headed out the door to meet with Gabe up on the 6th floor. Death came in without a knock, and eased into one of the chairs in front of Gabriel. Gabriel’s office was lavish, a perk of being the Boss’s secretary. The ceiling had been decorated by the soul of Michelangelo himself. Beautiful rugs were laid together, covering the floor. A couple of Gabriel’s greatest achievements were shown off in paintings on the walls. “You’ve lost that spring in your step, huh Death?” Gabriel asked, smiling. Gabriel was a good looking guy, or at least this persona of him was. He usually took the form of a young man, wearing a nice, tucked in light-blue button down, and dark blue dress pants. His blonde hair was parted in the middle and tucked away behind his ears. “Well anyways, I asked you to come so we could talk about work. You know, you’ve brought in a lot of souls lately.” “Well, yes, there’s a lot people,” was Death’ s response. “Well, there were a lot of people,” Gabriel said. “So we need to talk about your job for a bit. You think you could, well, help people for a bit? Keep them alive instead of taking their souls?” Death gave a tight-lipped smile that showed no friendliness. He leaned forward and looked at the things on Gabriel’s desk. A coffee mug, a telephone, a few books. No camera. He got up and looked around the room, trying to find one. Maybe even a recording device. This was a joke, and he needed to get back to work. “I know what you’re thinking Death,” Gabriel said to him. “This isn’t something I would usually ask you, but, well, we’ve run into a problem of sorts. So, the Boss has been away for a little vacation with his son. You know him, always complaining about not seeing his dad ever. Anyways, they’ve been out of town, and I couldn’t really hold down the fort like he expected me to.” Gabriel twiddled his thumbs. He met Death’s glare for a moment, and quickly turned away. “So, I just need you to stop killing people for a bit.” “And help them live?” Death asked. His voice was filled with surprise and annoyance. “That’s not my job Gabe. That’s like asking you to kill someone. You know you can’t do it.” “Well, we’ve never been in this situation before. Look, you know what the boss is going to say if he gets back and finds us in this situation. He’ll kick us both out. We’ll be done for. He can make new helpers. We have to combine forces for a bit, Death.” Gabriel was pleading for his help. Death couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “And how would I help with this, Gabe? Everything I touch dies.” “See, that’s how you can help.” Gabriel said. “They need food. Kill a deer or two near their camps and place them in traps for them. They need to avoid some of the more vicious animals, like bears, lions or wolves. So maybe you could bring the souls of some of those guys back to me? Just make their lives a little bit easier, you know? By killing things.” Death sat back down at Gabriel’s desk, thinking. This didn’t seem so bad to him. Taking souls could get old after several millennia. This was very different from what he was used to. And Death felt he could use a change. “You know what Gabe? I’ll do it. I’ll save some humans for you. But look, I want a better office, okay? I mean, it’s kind of bland in there.” “Done.” “And I need a coffee machine too alright? I get tired too, you ever think of that?” “Okay, done.” “And some vacation days now and then. And a raise. And be generous with it, or I might start giving out hugs to some villagers.” Gabriel shook his head, muttering “You got it, Death.”	The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained. In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull. The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood. The chanting stopped. The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death. A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!" Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put that incantation in his little joke of a ritual book. "Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order." "But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-" "That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job." "My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart. Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave. "That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!" He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The ocean was calm. For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter. There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach. A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more. The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay. Oh, how it burned. Oh, how it all burned. But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life? It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie. How ironic it was. Life did go out with a bang. And here we were, whimpering. Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing. It'd have to find some way to entertain himself. It'd be here for some time.	The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained. In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull. The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood. The chanting stopped. The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death. A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!" Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put that incantation in his little joke of a ritual book. "Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order." "But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-" "That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job." "My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart. Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave. "That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!" He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Who are you?" Michael yelled at the approaching silhouette that seemed to be dragging itself through the spiralling cloud of red, desert dust, toward them. He raised a hand to his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at the figure - trying to decide if he should grab his little sister's hand and run far away from here, never turning, never looking back. But he knew they couldn't run. They'd probably die if they stayed, but he was certain they would die if they ran. It had been so long since they'd seen someone else - anyone else. He had thought they were the last. The figure was tall - even hunched over as it was, struggling to walk, Michael guessed it must have been at least seven foot. It clutched something long and curved in its right hand. "Michael, Cibby is scared," whispered Isabella, clutching her beloved, no-legged doll tightly in the crook of her good arm. Michael looked at his little sister, sighed, then crouched down until he was eye level with her. Sweat was pouring out from her burning forehead and dribbling down to her torn, lilac tee. It was a sweat that they couldn't replace; there was no water here. There seemed to be no water left on Earth. He gently ran the back of his fingers down Isabella's cheek. "Me too, Izzy. But we all need to be brave right now. Whoever is coming, we need their help. You're still not better - although, I'm sure you will be soon," he added, "and, well, we've not seen anyone since..." His voice trailed off as he thought of their parents. Isabella bit her lip, looked up at the swirling, tombstone sky above and nodded. "We'll be brave." "Good girl. Make sure you stay behind me, okay? Let me talk to him," Michael commanded, stepping in front of his sister. "And if... anything happens to me. Anything bad, I want you to run as fast as you can, back the way we came." Michael turned to face the approaching figure. He could now make out the ragged cloak that hung loose around the thin body; the pointed blade that trailed on the desert floor, biting into the earth as it dragged along. But he couldn't see the features of the face hidden in the brooding shadow of the hood. "Hello!" said Michael, raising a hand. The figure didn't respond; it continued trudging toward them. "We- we don't mean you harm. My sister's sick and we've not had water for-" Michael's mouth dropped open when he saw the skeletal feet poking out from the bottom of the cloak. "Oh, Jesus." Now he was ready to run. He'd rather die on the radiation plains, his skin peeling and his heart dripping, than let this monstrosity come any closer. But his curiosity had never been greater; it took hold of his body and froze it in place. "What the fuck are you?" he mouthed. The figure stopped a few feet from him. It tilted its head to the side, raised a bony hand to its face and peeled back its hood. "Oh, shit. Izzy," he said, as he reached behind him, fumbling for his sister's hand, "get ready to run. Okay?" "Pleaaase," came the terrible, pleading voice; it sounded as if it was being dragged through broken glass, as it rose up through the creature's throat. Isabella poked her head out from behind her brother. She gasped. "Pleaaase," came the voice again. The creature raised a hand, its fingers reaching toward them. Then, it collapsed onto its knees, its scythe dropping to the ground. "Let's go, okay sis?" said Michael, trying not to show the fear in his voice. "...we can't go. I think it needs our help," said Izzy. "It's in pain." "Izzy! What are you doing?" Michael hissed, as his sister slowly walked toward the creature, until she stood only a foot away from it. "My name is Izzy," she said, before bursting into a cough that ripped her throat and tore at her lungs. It took her a moment to recover; she wiped the blood from her lips onto her arm. "This - this is Cibby, and that's my brother Michael," said the girl. "We don't have any water, but we have a little food. Would you like some?" The creature stared at Izzy for a moment, before, with what looked like great effort, stretched a hand out toward her. "Don't!" shouted Michael, but it was too late. Izzy had already taken the pale hand in hers. It took only a second for her to fall limply to the ground, doll by her side. "Izzy!" Michael screamed, running toward his sister and skidding to the ground next to her. "Oh God, Izzy," he said, as snot and hot tears mixed in his mouth. Her eyes were shut and her chest was perfectly still. "Please don't be dead. Please please please." He shook her gently at first, then more firmly, then urgently. But his sister didn't respond. She didn't move. Michael picked up Izzy's doll, and placed it into her limp, open hand. Then, he buried his head into her chest and wept. The cloaked figured slowly got back to its feet. It bent down and picked up its scythe. "What did you do to her, you- you monster!" Michael asked, his voice trembling as he turned to the creature. "She was just a little girl and you-" He saw her left arm move first. The arm that hadn't moved since the mines. "What? Izzy?" Her eyes slowly opened. The trace of a smile curved over her lips. "Izzy!" he repeated through sobs and laughter. "Oh God, Izzy, you're alive. Please - please, don't ever do that to me again." He kissed her cheeks a dozen times, and her forehead nearer a hundred, before hugging her tightly. "He... he made me better," she said, as her brother finally released her, raising her neck and looking up at the creature. Michael stared anew at the cloaked figure. It looked stronger now. Taller, too. It took Michael a few moments to be able to whisper: "thank you." The creature nodded, before lifting his scythe high into the air. "What are you..." The creature brought the instrument down fiercely, tip first, burying it deep into the dry earth. A fountain of clear liquid erupted from the hole as he withdrew it. It didn't take long for a soft blanket of grass to begin sprouting underneath Izzy, quickly spreading out as if it was a puddle of water. It didn't take long for her to find the first tulip that had grown in a hundred years. Then, the first apple tree. Izzy whispered to her brother and pressed something into his hands. When the cloaked figure was finally satisfied by the sparkling oasis, he pointed a finger toward Michael and gestured for him to step forward. He did so. "My sister wanted you to have this," Michael said, offering out a hand. Death paused for a moment, unsure, before reaching out and taking the doll. He looked at it curiously, turning it over twice. Then, he dropped it into a deep, dark pocket on the side of his cloak. "There are others," he said, in a soft rumble. "Only a few. You must bring them here." "How - how will I find them?" "You will," it replied. "She will be safe, here. Nothing evil can step foot into my garden." It turned and took three steps away from him, before pausing. "I will see you again, someday," it whispered, not quite loud enough for Izzy to hear. Then, it continued its slow walk into the dancing dust of the desert. "Thank you," Michael whispered, as the figure drifted out of sight. --- more on /r/nickofnight	The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained. In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull. The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood. The chanting stopped. The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death. A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!" Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put that incantation in his little joke of a ritual book. "Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order." "But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-" "That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job." "My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart. Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave. "That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!" He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor.
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	The ocean was calm. For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter. There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach. A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more. The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay. Oh, how it burned. Oh, how it all burned. But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life? It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie. How ironic it was. Life did go out with a bang. And here we were, whimpering. Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing. It'd have to find some way to entertain himself. It'd be here for some time.	"No! You...can't die!" The man with the scythe found the words hard to utter. Never before had I thought that he would wish people life instead of death. But at last, one had to realize that death is but a finite resources if too few were around to renew it. The first few, the most disheartened and pessimistic of the bunch must be dealt with early to prevent morale dipping. But convincing the desperate to turn towards life was a task more difficult than Death imagined. Didn't everyone seek life? Apparently not. "I've nothing to live for! Everyone I know is dead. I have no more hope to find," said one, a particularly ragged young man, his eyes despondent and lacking its usual youthful lustre. Death knew that look: It usually heralded his coming and his duty. But it slowly chipped away at the pitiful courage that he still possessed. How could he convince them to live if they didn't want to? A sudden epiphany struck him. "You can live for...a new generation! A new Earth! New colonies!" Death said, throwing around the words as if they were diamonds. But the thought of being such a historically significant figure was at the least an interesting thought. He could see the perked interest amongst the crowd. To sweeten the deal, he added, "You are failing Humanity now if you die. Millions of children from the future will die if you are reckless." He knew he had won them over, the idealistic scoundrels. He never wanted to give such a speech and offer such great rewards, but for the business it was necessary. Souls were money, and the running out of sustainable currency...horrifying. Suddenly, a spectral servant approached the Grim Reaper, bearing a message from their scouts. The Reaper read it, and laughed aloud. New colonies of other organisms had just been found. And they were rapidly multiplying. Death smiled, then prepared to leave instantly. Letting another Reaper take control of a planet so valuable would be costly. But the looks in the humans' eyes were now of hope, of aspirations. Death cast a single glance, thinking about the potential benefit they brought. Unworthy of my effort, he assessed. With a wave of his hand, he vanished, as the humans resigned themselves to a fate they had briefly rejected. Death always had business somewhere. ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! Edit: [Part 2!](https://redd.it/6t1k68)
	[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.	"Who are you?" Michael yelled at the approaching silhouette that seemed to be dragging itself through the spiralling cloud of red, desert dust, toward them. He raised a hand to his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at the figure - trying to decide if he should grab his little sister's hand and run far away from here, never turning, never looking back. But he knew they couldn't run. They'd probably die if they stayed, but he was certain they would die if they ran. It had been so long since they'd seen someone else - anyone else. He had thought they were the last. The figure was tall - even hunched over as it was, struggling to walk, Michael guessed it must have been at least seven foot. It clutched something long and curved in its right hand. "Michael, Cibby is scared," whispered Isabella, clutching her beloved, no-legged doll tightly in the crook of her good arm. Michael looked at his little sister, sighed, then crouched down until he was eye level with her. Sweat was pouring out from her burning forehead and dribbling down to her torn, lilac tee. It was a sweat that they couldn't replace; there was no water here. There seemed to be no water left on Earth. He gently ran the back of his fingers down Isabella's cheek. "Me too, Izzy. But we all need to be brave right now. Whoever is coming, we need their help. You're still not better - although, I'm sure you will be soon," he added, "and, well, we've not seen anyone since..." His voice trailed off as he thought of their parents. Isabella bit her lip, looked up at the swirling, tombstone sky above and nodded. "We'll be brave." "Good girl. Make sure you stay behind me, okay? Let me talk to him," Michael commanded, stepping in front of his sister. "And if... anything happens to me. Anything bad, I want you to run as fast as you can, back the way we came." Michael turned to face the approaching figure. He could now make out the ragged cloak that hung loose around the thin body; the pointed blade that trailed on the desert floor, biting into the earth as it dragged along. But he couldn't see the features of the face hidden in the brooding shadow of the hood. "Hello!" said Michael, raising a hand. The figure didn't respond; it continued trudging toward them. "We- we don't mean you harm. My sister's sick and we've not had water for-" Michael's mouth dropped open when he saw the skeletal feet poking out from the bottom of the cloak. "Oh, Jesus." Now he was ready to run. He'd rather die on the radiation plains, his skin peeling and his heart dripping, than let this monstrosity come any closer. But his curiosity had never been greater; it took hold of his body and froze it in place. "What the fuck are you?" he mouthed. The figure stopped a few feet from him. It tilted its head to the side, raised a bony hand to its face and peeled back its hood. "Oh, shit. Izzy," he said, as he reached behind him, fumbling for his sister's hand, "get ready to run. Okay?" "Pleaaase," came the terrible, pleading voice; it sounded as if it was being dragged through broken glass, as it rose up through the creature's throat. Isabella poked her head out from behind her brother. She gasped. "Pleaaase," came the voice again. The creature raised a hand, its fingers reaching toward them. Then, it collapsed onto its knees, its scythe dropping to the ground. "Let's go, okay sis?" said Michael, trying not to show the fear in his voice. "...we can't go. I think it needs our help," said Izzy. "It's in pain." "Izzy! What are you doing?" Michael hissed, as his sister slowly walked toward the creature, until she stood only a foot away from it. "My name is Izzy," she said, before bursting into a cough that ripped her throat and tore at her lungs. It took her a moment to recover; she wiped the blood from her lips onto her arm. "This - this is Cibby, and that's my brother Michael," said the girl. "We don't have any water, but we have a little food. Would you like some?" The creature stared at Izzy for a moment, before, with what looked like great effort, stretched a hand out toward her. "Don't!" shouted Michael, but it was too late. Izzy had already taken the pale hand in hers. It took only a second for her to fall limply to the ground, doll by her side. "Izzy!" Michael screamed, running toward his sister and skidding to the ground next to her. "Oh God, Izzy," he said, as snot and hot tears mixed in his mouth. Her eyes were shut and her chest was perfectly still. "Please don't be dead. Please please please." He shook her gently at first, then more firmly, then urgently. But his sister didn't respond. She didn't move. Michael picked up Izzy's doll, and placed it into her limp, open hand. Then, he buried his head into her chest and wept. The cloaked figured slowly got back to its feet. It bent down and picked up its scythe. "What did you do to her, you- you monster!" Michael asked, his voice trembling as he turned to the creature. "She was just a little girl and you-" He saw her left arm move first. The arm that hadn't moved since the mines. "What? Izzy?" Her eyes slowly opened. The trace of a smile curved over her lips. "Izzy!" he repeated through sobs and laughter. "Oh God, Izzy, you're alive. Please - please, don't ever do that to me again." He kissed her cheeks a dozen times, and her forehead nearer a hundred, before hugging her tightly. "He... he made me better," she said, as her brother finally released her, raising her neck and looking up at the creature. Michael stared anew at the cloaked figure. It looked stronger now. Taller, too. It took Michael a few moments to be able to whisper: "thank you." The creature nodded, before lifting his scythe high into the air. "What are you..." The creature brought the instrument down fiercely, tip first, burying it deep into the dry earth. A fountain of clear liquid erupted from the hole as he withdrew it. It didn't take long for a soft blanket of grass to begin sprouting underneath Izzy, quickly spreading out as if it was a puddle of water. It didn't take long for her to find the first tulip that had grown in a hundred years. Then, the first apple tree. Izzy whispered to her brother and pressed something into his hands. When the cloaked figure was finally satisfied by the sparkling oasis, he pointed a finger toward Michael and gestured for him to step forward. He did so. "My sister wanted you to have this," Michael said, offering out a hand. Death paused for a moment, unsure, before reaching out and taking the doll. He looked at it curiously, turning it over twice. Then, he dropped it into a deep, dark pocket on the side of his cloak. "There are others," he said, in a soft rumble. "Only a few. You must bring them here." "How - how will I find them?" "You will," it replied. "She will be safe, here. Nothing evil can step foot into my garden." It turned and took three steps away from him, before pausing. "I will see you again, someday," it whispered, not quite loud enough for Izzy to hear. Then, it continued its slow walk into the dancing dust of the desert. "Thank you," Michael whispered, as the figure drifted out of sight. --- more on /r/nickofnight	"No! You...can't die!" The man with the scythe found the words hard to utter. Never before had I thought that he would wish people life instead of death. But at last, one had to realize that death is but a finite resources if too few were around to renew it. The first few, the most disheartened and pessimistic of the bunch must be dealt with early to prevent morale dipping. But convincing the desperate to turn towards life was a task more difficult than Death imagined. Didn't everyone seek life? Apparently not. "I've nothing to live for! Everyone I know is dead. I have no more hope to find," said one, a particularly ragged young man, his eyes despondent and lacking its usual youthful lustre. Death knew that look: It usually heralded his coming and his duty. But it slowly chipped away at the pitiful courage that he still possessed. How could he convince them to live if they didn't want to? A sudden epiphany struck him. "You can live for...a new generation! A new Earth! New colonies!" Death said, throwing around the words as if they were diamonds. But the thought of being such a historically significant figure was at the least an interesting thought. He could see the perked interest amongst the crowd. To sweeten the deal, he added, "You are failing Humanity now if you die. Millions of children from the future will die if you are reckless." He knew he had won them over, the idealistic scoundrels. He never wanted to give such a speech and offer such great rewards, but for the business it was necessary. Souls were money, and the running out of sustainable currency...horrifying. Suddenly, a spectral servant approached the Grim Reaper, bearing a message from their scouts. The Reaper read it, and laughed aloud. New colonies of other organisms had just been found. And they were rapidly multiplying. Death smiled, then prepared to leave instantly. Letting another Reaper take control of a planet so valuable would be costly. But the looks in the humans' eyes were now of hope, of aspirations. Death cast a single glance, thinking about the potential benefit they brought. Unworthy of my effort, he assessed. With a wave of his hand, he vanished, as the humans resigned themselves to a fate they had briefly rejected. Death always had business somewhere. ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! Edit: [Part 2!](https://redd.it/6t1k68)
	[WP] Everyone in the world has fallen asleep apart from you. There doesn't seem to be any way to wake everyone up.	It had been months since I had spoken to another person. Well, a real person. I did have voices in my head sometimes saying nonsensical things and sentences I couldn’t even make out. I was walking through the park again. It was eerily silent. No birds, no wind to rustle the leaves of the trees, the people though, that was the scariest thing of all the first time I stepped outside all those months ago. They were frozen in place, like time had stopped for everyone except me. You could still see them breathing however, so it was more like they had fallen asleep in odd positions. That first day I had run the entirety of the town, screaming, crying, trying to move people and wake them but nothing I tried succeeded. I could tell it was getting to me. Every now and again I would catch myself talking to no one in particular, and think I was hearing responses from somewhere. A voice in my head was so clear and had made an appearance every day. No matter how much I tried to silence it, to not feel crazy, nothing worked. I had even broken into the pharmacy at one stage and taken a variety of pills, none of which had any effect on that voice. Today was different however. That voice was clearer than ever. I could tell it was male, even through the trembling of the voice. He was crying. I could almost feel the tears on my face. Wait, I did feel something on my face. It was rain. There hadn’t been a weather change in months. I ran for cover, still thinking I heard the crying man. Listening to him, my heart starting to pound and I wanted so badly to hold him in my arms. I was so confused. This wasn’t real, this voice was a lie. Why was I reacting this way? I realised even I had begun crying, tears streaming down my face as hard as the rain around me. I wanted to scream at the voice to stop but I also wanted to be gentler and nicer. Hold him and tell him everything was okay, things would be better. The voice started to make sense through both our tears. “Jenny, please. Don’t do this, don’t leave me,” the crying man pleaded, “Not like this please.” Jenny… That name sounded familiar. “You have to wake up. It’s not fair!” The man shouted, “We’re supposed to get married and cause so much more mischief together, not this.” I had to clutch my chest as my heart felt like it had just had a knife pierce through. These words were starting to mean something to me. “I have the ring right here see?” I felt the ghost of something slide onto my finger, “We both already knew you’d say yes. We promised each other we weren’t leaving, didn’t we? So why are you breaking it!” With a scream, I remembered everything about myself and what had happened. I was the one asleep. The man… he was my everything. I didn’t want to leave him. -- All I could hear through the darkness was beeps and hums of machinery. I must have passed out or something. My eyes felt heavy and hard to open but I knew I had to. I felt my hand in someone else’s, I tried to move it. “Oh my god, nurse!” I heard someone shout, the grip on my hand getting tighter, “Come on Jenny please be waking up.” With a new motivation at hearing the voice, I opened them as much as I could and stared into the eyes of the most important person in my life. “No way in Hell am I breaking my promise to you,” I croaked out as we both ended up in a mess of tears, kisses, and hugs. -- -- This has been my first attempt in a pretty long time at writing again so I hope you guys like it! My boyfriend (/u/IrSpeshul) and I decided to try and go with the same theme and I hope my version works just as well as his poem! Open to feedback and anything to help me improve in future.	They were all asleep, I’d hoped not forever. Without missing a beat, I checked on my lover. Everyone was asleep, collapsed where they stood. Their bodies on the paths, I’d tried all I could. They were all asleep, on the floor of my home. My wife, my sons, I was all alone. They were all asleep, neighbours and all. I felt my mind start again to fall. They were all asleep, and would be tomorrow. It repeats every day. I feel just so hollow. I offered a prayer... Please let me leave this nightmare. --- He’s still asleep. We hoped not forever. I’d cried into the sheet. I missed my lover. -- -- So another poem I've made - It's pretty average in my opinion but I kinda wanted to do that recurring line for once. My girlfriend's following up this story with a short story that she'll hopefully post soon, as we often do and are getting back into. You can see other stuff her and I write on /r/TheBirdAndTheLioness -- until then, eager to hear feedback as I'm enjoying writing poems as a short way to tell a story simply because my attention span's pretty limited lately.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	To: James Halper <halper@doublecorp.com> From: Kate Corman <corman@doublecorp.com> Subject: Livestock in the server room Hi James, I've been getting complaints about people hearing goats bleating in the server room, and blood stains on the floor. I'm not sure what's going on here but we don't allow animals in the building. Cut it out. Thanks, Kate ____ To: Kate Corman <corman@doublecorp.com> From: James Halper <halper@doublecorp.com> Subject: RE: Livestock in the server room Hi Kate, I can explain. Look, a few months ago we had a little problem here. Drive failures, lost half the database. Remote backup was going to take forever -- some issue at SuperCloudy -- but we found a book in here with some instructions and decided, well, we'll try anything. Anyway, it was tough sneaking a goat in and getting the ritual circle set up. Shen was kinda nervous about it, but once we got Snotfeast summoned he recovered all the data, got everything running again, and even managed some upgrades. Anyway, since then he's become indispensable. We didn't want to bother you about it but, really, it's handy to have the guy around. He's done all kinds of stuff, rescuing drives we thought were torched, fended off some big attacks, caught so many bugs. Can't do our job without him, and he doesn't ask for anything really. So, um, could you give us a budget for goats and candles? At this point it's kind of essential to keep everything at 100% uptime. Promise we'll keep it on the downlow. Thanks, Jim	"So you're telling me the goats' heads in those pentagrams are keeping our servers up" said my boss, Mr. Raja, his moustache twitching slightly as he said it. "Yes, sir" I replied meekly. I shift my glance around the room. Clean, simple and straightforward with not a string loose in his room. The more I look, the more I wonder how he is going to take the news. "Those bloodied carcasses just rotting away, somehow, someway, is helping our servers' uptime." "That is correct, sir." Silence filled the room, with only the ticking of the clock providing a faint background noise. Mr. Raja glared at me with a look of disbelief. I can tell he is expecting me to come clean, that I'm a Satanist or that I'm just a sick bastard with a penchant for bloodied goat heads. Unfortunately the truth is a lot simpler, albeit a lot more... unexpected. Nothing most people can't handle though, right? "Look, Mr. Raja, I don't usually like to point fingers. But I may have identified the reason why the servers require these... new arrangements to be made" I swallowed hard, my discomfort obvious to him. "You see sir, during last week's server outage, some... things may have been said by someone that some party may have heard and aren't happy of." "Damn them to hell, is it those Netroad guys? My comments were meant to be confidential!" roared Mr. Raja. Of course, it's not as petty as a company squabble. "No sir, it has nothing to do with Netroad. It was... you, sir." I looked Mr. Raja in the eye as I said it. It's best to appear confident when you're blaming them for weekly goat sacrifices in a server room that have been going on for nearly a month. "What on earth could I have possible said to anger anyone?" said Mr. Raja defensively. Well, a lot. But that's an issue for another time. "Sir, are you a pious person?" "You're testing my faith right now as you speak." "I take that as a no?" "I am not. Get to the point." "Well, do you remember what exactly you said in the server room?" said I. Mr. Raja paused. Something clicked. His face changed to reflect the state of enlightenment he is in. Enlightened at the fact that he has fucked up. "Oh my god." Rewind. "You cock licking sons of bitches!" screamed Mr. Raja as he kicked the server racks. The sounds that were present could be classified as 'unsavoury noises' to the typical I.T. guy. "To hell with these fucking servers! Let them burn in hellfire! I hope hell loves a good outage!" A soft rumble could be felt.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	"OK, so, you remember the Sharepoint project that got dropped on us a couple months ago?" "I do." "Well it was a big rush, right, they had to have it ASAP? So we called up Dell and HP and everyone else we could think of, and it was going to be two week min to get some servers in." "I do remember you telling me that. Why was that again?" "RAM shortages. Factory in China got flooded." "Right. OK continue, but....I'm sorry but could someone go ahead and finish killing the one over there that's bleating?" "Sure, Jerry's on it. Anyway, no one could get us a server, but we finally managed to find a vendor with some in stock. Never used them before, websites a little sketchy, but the VP is down here every hour asking if the Sharepoint server is up yet, so we go ahead and place the order." "And they shipped you goats instead of servers?" "No, we got servers, but they didn't ship with any cooling fans on the processors or in the chassis." "All right..." "Well we threw on some spare fans we had, made them fit as best we could, but they were these weird motherboards with non-standard connectors, so none of the fans or heat sinks were fitting properly, and we were getting some overheat issues. Lockups, etc." "Is this going to take much longer? Someone from HR was threatening to call PETA." "Almost done. We tried externally cooling by leaving the cases off, cranking down the AC, getting some oscillating fans in here, but nothing was working. So finally someone hit on the idea of liquid cooling. Getting some copper tubing, bending it into a custom-shaped heat sink, and the additional liquid flow would hopefully be enough to make the difference." "OK..." "Water is what liquid cooling systems are designed to use, but for whatever reason that wasn't doing the trick. Things were better, but we were still getting lockups. So we started researching other fluids that have good thermo-transfer properties..." "Oh my...don't tell me..." "Look I don't know the reason, but every source we could find talked about goats blood being ideal for this purpose. Apparently it's common enough in Eastern Europe that goats blood is available off the shelf in some computer parts stores. I can show you the websites." "This can't be true. You've fallen for some elaborate internet hoax." "It's working." "Beg pardon?" "Here's the Sharepoint site, up and running. The servers have been a rock for 36 hours and counting. Our thermal readings on the processors are so low, we're thinking about using it for all our servers and cutting back on the AC bill." "Fine, but it looks like a damn slaughterhou....IT IS A DAMN SLAUGHTERHOUSE IN HERE!" "I know, we were in a rush. Going forward we would obviously find a goats blood supplier. Or maybe ask Facilities if they could..." "NO! Look, guys, I appreciate the effort here to get Sharepoint up and running, but this is maybe a step too far, OK? I mean, all they want to do is setup an idea collaboration site for the annual off-site meetings! It could have waited another couple weeks for an HP ProLiant! Or AWS if nothing else!" "..........oh. So, we're not interested in savings on the server room AC?" "If you think you could get similar performance with liquid cooling, using a normal liquid, we'll talk. But not goat's blood, OK?" "OK. What should we do with the Sharepoint site?" "Jeez....Clean up this mess, and I guess let it run for now, until we can get some regular servers in. I assume that server isn't going to be spurting blood or whatever?" "No, it's all self contained now." "Good. OK, again, clean this, up, can't stress that enough. Don't...don't let anyone see this, OK? If word of this ever gets out to the public..." "Don't worry, sir. We'll protect Hobby Lobby's good name."	"So you're telling me the goats' heads in those pentagrams are keeping our servers up" said my boss, Mr. Raja, his moustache twitching slightly as he said it. "Yes, sir" I replied meekly. I shift my glance around the room. Clean, simple and straightforward with not a string loose in his room. The more I look, the more I wonder how he is going to take the news. "Those bloodied carcasses just rotting away, somehow, someway, is helping our servers' uptime." "That is correct, sir." Silence filled the room, with only the ticking of the clock providing a faint background noise. Mr. Raja glared at me with a look of disbelief. I can tell he is expecting me to come clean, that I'm a Satanist or that I'm just a sick bastard with a penchant for bloodied goat heads. Unfortunately the truth is a lot simpler, albeit a lot more... unexpected. Nothing most people can't handle though, right? "Look, Mr. Raja, I don't usually like to point fingers. But I may have identified the reason why the servers require these... new arrangements to be made" I swallowed hard, my discomfort obvious to him. "You see sir, during last week's server outage, some... things may have been said by someone that some party may have heard and aren't happy of." "Damn them to hell, is it those Netroad guys? My comments were meant to be confidential!" roared Mr. Raja. Of course, it's not as petty as a company squabble. "No sir, it has nothing to do with Netroad. It was... you, sir." I looked Mr. Raja in the eye as I said it. It's best to appear confident when you're blaming them for weekly goat sacrifices in a server room that have been going on for nearly a month. "What on earth could I have possible said to anger anyone?" said Mr. Raja defensively. Well, a lot. But that's an issue for another time. "Sir, are you a pious person?" "You're testing my faith right now as you speak." "I take that as a no?" "I am not. Get to the point." "Well, do you remember what exactly you said in the server room?" said I. Mr. Raja paused. Something clicked. His face changed to reflect the state of enlightenment he is in. Enlightened at the fact that he has fucked up. "Oh my god." Rewind. "You cock licking sons of bitches!" screamed Mr. Raja as he kicked the server racks. The sounds that were present could be classified as 'unsavoury noises' to the typical I.T. guy. "To hell with these fucking servers! Let them burn in hellfire! I hope hell loves a good outage!" A soft rumble could be felt.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	To: James Halper <halper@doublecorp.com> From: Kate Corman <corman@doublecorp.com> Subject: Livestock in the server room Hi James, I've been getting complaints about people hearing goats bleating in the server room, and blood stains on the floor. I'm not sure what's going on here but we don't allow animals in the building. Cut it out. Thanks, Kate ____ To: Kate Corman <corman@doublecorp.com> From: James Halper <halper@doublecorp.com> Subject: RE: Livestock in the server room Hi Kate, I can explain. Look, a few months ago we had a little problem here. Drive failures, lost half the database. Remote backup was going to take forever -- some issue at SuperCloudy -- but we found a book in here with some instructions and decided, well, we'll try anything. Anyway, it was tough sneaking a goat in and getting the ritual circle set up. Shen was kinda nervous about it, but once we got Snotfeast summoned he recovered all the data, got everything running again, and even managed some upgrades. Anyway, since then he's become indispensable. We didn't want to bother you about it but, really, it's handy to have the guy around. He's done all kinds of stuff, rescuing drives we thought were torched, fended off some big attacks, caught so many bugs. Can't do our job without him, and he doesn't ask for anything really. So, um, could you give us a budget for goats and candles? At this point it's kind of essential to keep everything at 100% uptime. Promise we'll keep it on the downlow. Thanks, Jim	Goat blood on the tiled floor, the animal's corpse on the metal table. The boss walks in, his expression shifting into utter horror: "Charles... What the fuck happened here?" Charles' demeanor devolved into panic in it's purest form. "B-boss, you weren't supposed to see this!" "Why are you sacrificing goats in the server room?!" "Well, how the hell else do you think the work gets done?"
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	"OK, so, you remember the Sharepoint project that got dropped on us a couple months ago?" "I do." "Well it was a big rush, right, they had to have it ASAP? So we called up Dell and HP and everyone else we could think of, and it was going to be two week min to get some servers in." "I do remember you telling me that. Why was that again?" "RAM shortages. Factory in China got flooded." "Right. OK continue, but....I'm sorry but could someone go ahead and finish killing the one over there that's bleating?" "Sure, Jerry's on it. Anyway, no one could get us a server, but we finally managed to find a vendor with some in stock. Never used them before, websites a little sketchy, but the VP is down here every hour asking if the Sharepoint server is up yet, so we go ahead and place the order." "And they shipped you goats instead of servers?" "No, we got servers, but they didn't ship with any cooling fans on the processors or in the chassis." "All right..." "Well we threw on some spare fans we had, made them fit as best we could, but they were these weird motherboards with non-standard connectors, so none of the fans or heat sinks were fitting properly, and we were getting some overheat issues. Lockups, etc." "Is this going to take much longer? Someone from HR was threatening to call PETA." "Almost done. We tried externally cooling by leaving the cases off, cranking down the AC, getting some oscillating fans in here, but nothing was working. So finally someone hit on the idea of liquid cooling. Getting some copper tubing, bending it into a custom-shaped heat sink, and the additional liquid flow would hopefully be enough to make the difference." "OK..." "Water is what liquid cooling systems are designed to use, but for whatever reason that wasn't doing the trick. Things were better, but we were still getting lockups. So we started researching other fluids that have good thermo-transfer properties..." "Oh my...don't tell me..." "Look I don't know the reason, but every source we could find talked about goats blood being ideal for this purpose. Apparently it's common enough in Eastern Europe that goats blood is available off the shelf in some computer parts stores. I can show you the websites." "This can't be true. You've fallen for some elaborate internet hoax." "It's working." "Beg pardon?" "Here's the Sharepoint site, up and running. The servers have been a rock for 36 hours and counting. Our thermal readings on the processors are so low, we're thinking about using it for all our servers and cutting back on the AC bill." "Fine, but it looks like a damn slaughterhou....IT IS A DAMN SLAUGHTERHOUSE IN HERE!" "I know, we were in a rush. Going forward we would obviously find a goats blood supplier. Or maybe ask Facilities if they could..." "NO! Look, guys, I appreciate the effort here to get Sharepoint up and running, but this is maybe a step too far, OK? I mean, all they want to do is setup an idea collaboration site for the annual off-site meetings! It could have waited another couple weeks for an HP ProLiant! Or AWS if nothing else!" "..........oh. So, we're not interested in savings on the server room AC?" "If you think you could get similar performance with liquid cooling, using a normal liquid, we'll talk. But not goat's blood, OK?" "OK. What should we do with the Sharepoint site?" "Jeez....Clean up this mess, and I guess let it run for now, until we can get some regular servers in. I assume that server isn't going to be spurting blood or whatever?" "No, it's all self contained now." "Good. OK, again, clean this, up, can't stress that enough. Don't...don't let anyone see this, OK? If word of this ever gets out to the public..." "Don't worry, sir. We'll protect Hobby Lobby's good name."	Goat blood on the tiled floor, the animal's corpse on the metal table. The boss walks in, his expression shifting into utter horror: "Charles... What the fuck happened here?" Charles' demeanor devolved into panic in it's purest form. "B-boss, you weren't supposed to see this!" "Why are you sacrificing goats in the server room?!" "Well, how the hell else do you think the work gets done?"
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	Miles, the head of IT, looked from the dead goat that was covered in blood, to the arcane symbols painted in said blood on the door of server rack 4, back to the goat, and then over at his senior sysadmin. Steeling himself for the answer, he asked, "Alright Howard, let's hear it." "Rack 4 is our oldest servers, right?" he asked. Miles nodded, and Howard continued, "Well the servers in it are still using SCSI disks," as though that was all that needed to be said. "So?" asked Miles, "that's no reason to be performing black magic in the server room!" Howard laughed, making Miles frown. "What's so funny!" he demanded. "SCSI is not magic," replied Howard, "There are fundamental technical reasons why you have to sacrifice a young goat to your SCSI chain every now and then. You've just never been around when we've done it before." Howard turned around and continued the ritual while his boss stared, totally dumbfounded, before shaking his head and walking away muttering about SCSI and goats. Howard waited until he was gone, then started chuckling and cleaning up the mess. It had been a major gamble, and could still cost him his job, but one way or another he knew there would be budget approval to replace those old servers by the end of the week.	Goat blood on the tiled floor, the animal's corpse on the metal table. The boss walks in, his expression shifting into utter horror: "Charles... What the fuck happened here?" Charles' demeanor devolved into panic in it's purest form. "B-boss, you weren't supposed to see this!" "Why are you sacrificing goats in the server room?!" "Well, how the hell else do you think the work gets done?"
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	"OK, so, you remember the Sharepoint project that got dropped on us a couple months ago?" "I do." "Well it was a big rush, right, they had to have it ASAP? So we called up Dell and HP and everyone else we could think of, and it was going to be two week min to get some servers in." "I do remember you telling me that. Why was that again?" "RAM shortages. Factory in China got flooded." "Right. OK continue, but....I'm sorry but could someone go ahead and finish killing the one over there that's bleating?" "Sure, Jerry's on it. Anyway, no one could get us a server, but we finally managed to find a vendor with some in stock. Never used them before, websites a little sketchy, but the VP is down here every hour asking if the Sharepoint server is up yet, so we go ahead and place the order." "And they shipped you goats instead of servers?" "No, we got servers, but they didn't ship with any cooling fans on the processors or in the chassis." "All right..." "Well we threw on some spare fans we had, made them fit as best we could, but they were these weird motherboards with non-standard connectors, so none of the fans or heat sinks were fitting properly, and we were getting some overheat issues. Lockups, etc." "Is this going to take much longer? Someone from HR was threatening to call PETA." "Almost done. We tried externally cooling by leaving the cases off, cranking down the AC, getting some oscillating fans in here, but nothing was working. So finally someone hit on the idea of liquid cooling. Getting some copper tubing, bending it into a custom-shaped heat sink, and the additional liquid flow would hopefully be enough to make the difference." "OK..." "Water is what liquid cooling systems are designed to use, but for whatever reason that wasn't doing the trick. Things were better, but we were still getting lockups. So we started researching other fluids that have good thermo-transfer properties..." "Oh my...don't tell me..." "Look I don't know the reason, but every source we could find talked about goats blood being ideal for this purpose. Apparently it's common enough in Eastern Europe that goats blood is available off the shelf in some computer parts stores. I can show you the websites." "This can't be true. You've fallen for some elaborate internet hoax." "It's working." "Beg pardon?" "Here's the Sharepoint site, up and running. The servers have been a rock for 36 hours and counting. Our thermal readings on the processors are so low, we're thinking about using it for all our servers and cutting back on the AC bill." "Fine, but it looks like a damn slaughterhou....IT IS A DAMN SLAUGHTERHOUSE IN HERE!" "I know, we were in a rush. Going forward we would obviously find a goats blood supplier. Or maybe ask Facilities if they could..." "NO! Look, guys, I appreciate the effort here to get Sharepoint up and running, but this is maybe a step too far, OK? I mean, all they want to do is setup an idea collaboration site for the annual off-site meetings! It could have waited another couple weeks for an HP ProLiant! Or AWS if nothing else!" "..........oh. So, we're not interested in savings on the server room AC?" "If you think you could get similar performance with liquid cooling, using a normal liquid, we'll talk. But not goat's blood, OK?" "OK. What should we do with the Sharepoint site?" "Jeez....Clean up this mess, and I guess let it run for now, until we can get some regular servers in. I assume that server isn't going to be spurting blood or whatever?" "No, it's all self contained now." "Good. OK, again, clean this, up, can't stress that enough. Don't...don't let anyone see this, OK? If word of this ever gets out to the public..." "Don't worry, sir. We'll protect Hobby Lobby's good name."	"It can't be stopped sir. You don't know the power of Artificial intelligence." Proclaimed Julius. "If i see another goat in this fucking building it's your job." "I can't allow that." What a knucklehead. Boy's got more nerve than I thought. Julius headed to the server room. The goat, hung by spare wires, was calm. Every breath it took echoed louder than the rusty fans. The room was not cold. In the main office the boss kept a close eye on the security camera live feed. His phone was ready to dial the local police. Julius stared into a screen. Pitch black with occasional static stutters. "My lord. When you wish it to happen." And julius picked up the sword from its case, putting a pistol to the side. Without hesitation the police were dialed. Julius held the sword at the goat's neck. "May god forbid the day we have to suffer from our own creation." And with one blow to the neck the goat's head fell to the floor. Blood pooling on the floor. "And may god forbid we create one like him." And Julius picked up the gun off the floor and pointed it to his head.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	Miles, the head of IT, looked from the dead goat that was covered in blood, to the arcane symbols painted in said blood on the door of server rack 4, back to the goat, and then over at his senior sysadmin. Steeling himself for the answer, he asked, "Alright Howard, let's hear it." "Rack 4 is our oldest servers, right?" he asked. Miles nodded, and Howard continued, "Well the servers in it are still using SCSI disks," as though that was all that needed to be said. "So?" asked Miles, "that's no reason to be performing black magic in the server room!" Howard laughed, making Miles frown. "What's so funny!" he demanded. "SCSI is not magic," replied Howard, "There are fundamental technical reasons why you have to sacrifice a young goat to your SCSI chain every now and then. You've just never been around when we've done it before." Howard turned around and continued the ritual while his boss stared, totally dumbfounded, before shaking his head and walking away muttering about SCSI and goats. Howard waited until he was gone, then started chuckling and cleaning up the mess. It had been a major gamble, and could still cost him his job, but one way or another he knew there would be budget approval to replace those old servers by the end of the week.	"It can't be stopped sir. You don't know the power of Artificial intelligence." Proclaimed Julius. "If i see another goat in this fucking building it's your job." "I can't allow that." What a knucklehead. Boy's got more nerve than I thought. Julius headed to the server room. The goat, hung by spare wires, was calm. Every breath it took echoed louder than the rusty fans. The room was not cold. In the main office the boss kept a close eye on the security camera live feed. His phone was ready to dial the local police. Julius stared into a screen. Pitch black with occasional static stutters. "My lord. When you wish it to happen." And julius picked up the sword from its case, putting a pistol to the side. Without hesitation the police were dialed. Julius held the sword at the goat's neck. "May god forbid the day we have to suffer from our own creation." And with one blow to the neck the goat's head fell to the floor. Blood pooling on the floor. "And may god forbid we create one like him." And Julius picked up the gun off the floor and pointed it to his head.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	Oh woe, oh woe, Oh dreary day, Come the CEO, Right away, To pester - to question, To demand - declare perplexion, Though slow, thou knows, In hurt dismay, Must proffer CEO, Explana- -tion. One zero, zero one, one, one, zero, one. We sacrifice this goat not merely for fun, Some Hero named Nero did, summoned, come, Appeared and did order to slay for love, This damned goat. In fact, not just this one, but several, To our god, whomever it may be, So quickly, with damned goats, we assembled, In the server room, on floor 3. Offered the sacrificial blade, The CEO - Dave, Obliges.	"It can't be stopped sir. You don't know the power of Artificial intelligence." Proclaimed Julius. "If i see another goat in this fucking building it's your job." "I can't allow that." What a knucklehead. Boy's got more nerve than I thought. Julius headed to the server room. The goat, hung by spare wires, was calm. Every breath it took echoed louder than the rusty fans. The room was not cold. In the main office the boss kept a close eye on the security camera live feed. His phone was ready to dial the local police. Julius stared into a screen. Pitch black with occasional static stutters. "My lord. When you wish it to happen." And julius picked up the sword from its case, putting a pistol to the side. Without hesitation the police were dialed. Julius held the sword at the goat's neck. "May god forbid the day we have to suffer from our own creation." And with one blow to the neck the goat's head fell to the floor. Blood pooling on the floor. "And may god forbid we create one like him." And Julius picked up the gun off the floor and pointed it to his head.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	Jack was stunned by what he saw. Dave and Clark were covered in blood. Dave had a large, curved knife and Clark was holding what looked like a ball sack. A dead, dismembered goat lay splayed on the cooling grate of the IT room server floor. "Oh, hey Jack" Dave started "probably looks a little weird right?" "Hehehe" Clark laughed uncomfortably "I'll clean this up, no problem" and he grabbed a rag and began wiping aimlessly. Jack blinked hard and shook his head. "What. The. Fuck." was all he could get out. "Not to worry" a voice said from behind the router rack "they're only doing what I asked them to". Steve from marketing stepped out from behind the routers, his crisp blue suit and shinny brown wing tips projected an air of quiet confidence. "You see Jack, the numbers for last quarter were, hmmm... how should I put it? A little off." Steve began. "And for all the big data that we analyzed we couldn't quite put our finger on any one thing that might have caused such a slump in sales." Steve made his way over to where Jack was standing. He put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "So the Board decided to take a different track towards next quarters forecast". Steve bent on one knee and pointed towards a pile of goat guts, still gleaming on the grate. "See this Jack? This spleen portends to more layoffs in manufacturing but the lungs show an increase in sales. How can that be? Well, the lower intestine shows a breakthrough in productivity" Steve lifted the intestine so that Jack could see better. "And the large intestine, well I think we all know what that means". Dave and Clark had huge grins on their faces and laughed. "BIG CHRISTMAS BONUSES!" they shouted in unison, giving each other high fives. "Ancient Rome Jack. Ancient Rome showed us that the entrails of male goats could foretell the future. Julius Caesar may not have wanted to listen but I'll tell you what, the Board sure does. Since we've started sacrificing goats and reading the signs, we've saved 8% on the bottom line. 8% Jack, and that's just one quarter. Imagine how much we'll improve with a years worth of goat guts." Jack was coming around, still a little confused but coming around. He only had one question. "Why down here? Why sacrifice these goats in IT?" he asked. "Duh" said Steve "it's the only room in the building with full time A/C. What? You want us to do this in the main lobby? Where it's like 78 degrees? God, that would stink the place up wouldn't it? What's going to happen to productivity then Jack? 'Hey - I was going to get my report done but that dead goat smell is making me puke'" Steve laughed "God Jack, is that what you want? Everybody running around puking because of a dead goat in the lobby? I mean, Christ Jack, how barbaric are you?" Dave and Clark joined in Steve's laughter and at first Jack was embarrassed at how foolish he sounded. Then he joined in too. THE END	"It can't be stopped sir. You don't know the power of Artificial intelligence." Proclaimed Julius. "If i see another goat in this fucking building it's your job." "I can't allow that." What a knucklehead. Boy's got more nerve than I thought. Julius headed to the server room. The goat, hung by spare wires, was calm. Every breath it took echoed louder than the rusty fans. The room was not cold. In the main office the boss kept a close eye on the security camera live feed. His phone was ready to dial the local police. Julius stared into a screen. Pitch black with occasional static stutters. "My lord. When you wish it to happen." And julius picked up the sword from its case, putting a pistol to the side. Without hesitation the police were dialed. Julius held the sword at the goat's neck. "May god forbid the day we have to suffer from our own creation." And with one blow to the neck the goat's head fell to the floor. Blood pooling on the floor. "And may god forbid we create one like him." And Julius picked up the gun off the floor and pointed it to his head.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	"I know it looks bad sir, but if you would just let me explain -" Jeffery was not having a good day. He was likely having a better day than about twenty-three recently deceased goats, but still. There was only so much good drainage and an incinerator for overly large bits of viscera could do. The fume hood couldn't contain the overwhelming reek of burning hair, the grate was slick with rivulets of blood, and frankly being screamed at by his boss was not helping the situation. "Explain? How in the hell could there possibly be an explanation for THIS?" Mr. Strande's wave encompassed the ritual space set aside behind server rack three, and Jeffery was willing to concede that someone without a proper knowledge of network systems administration had decent reason to be confused. The budget line items for the infrastructure, let alone the actual goats, was probably significant. "Easy enough sir, how much do you know about SQL?" Jeffery really was quite alarmed at the shade of red Mr. Strande was achieving, it certainly didn't seem healthy. A vein pulsed in Strande's neck, it looked marginally less healthy than his maroon coloring. "I understand that my IT department, which is responsible for managing my computers, is apparently running a slaughterhouse on the side!" "No sir, no - we can't... we can't sell the goats, they have to be completely destroyed. See, all our sales data is held in a relational database management system, and in order to generate the sales report we have to query that system. See, SQL doesn't really care about how we access that record, and it can search everywhere at once, so it's great compared to something like ISAM. The only downside is it requires the lifeblood of a sentient animal to sustain the query. I admit it's a bit of a drawback but," Strande actually rent some hair out of his head. It would have been terrifying to anyone who hadn't been emotionally numbed by repetitive ritualistic slaughter. "WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU MEAN IT REQUIRES BLOOD?" "Well sir, the IBM documentation is actually pretty clear on that. It's just that no one bothers to read it. We used to get by back here with some mice or the occassional ferret but with the recent growth in demand for our products we've had to increase the blood flow through the liquid cooling systems. Success can be a hassle sir." Jeffery tried his best to smile reassuringly, but something about a man covered neck down in goat entrails holding a kīla seemed to be off putting to Mr. Strande. "How have I never heard about this before... How has no one heard about this? Surely they don't do this at google?" Strande had gone from infuriated to concerned, this seemed like a good step. "Well, you're right that they don't do it quite like we do," Jeffery mused, "they're way more industrialized. I think they use cows. Much higher blood per animal ratio, and hey if you can afford to do it right... more power to them. We're doing our best here sir. Nothing to worry about. Though, you being here is probably an OSHA violation of some kind..."	"It can't be stopped sir. You don't know the power of Artificial intelligence." Proclaimed Julius. "If i see another goat in this fucking building it's your job." "I can't allow that." What a knucklehead. Boy's got more nerve than I thought. Julius headed to the server room. The goat, hung by spare wires, was calm. Every breath it took echoed louder than the rusty fans. The room was not cold. In the main office the boss kept a close eye on the security camera live feed. His phone was ready to dial the local police. Julius stared into a screen. Pitch black with occasional static stutters. "My lord. When you wish it to happen." And julius picked up the sword from its case, putting a pistol to the side. Without hesitation the police were dialed. Julius held the sword at the goat's neck. "May god forbid the day we have to suffer from our own creation." And with one blow to the neck the goat's head fell to the floor. Blood pooling on the floor. "And may god forbid we create one like him." And Julius picked up the gun off the floor and pointed it to his head.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	”All right, Joe,” my boss said, drumming his knuckles on the desk, “lay it on me.” Mr. Richards was a bulky man in his fifties and had been running the IT department for nearly two decades. He was known as a no-nonsense kind of guy, and when I’d been called to explain the goings-on in the server room, I knew I was in for it. “So, uh, you know how we had trouble with our local network a few months back?” “I have a vague memory of that…” From the flushed cheeks and the slight tremor in his voice, it was clear that he was barely able to contain his anger. It was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted and his office was turned into a raging inferno. “You remember how we couldn’t fix it? You said – and I quote – ‘the devil himself must’ve possessed our routers.’ So that whole thing got me thinking.” “Yeah?” he said through his teeth. “Well, we don’t have that problem anymore. And the LAN is working flawlessly.” My boss shook his head solemnly. I could see the fire in his eyes. “You must be joking.” “I think, if I may say so, that you should let me do my job,” I said and reared back a little when I noticed his reaction. “Apart from the smell… it’s really not that bad.” That apparently pushed him over the edge, and he stood up and stomped across the room, grabbing me by the throat. I could smell his lunch on his breath – cooked spinach, garlic-marinated chicken, and rosemary potatoes – not exactly what I’d expected. Pretty sure he’d said he’d be on a juice diet this week. “What. Were. You. Thinking!?” The spit hit me like a spring drizzle in the face. “It’s really not that bad…” I said, trying to keep from choking. “It’s… just one goat… each fortnight… and… one extra… each holiday… I even… pay for them myself.” I could see the veins bulging in his forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot with rage, his pudgy fingers trying their best to crush my windpipe. “I’m going to kill you myself!” he roared. “Sacrificing goats in the server room! I swear to god, Joe, this is the–” The grip on my throat slackened, and his face shifted from red to purple and from anger to surprise. Mr. Richards gasped for air, his eyes big in their sockets. ** “You’re Joe, correct?” said Mr. Dean, the CEO of the company. “It’s a tragedy what happened to Mr. Richards.” “Very tragic,” I said, nodding. “I heard you were close.” “Yes, in the few months I’ve worked here I really came to respect the man.” “He was a great asset, and he’ll be missed. But as you know, the world keeps spinning, and we need a new head of the IT department. After you fixed our network, I feel like you’ve earned yourself a promotion.” “Thank you, Mr. Dean.” He nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s that smell, by the way?” “Oh, it’s just, uh, one of the servers got overheated. No biggie.” “Right, I’ll be on my way then. I trust you’ll keep things running down here.” “Of course, Mr. Dean – the IT department is in good hands.” He flashed me a winning smile and turned to walk away. “Oh, and,” I said quickly. “Mr. Richards’ last words were that he’d like to be cremated.” “See to it.” “Yes, sir,” I said and bowed slightly. “Our network will be the fastest in town.” ** /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.	"It can't be stopped sir. You don't know the power of Artificial intelligence." Proclaimed Julius. "If i see another goat in this fucking building it's your job." "I can't allow that." What a knucklehead. Boy's got more nerve than I thought. Julius headed to the server room. The goat, hung by spare wires, was calm. Every breath it took echoed louder than the rusty fans. The room was not cold. In the main office the boss kept a close eye on the security camera live feed. His phone was ready to dial the local police. Julius stared into a screen. Pitch black with occasional static stutters. "My lord. When you wish it to happen." And julius picked up the sword from its case, putting a pistol to the side. Without hesitation the police were dialed. Julius held the sword at the goat's neck. "May god forbid the day we have to suffer from our own creation." And with one blow to the neck the goat's head fell to the floor. Blood pooling on the floor. "And may god forbid we create one like him." And Julius picked up the gun off the floor and pointed it to his head.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	Jack was stunned by what he saw. Dave and Clark were covered in blood. Dave had a large, curved knife and Clark was holding what looked like a ball sack. A dead, dismembered goat lay splayed on the cooling grate of the IT room server floor. "Oh, hey Jack" Dave started "probably looks a little weird right?" "Hehehe" Clark laughed uncomfortably "I'll clean this up, no problem" and he grabbed a rag and began wiping aimlessly. Jack blinked hard and shook his head. "What. The. Fuck." was all he could get out. "Not to worry" a voice said from behind the router rack "they're only doing what I asked them to". Steve from marketing stepped out from behind the routers, his crisp blue suit and shinny brown wing tips projected an air of quiet confidence. "You see Jack, the numbers for last quarter were, hmmm... how should I put it? A little off." Steve began. "And for all the big data that we analyzed we couldn't quite put our finger on any one thing that might have caused such a slump in sales." Steve made his way over to where Jack was standing. He put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "So the Board decided to take a different track towards next quarters forecast". Steve bent on one knee and pointed towards a pile of goat guts, still gleaming on the grate. "See this Jack? This spleen portends to more layoffs in manufacturing but the lungs show an increase in sales. How can that be? Well, the lower intestine shows a breakthrough in productivity" Steve lifted the intestine so that Jack could see better. "And the large intestine, well I think we all know what that means". Dave and Clark had huge grins on their faces and laughed. "BIG CHRISTMAS BONUSES!" they shouted in unison, giving each other high fives. "Ancient Rome Jack. Ancient Rome showed us that the entrails of male goats could foretell the future. Julius Caesar may not have wanted to listen but I'll tell you what, the Board sure does. Since we've started sacrificing goats and reading the signs, we've saved 8% on the bottom line. 8% Jack, and that's just one quarter. Imagine how much we'll improve with a years worth of goat guts." Jack was coming around, still a little confused but coming around. He only had one question. "Why down here? Why sacrifice these goats in IT?" he asked. "Duh" said Steve "it's the only room in the building with full time A/C. What? You want us to do this in the main lobby? Where it's like 78 degrees? God, that would stink the place up wouldn't it? What's going to happen to productivity then Jack? 'Hey - I was going to get my report done but that dead goat smell is making me puke'" Steve laughed "God Jack, is that what you want? Everybody running around puking because of a dead goat in the lobby? I mean, Christ Jack, how barbaric are you?" Dave and Clark joined in Steve's laughter and at first Jack was embarrassed at how foolish he sounded. Then he joined in too. THE END	Oh woe, oh woe, Oh dreary day, Come the CEO, Right away, To pester - to question, To demand - declare perplexion, Though slow, thou knows, In hurt dismay, Must proffer CEO, Explana- -tion. One zero, zero one, one, one, zero, one. We sacrifice this goat not merely for fun, Some Hero named Nero did, summoned, come, Appeared and did order to slay for love, This damned goat. In fact, not just this one, but several, To our god, whomever it may be, So quickly, with damned goats, we assembled, In the server room, on floor 3. Offered the sacrificial blade, The CEO - Dave, Obliges.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	"I know it looks bad sir, but if you would just let me explain -" Jeffery was not having a good day. He was likely having a better day than about twenty-three recently deceased goats, but still. There was only so much good drainage and an incinerator for overly large bits of viscera could do. The fume hood couldn't contain the overwhelming reek of burning hair, the grate was slick with rivulets of blood, and frankly being screamed at by his boss was not helping the situation. "Explain? How in the hell could there possibly be an explanation for THIS?" Mr. Strande's wave encompassed the ritual space set aside behind server rack three, and Jeffery was willing to concede that someone without a proper knowledge of network systems administration had decent reason to be confused. The budget line items for the infrastructure, let alone the actual goats, was probably significant. "Easy enough sir, how much do you know about SQL?" Jeffery really was quite alarmed at the shade of red Mr. Strande was achieving, it certainly didn't seem healthy. A vein pulsed in Strande's neck, it looked marginally less healthy than his maroon coloring. "I understand that my IT department, which is responsible for managing my computers, is apparently running a slaughterhouse on the side!" "No sir, no - we can't... we can't sell the goats, they have to be completely destroyed. See, all our sales data is held in a relational database management system, and in order to generate the sales report we have to query that system. See, SQL doesn't really care about how we access that record, and it can search everywhere at once, so it's great compared to something like ISAM. The only downside is it requires the lifeblood of a sentient animal to sustain the query. I admit it's a bit of a drawback but," Strande actually rent some hair out of his head. It would have been terrifying to anyone who hadn't been emotionally numbed by repetitive ritualistic slaughter. "WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU MEAN IT REQUIRES BLOOD?" "Well sir, the IBM documentation is actually pretty clear on that. It's just that no one bothers to read it. We used to get by back here with some mice or the occassional ferret but with the recent growth in demand for our products we've had to increase the blood flow through the liquid cooling systems. Success can be a hassle sir." Jeffery tried his best to smile reassuringly, but something about a man covered neck down in goat entrails holding a kīla seemed to be off putting to Mr. Strande. "How have I never heard about this before... How has no one heard about this? Surely they don't do this at google?" Strande had gone from infuriated to concerned, this seemed like a good step. "Well, you're right that they don't do it quite like we do," Jeffery mused, "they're way more industrialized. I think they use cows. Much higher blood per animal ratio, and hey if you can afford to do it right... more power to them. We're doing our best here sir. Nothing to worry about. Though, you being here is probably an OSHA violation of some kind..."	Oh woe, oh woe, Oh dreary day, Come the CEO, Right away, To pester - to question, To demand - declare perplexion, Though slow, thou knows, In hurt dismay, Must proffer CEO, Explana- -tion. One zero, zero one, one, one, zero, one. We sacrifice this goat not merely for fun, Some Hero named Nero did, summoned, come, Appeared and did order to slay for love, This damned goat. In fact, not just this one, but several, To our god, whomever it may be, So quickly, with damned goats, we assembled, In the server room, on floor 3. Offered the sacrificial blade, The CEO - Dave, Obliges.
	[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room.	”All right, Joe,” my boss said, drumming his knuckles on the desk, “lay it on me.” Mr. Richards was a bulky man in his fifties and had been running the IT department for nearly two decades. He was known as a no-nonsense kind of guy, and when I’d been called to explain the goings-on in the server room, I knew I was in for it. “So, uh, you know how we had trouble with our local network a few months back?” “I have a vague memory of that…” From the flushed cheeks and the slight tremor in his voice, it was clear that he was barely able to contain his anger. It was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted and his office was turned into a raging inferno. “You remember how we couldn’t fix it? You said – and I quote – ‘the devil himself must’ve possessed our routers.’ So that whole thing got me thinking.” “Yeah?” he said through his teeth. “Well, we don’t have that problem anymore. And the LAN is working flawlessly.” My boss shook his head solemnly. I could see the fire in his eyes. “You must be joking.” “I think, if I may say so, that you should let me do my job,” I said and reared back a little when I noticed his reaction. “Apart from the smell… it’s really not that bad.” That apparently pushed him over the edge, and he stood up and stomped across the room, grabbing me by the throat. I could smell his lunch on his breath – cooked spinach, garlic-marinated chicken, and rosemary potatoes – not exactly what I’d expected. Pretty sure he’d said he’d be on a juice diet this week. “What. Were. You. Thinking!?” The spit hit me like a spring drizzle in the face. “It’s really not that bad…” I said, trying to keep from choking. “It’s… just one goat… each fortnight… and… one extra… each holiday… I even… pay for them myself.” I could see the veins bulging in his forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot with rage, his pudgy fingers trying their best to crush my windpipe. “I’m going to kill you myself!” he roared. “Sacrificing goats in the server room! I swear to god, Joe, this is the–” The grip on my throat slackened, and his face shifted from red to purple and from anger to surprise. Mr. Richards gasped for air, his eyes big in their sockets. ** “You’re Joe, correct?” said Mr. Dean, the CEO of the company. “It’s a tragedy what happened to Mr. Richards.” “Very tragic,” I said, nodding. “I heard you were close.” “Yes, in the few months I’ve worked here I really came to respect the man.” “He was a great asset, and he’ll be missed. But as you know, the world keeps spinning, and we need a new head of the IT department. After you fixed our network, I feel like you’ve earned yourself a promotion.” “Thank you, Mr. Dean.” He nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s that smell, by the way?” “Oh, it’s just, uh, one of the servers got overheated. No biggie.” “Right, I’ll be on my way then. I trust you’ll keep things running down here.” “Of course, Mr. Dean – the IT department is in good hands.” He flashed me a winning smile and turned to walk away. “Oh, and,” I said quickly. “Mr. Richards’ last words were that he’d like to be cremated.” “See to it.” “Yes, sir,” I said and bowed slightly. “Our network will be the fastest in town.” ** /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.	Oh woe, oh woe, Oh dreary day, Come the CEO, Right away, To pester - to question, To demand - declare perplexion, Though slow, thou knows, In hurt dismay, Must proffer CEO, Explana- -tion. One zero, zero one, one, one, zero, one. We sacrifice this goat not merely for fun, Some Hero named Nero did, summoned, come, Appeared and did order to slay for love, This damned goat. In fact, not just this one, but several, To our god, whomever it may be, So quickly, with damned goats, we assembled, In the server room, on floor 3. Offered the sacrificial blade, The CEO - Dave, Obliges.
	[WP] In a symphony of holy trumpets and angelic chorus, God himself descended from the heavens to slap you across the face.	And it really, really, really hurt. Now I've been slapped before, I'd bet most people have at some point of other throughout their life, but this was different. It wasn't the physical pain. This being was omnipotent, he could have disintegrated me with less than a thought, but the blow was just strong enough that I'd feel it. I'd cursed at him you see. I bet many others have, how are we supposed to accept all the evils in the world as just a part of some divine plan? It could have been about any number of things: Maybe my child died in a fire, and I'd had to listen to his screams as the flames licked at his body. Perhaps my husband was developing Alzheimers's, and every day I had to see his recognition of my face fade slightly from his eyes. Maybe I just had a shitty day at work, who knows? Take your pick, it really doesn't matter. The point is that God descended, and slapped me. And at that moment I felt his presence, I knew him insofar as a human mind is capable of grasping infinity. I wish I could say that I was the final straw that finally brought him to anger, that it was my sheer defiance that moved him to take such a drastic action, but after that slap I knew better. I was insignificant, my actions ever known and part of a tapestry of his design. This was all for something I knew my pitiful brain was not equipped to comprehend. That was what hurt you see, at least before I could direct my anger at him, I could blame him for the evil in the word. But now I realized my fundamental lack of capacity to comprehend him or judge him for his acts. God spoke: "You cannot understand my ways, child, it is beyond you. I ask only for faith, for trust." "That's not enough. It's not enough for me. I need to know. You should understand, you created me." I replied. "I do, and I am sorry." At that moment I realized it. I could never worship something so fundamentally alien to me. One day I would be going to hell. It was all part of his plan.	Sure it was difficult, but you were never one to shy away from a challenge, you had promised them a show so you were determined to deliver, but with what? what would be so spectacular that everyone would sit up and take notice, and more importantly what would be that spectacular and still be something you could pull off. You began experimenting that night. Your first attempt was with memorisation, you had always had a good memory so you figured you could learn that "memory palace" technique you had heard about and memorise a whole book word for word or something, so you chose a book you knew already, Hitchhikers Guide book 1, and set to work. For days you tried to assign ideas and shapes to the words, and where that failed you, you tried to memorise it through sheer repetition, and between these two it was beginning to work, you had memorised every word in the first chapter. Finally you were making progress, you could do it, you could be the first person to ever memorise a whole book word for word, you grew in confidence day after day until that fateful day you ran into the bible-pusher from school who would often quote verse to shame people, he saw you reading and scolded you for spending so much time reading that when you could have read the bible like he did, skipping instantly into his 'recitation mode' eyes unfocused like he was reading from a billboard behind you "As it says in Hebrews 4 Verse 12...." as he spoke the blood drained from your face, he had the whole damned thing memorised... he had memorised a book, why had this never occured to you before, of course religious people would have memorised their holy books, all that time you spend memorising that book was for nothing! You threw the Hitchhikers guide at that walking bible-index with a satisfying thud and left to find another idea. Your second idea, went much the same way, as it turns out, "longest time spent without sleep" was already pushed far beyond your reach. Doing something no one had ever managed before was going to be difficult. You were beginning to hate that bible-nerd from school, he has single-handedly shot down half your ideas by simply having already pushed them beyond where you were willing to go; Longest time spent in silence "Every year my family spends the first week of summer holiday in silent prayer of thanksgiving..." Longest time spent NOT watching porn "You watch WHAT?" Most in depth knowledge of a fictional character, you smirked when you thought of this one but just because he would claim God wasnt fictional, you would know better. You had almost given up hope when one lunch time you sat idly fidgiting on a park bench when it hit you, there was something you could do! You had practiced for weeks, and now there you stood in front of a representative of the Guinness Book of Records itself balancing 113 separate fidget spinners on various parts of your body as they span merrily. The representative sighed as if to ask 'What am I doing with my life' and sullenly declared to the onlookers that you were now the official holder of the record for 'most fidget spinners spun at the same time by 1 person unassisted'. The look on his face said it all; 'what a utterly pointless record' but you didnt notice, you were too pleased with yourself, you had done it! You were a world record holder! Just then a large cloud parted and trumpets began to sound as God himself descended from the heavens; so he was real, that crazy bible-nutter was right all along! You stared in wonder as the angelic hosts flocked around the magnificent figure descending right towards you, had you really done something so impressive that God himself was coming to congratulate you? At that moment your ego was just about inflated enough to support this preposterous idea, as God's feet touched the earth he had created and he took a step towards you. With a look of pride and wonder in your eyes you stare on until God is right in front of you. MY CHILD his voice booms, not quite sound, more an idea, a knowledge and feeling, your senses are untouched and yet your mind explodes with these two words, the overwhelming strength of them masking the disappointment they intoned, but even you couldnt miss the tone in what came next. God drew back his hand and brought it down on your face with a sound like thunder, you fall backwards from the force and shock, it didnt hurt but the message was unmistakable. With that God departed back to the clouds which promptly snapped shut behind him.
	[WP] In a symphony of holy trumpets and angelic chorus, God himself descended from the heavens to slap you across the face.	"And on next weeks episode of 'Dandy Dans Dangerous Duties' we're going to weld two cans of hairspray together! YEAH! DANGGGGGERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" "Don't forget to SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON and SUBSCRIBEEEEEEEEE" "Ok and that's a wrap, good stuff today Dan, carving a turkey with a table saw. Priceless." Tim chuckled as he took a quick look through the footage. "Thanks man. The double Dster is lit here today! Fire!" Dan poured himself into a lawn chair and started picking the chunks of turkey from his beard. "I honestly didn't think we'd cook the bird with that tiger torch. This one is going viral for sure. Crack me open a cold one bro, Saturdays are FERDABOIS!" The crisp crack of a Coors Light broke through the afternoon heat, followed by an angelic symphony echoing through the field. "DUDEEEEEE. SINGING CAN BRO WE WON WE WON!" Tim frolicked around the yard cheering and screaming, "BUD LIGHT LIVING BROOOOOOO." The clouds parted ways, a stair case made of sun rays unfolded from the heavens into the back yard. At the top a figure appeared, floating above the steps he decided. "Bro, Bud Light stepping it up. Sick skills man, what did we win?" "Dan, I am God." With that, Dan stood up offering a handshake to the almighty. God raised his hand, then with a thunderous blow struck Dan, open handed, across the face punishing him to the ground." "YOU WHAT BRO, COME AT ME BRO, YOU WHAT. YOU WANT SOME OF THIS." Tim ran across removing his shirt. "COME ON, LETS DANCE. NO ONE HITS DANDY DAN BRO. THAT'S MY BRO BRO." Tim undid his belt and dropped his pants, tripping over them and falling to the ground next to Dan. "Jesus Christ, I didn't even have to hit him." "Good stuff dad." A voice rumbled from the clouds. Dan slowly picked himself up, covered in dirt and turkey he staggered about. "Bro what the hell man, suckered me man." "Listen, Dan. It's cute what you're doing here. Fun and games and all. But I'm seeing way too many people at my gates because they attempted to deep fry a car battery to make a mobile flame thrower with their lawn mower and a propane tank. I've tried to send messages but obviously you weren't getting them so I-" "So what you're just a mad fan bro. My insta is blowing up 24/7 I don't got time to answer all the love man! Snappys coming in at all hours. Dude my Myspace is still active bro. You can't come at me like your going to come at me because I didn't answer you. Want me to sign a can of Coors for you broski?" "Dan, you're not hearing me I-" "I heard you loud and clear super champ. You're all butt hurt that big Danny BOI doesn't have time for you. Super star status here brochacha." "DAN. Look at me and listen. You're killing children." "Whoa man that's some crazy shit. Don't go throwing those hashtag bad vibes at me. One throw downski with a that kid who reviews legos at suddenly you're Brosef Koney two K seventeen." "This isn't going to work is it." "YOU CALLING ME LAZY BRO? YOUTUBE IS MY FULL TIME JOB BRO. I WORK FOR THIS MAN. HASHTAG PUTTING IN WORK HASHTAG GRINDTIME HASHTAG-" "SHUT UP. I can't believe I let mother nature take charge of you're development as a species. Should have known better." "Dude.. mother nature? You uh... you hittin that bro? Smash city?" With that, God hung is head in shame and acceded back to heaven. Arriving at the gates he gave Jesus a nod. "Flood it.". ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hey Dan, why did God make a stair case if he floated down anyways, what a basic bro."	"Honestly, it seemed a bit much at the time. I guess I get why He felt He had to do it, but did I seriously need to be branded for life you know?" Ryan Langsford had probably once been an incredibly handsome man, Jessica thought, but not so much anymore. Middle age had softened some of the angles of his face, and the salting of white in his hair did less to make him look dignified than it did to make him look exhausted. His grey eyes were cool and never quite seemed as lively as you'd expect from someone with his past. The faintly glowing hand-print shaped scar that consumed the left half of his face was the real draw for the article though; it had been twenty-five years since God had descended from on high to slap Langsford, and so his story was one of the leading elements of the PBS Frontline panoramic of the changes to global religion since that faithful day. "It seems to me that there was a more dignified way of handling it than just about taking my head off with the slap and having Gabriel play taps." "Really, you thought it was uncalled for? What could have possibly possessed you to think it was a good idea? I mean sure, no one expected.... that," Jessica waved vaguely at the scar, "but the best case scenario seems like it would have been some very uncomfortable interactions with the Italian authorities." "Sure, that's fair. But think about all the horrible people in history. All the bodies Hitler, Stalin, or Pol Pot left to rot in histories annals - how exactly was I supposed to know firing an air soft gun at the Pope was going to be where we drew the line?"
	[WP] In a symphony of holy trumpets and angelic chorus, God himself descended from the heavens to slap you across the face.	"And on next weeks episode of 'Dandy Dans Dangerous Duties' we're going to weld two cans of hairspray together! YEAH! DANGGGGGERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" "Don't forget to SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON and SUBSCRIBEEEEEEEEE" "Ok and that's a wrap, good stuff today Dan, carving a turkey with a table saw. Priceless." Tim chuckled as he took a quick look through the footage. "Thanks man. The double Dster is lit here today! Fire!" Dan poured himself into a lawn chair and started picking the chunks of turkey from his beard. "I honestly didn't think we'd cook the bird with that tiger torch. This one is going viral for sure. Crack me open a cold one bro, Saturdays are FERDABOIS!" The crisp crack of a Coors Light broke through the afternoon heat, followed by an angelic symphony echoing through the field. "DUDEEEEEE. SINGING CAN BRO WE WON WE WON!" Tim frolicked around the yard cheering and screaming, "BUD LIGHT LIVING BROOOOOOO." The clouds parted ways, a stair case made of sun rays unfolded from the heavens into the back yard. At the top a figure appeared, floating above the steps he decided. "Bro, Bud Light stepping it up. Sick skills man, what did we win?" "Dan, I am God." With that, Dan stood up offering a handshake to the almighty. God raised his hand, then with a thunderous blow struck Dan, open handed, across the face punishing him to the ground." "YOU WHAT BRO, COME AT ME BRO, YOU WHAT. YOU WANT SOME OF THIS." Tim ran across removing his shirt. "COME ON, LETS DANCE. NO ONE HITS DANDY DAN BRO. THAT'S MY BRO BRO." Tim undid his belt and dropped his pants, tripping over them and falling to the ground next to Dan. "Jesus Christ, I didn't even have to hit him." "Good stuff dad." A voice rumbled from the clouds. Dan slowly picked himself up, covered in dirt and turkey he staggered about. "Bro what the hell man, suckered me man." "Listen, Dan. It's cute what you're doing here. Fun and games and all. But I'm seeing way too many people at my gates because they attempted to deep fry a car battery to make a mobile flame thrower with their lawn mower and a propane tank. I've tried to send messages but obviously you weren't getting them so I-" "So what you're just a mad fan bro. My insta is blowing up 24/7 I don't got time to answer all the love man! Snappys coming in at all hours. Dude my Myspace is still active bro. You can't come at me like your going to come at me because I didn't answer you. Want me to sign a can of Coors for you broski?" "Dan, you're not hearing me I-" "I heard you loud and clear super champ. You're all butt hurt that big Danny BOI doesn't have time for you. Super star status here brochacha." "DAN. Look at me and listen. You're killing children." "Whoa man that's some crazy shit. Don't go throwing those hashtag bad vibes at me. One throw downski with a that kid who reviews legos at suddenly you're Brosef Koney two K seventeen." "This isn't going to work is it." "YOU CALLING ME LAZY BRO? YOUTUBE IS MY FULL TIME JOB BRO. I WORK FOR THIS MAN. HASHTAG PUTTING IN WORK HASHTAG GRINDTIME HASHTAG-" "SHUT UP. I can't believe I let mother nature take charge of you're development as a species. Should have known better." "Dude.. mother nature? You uh... you hittin that bro? Smash city?" With that, God hung is head in shame and acceded back to heaven. Arriving at the gates he gave Jesus a nod. "Flood it.". ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hey Dan, why did God make a stair case if he floated down anyways, what a basic bro."	For a moment, I could feel nothing but a slight tingle in my cheek. Then, I felt pain. A lot of pain. I collapsed to my knees as a grabbed the side of my face. God, who had floated down from the heavens on what appeared to be a cloud, while playing some sort of chorus with a beatbox on his shoulder, stood there with a stern look on his face. He wore a backwards and some red-rimmed sunglasses. Instead of the usually depicted white robe, he had a hoodie and baggy track pants on. "Quit with these reposts and actually come up with original jokes!" He said in a scolding voice. I think he was referring to the meme page I was an admin of. This was my first WP response, let me know if you want more!
	[WP] You've just bought a boat. The next morning you receive a Letter of Marque in the mail	(Literally bought a boat today, so ... yes.] ([This model, but not this one.](http://imgur.com/a/wpic4)) It had taken nearly a decade, but my savings finally paid off. I had been shopping for a boat for nearly a year now. My search started with a sport fish Bertram, mid 30's, but my wife thought the boys could use their own room. A 48 AC Tolly was next, yet for all the space we couldn't fish out of it safely at sea. I would looking at Bostons, giving up on the dream of a large day cruiser in way of just a fisher, when it came up for sale. A beautiful 58 Meridian. She had 3 cabins, a large swim step, and a large bow and fly bridge. It met all our needs, and she shortly became ours. It had been less than a week from when the ship arrived in my home port, when a letter appeared in the master state room. "Deer Mr. Franklyn. It has been brought to our attention that for the past 35 years you have loyally and regularly been an outstanding civilian in these United States. With your acquisition of this ship, we, the UPA, United Privateers of America, welcome you to join us as a free lance member. This letter, and the flag below, allow you to capture, contain, execute, and liquidate, any ship, and crew there of, that is acting illegally and without proper permit in our fine nation." Below the letter was a large box, which opened to reveal an anchor and a sickle. It didn't take long before it replaced the stars and stripes on my transom. However, the flag was not enough to fulfill my new purpose. Powerful, 15,000 lumen, spot lights were mounted around the ship, along with a IR lamps and cameras. We could operate in complete darkness. I also mounted an M134 on the pulpit, and two more in either corner of the aft cockpit. Furthermore, mid ship on the fly my wife helped install matching MK19's, and additionally we fitted a snipers nest in a tuna tower, fitted with a M107. Defenses were light, but we figure the pirates we face would be too slow to draw, we could pick them off from hundreds of yards. It had been months of patrol prior to our first encounter. It was the eve of June, and my wife sons and were cruising at a lazy 5 knots down the canal. It was 11:30 when we heard a splash and a cheer from off in the distance. My wife checked the radar. "Small inflatable just south of the bridge." This time of day, this far out, no one in an inflatable could be up to any good. With her guidance we set a course to pass them, planning to reveal our intent when we were too close for an escapeattempt. The moments were tense as the small inflatable moved from spot to spot, but we were closing quick. Our course wouldset us within 35 yards, and they seem not to have taken notice to us. Either that, or they were too drunk to care. Drunk? Now that's illegal. Pulling up my NVG's, I could see 3 men in a 14 foot tender, drinking from bottles, laughing, and Iswatched as one through a large object overboard. It was probably 30 inches on each side, and 16 tall. There was only one thing it could be. With one word spoken, 3 spot lights engaged and flooded the ship with light. They had a canvas covering something near the driver, and I could only assume one thing. Pot. I grabbed a megaphone from beside me. "HALT. Turn off your motor, and prepare for boarding." Sadly, luckily, the men did not listen, and they went from 0 to planing in just a few seconds. "FIRE!" Immediately a sharp crack sounded from above, and the criminals engine burst in to shrapnel. We continued to slowly approach the boat, as the men sat idly on the far side of their boat. When we were preparing to throw ropes, one of the men drew a small pistol and shouted over to us "Just keep on going. We've had some motor issues here, but we don't want no trouble." An extended string of fireworks seemingly ignited aft, and the men on the boat were quickly transformed from flesh to cheese, of the Swiss variety. We tied their dinghy port to the swim step, and used a pike pole to push the dairy products in to the salty sea. I climbed aboard and removed the tarp, and there it was. Loaded. We took it to our ship before cutting their boat free, and from a distance trying the mid mounted grenade launcher. It made quick work of the offending vehicle, and the fireworks were a beautiful way to celebrate our victory. Sailing off towards the moon, I held my captured booty at my side. Its rubber coated exterior marking my fly, and the juices providing a beautiful stench. Once the clock strikes midnight, I'll use it as my own. No one drops crab pots early in my waters.	"The owner of this Letter shall be authorized and ordained to-" Ezekiel Fawkes burst out laughing at what somehow wound up in his morning mail. He had no way of checking the ink or paper, but between the flowery overly verbose language and the trappings surrounding the letter itself.... His head shook as he carried it and the rest of his mailto his car. The Talisman waited and whether this was a prank or some sort of game he got invited to when he bought a berth at the local marina he wasn't sure. The Talisman was a schooner, and one Fawkes was proud of even if it wasn't entirely historically accurate. He walked towards a large black man standing on the fore-deck. "Hey Shep, got something you might want to look at." THe letter was passed to the larger man. "Huh," Shephard scratched his head before handing the letter back. "SHow it to the front office?" Ezekiel shrugged, "They claim no knowledge, but I'm pretty sure this is how they welcome everyone." Zeke gestured to the crowd of ships around them. All of them wouldn't look out of place in the Age of Sail. All of them had actual working cannons, even if they were used more for pyrotechnics and show than their original function. "I'm going to go have a talk with Crowley. If this is some kind of welcoming party I might as well get our ship up to scratch." Shepherd gave a small laugh. "I'll get Frank and Miri, the twins are stuck in a meeting til late tonight so if they show up they'll probably crash bt I wouldn't expect them til morning." * * * "Gentlemen!" Zeke bellowed as he stepped on deck. The greatcoat hung heavy across his shoulders, and Miri had questioned the wisdom in wearing a thick coat on ship. He looked his crew over and pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket, "We have been given the esteemed honor of tracking down the Osprey and her captain. Unfortunately our sources have been a mite thin on her crimes, but we have been authorized to use, and I quote, 'any and all means and measure deemed necessary for this task.' So we have a location." He turned to Frank, "Frank. How are our armaments." Frank was a large man, larger even than Shephard, and Miri had even joked he could pick up one of the deck guns to use as a personal sidearm. "Four fixed guns, two on port, two on starboard. A swivel gun aft, and a fixed chase gun at the prow." He gave a large grin "We have been provided with adequate ammunition." He gestured to one of the shells they had been provided. Real gunpowder packed to deliver a payload of what was essentially an oversized paintball round. "First ship to run up the white flag OR score enough hits to make clear the enemy should be incapacitated wins." "Very good Frank." Zeke turned to Shepard and then drew a ceremonial curved sabre. "Gentlemen. We have our quarry and rules of engagement. All ahead." The ship sprang to life with the small crew working exactly as they had drilled ever since they first received the somewhat silly and overly ornate piece of paper Zeke had framed and hung below decks in the captain's quarters. Win or lose they would have fun playing the part to the absolute hilt, and then they and the Osprey's crew would go have drinks and laugh at the highlight reel on youtube.
	[WP] You've just bought a boat. The next morning you receive a Letter of Marque in the mail	The S.S. Weekend Warrior wasn’t your typical privateer vessel, being aluminum rather than wood, a single five horsepower outboard rather than three sails and fifteen feet in length rather than the typical 347. It wasn’t typical but it would do. It would have to. I had received the summons I had been waiting for since I first jammed a popsicle stick sail into a bar of soap before bath time. An honest to God Letter of Marque. I will be the sword of the Queen in unfriendly waters. I will bring the justice of the Crown to all who would oppose the Empire. I will be The Scourge of Lake Michigan! The first order of business was to outfit my vessel for the upcoming campaign. I would need provisions, weapons and of course, a flag. Provisions were first. It pained me to do business with the enemy, but I was forced to parlé with The Colonel. Despite my insistence that I was now an Admiral of my own, one ship, armada and therefore of greater rank than The Colonel, his minions still charged me full price for a bucket of chicken. No matter, I would soon earn it back tenfold in plunder. Next was weapons. I had a cutlass I had purloined from the knife block in the kitchen. For pistols, I found the finest British sidearm that the local pawn shop had in stock for under $50. It may only shoot BBs, but in my hand, it would be an extension of British might. Now for the most important thing, the flag. This would show the power and trust invested in me by Her Majesty. Of course, these scum had swept away all trace of the Union Jack that once flew over them so proudly. I was forced to make my own out of a pillowcase and paint. I will admit I am no artist, and so it was a poor imitation of the original, but it was no matter, it is not the flag that is important, but rather what it stands for. My first target was not the most noble, as She was unarmed, but we all must start somewhere. I came along Her starboard side and hailed Her crew. I demanded their immediate surrender and forfeiture of all their cargo in the name of Her Majesty. I was ignored. When the rounds from my pistol proved ineffective I realized this was a job for steel, and I drew my cutlass. In my zeal to board the offending barge I underestimated the power of her bow wave. I told the Coast Guard rescue ship that I would be taking control of their vessel in the name of the Queen. Long story short, sometimes the better part of valor is discretion and the Weekend Warrior lives to fight another day. Also, I need a new cutlass, my old one was confiscated.	"The owner of this Letter shall be authorized and ordained to-" Ezekiel Fawkes burst out laughing at what somehow wound up in his morning mail. He had no way of checking the ink or paper, but between the flowery overly verbose language and the trappings surrounding the letter itself.... His head shook as he carried it and the rest of his mailto his car. The Talisman waited and whether this was a prank or some sort of game he got invited to when he bought a berth at the local marina he wasn't sure. The Talisman was a schooner, and one Fawkes was proud of even if it wasn't entirely historically accurate. He walked towards a large black man standing on the fore-deck. "Hey Shep, got something you might want to look at." THe letter was passed to the larger man. "Huh," Shephard scratched his head before handing the letter back. "SHow it to the front office?" Ezekiel shrugged, "They claim no knowledge, but I'm pretty sure this is how they welcome everyone." Zeke gestured to the crowd of ships around them. All of them wouldn't look out of place in the Age of Sail. All of them had actual working cannons, even if they were used more for pyrotechnics and show than their original function. "I'm going to go have a talk with Crowley. If this is some kind of welcoming party I might as well get our ship up to scratch." Shepherd gave a small laugh. "I'll get Frank and Miri, the twins are stuck in a meeting til late tonight so if they show up they'll probably crash bt I wouldn't expect them til morning." * * * "Gentlemen!" Zeke bellowed as he stepped on deck. The greatcoat hung heavy across his shoulders, and Miri had questioned the wisdom in wearing a thick coat on ship. He looked his crew over and pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket, "We have been given the esteemed honor of tracking down the Osprey and her captain. Unfortunately our sources have been a mite thin on her crimes, but we have been authorized to use, and I quote, 'any and all means and measure deemed necessary for this task.' So we have a location." He turned to Frank, "Frank. How are our armaments." Frank was a large man, larger even than Shephard, and Miri had even joked he could pick up one of the deck guns to use as a personal sidearm. "Four fixed guns, two on port, two on starboard. A swivel gun aft, and a fixed chase gun at the prow." He gave a large grin "We have been provided with adequate ammunition." He gestured to one of the shells they had been provided. Real gunpowder packed to deliver a payload of what was essentially an oversized paintball round. "First ship to run up the white flag OR score enough hits to make clear the enemy should be incapacitated wins." "Very good Frank." Zeke turned to Shepard and then drew a ceremonial curved sabre. "Gentlemen. We have our quarry and rules of engagement. All ahead." The ship sprang to life with the small crew working exactly as they had drilled ever since they first received the somewhat silly and overly ornate piece of paper Zeke had framed and hung below decks in the captain's quarters. Win or lose they would have fun playing the part to the absolute hilt, and then they and the Osprey's crew would go have drinks and laugh at the highlight reel on youtube.
Similar to a old thread but that was about a cat.	[WP]You're scratching your dog's ear when suddenly it pops off.At the end of it is a USB plug-in.You plug it into your computer and it says Dog version 1.0.Update to Dog Version 1.5?	Dragging my eyes from the screen down to my now one eared dog who stares back at me as if his ear didn't just pop off leaving a USB port exposed on the side of his head. Tilting his head to the side he'd give a small whine wanting my attention but curiosity wins out. I force myself to look at the screen and click the update button. Without thinking I reach down to scratch the top of my dog's head only to have my fingers meet the exposed metal around the USB port. My dog didn't mind, he simply leaned into my hand like he always did giving several licks whenever my fingers came into range of his mouth. Am I going insane? The thought is interrupted by the update completing and a message on screen announcing I could remove the drive. Popping the dog ear drive out of my PC I turn to my dog who watches my actions with growing interest. When I draw near he tries to sniff at his own ear, thinking I'm trying to play or something I have to force him to sit and look forward so I can insert it the USB drive into it's slot. Naturally I flip the ear over after one failed attempt only to have to flip it back over once again before the ear pops back into place. Instantly my dog's eyes gloss over and his body goes limp. Before he slumps to the floor I catch him, panic growing in my chest as his tongue rolls out of the side of his mouth and his body goes completely limp. "He's just updating..." I tell myself realizing how crazy I already sound, trying to convince myself I didn't just somehow kill my dog. Without warning my dog sprang back to life right in my arms, as if nothing had changed. That tail began wagging, he stood up on his own, began licking at my face, and was the same happy dog he had always been. Relief begins to wash over me. "Play?" I freeze hearing an unfamiliar voice. My eyes fall on my dog who sits looking at me, head tilted to the side just like before as he paws at me. "Play?" My dog suddenly asks instead of barking like he would normally. "Or eat?" He asks looking the door then back to me. "You can talk now?" I ask, again noting how insane I sound asking my dog this after I just updated his USB drive ear. I've completely lost it. Confusion crosses his face for a brief moment followed by a light bulb going off in his head "Yes! I talk now! Basic speech part of new update!" His excitement is clear, barely able to contain himself as he discovers he can not only talk but he can truly understand me. Something caught my eye from the other side of the room; the cat had been watching this the entire time and was now making his way right to me. Rubbing against my leg he looks up at me and nods towards me presenting his ear... Almost like he was asking me to try his. Carefully I reach down and give it a gentle tug to discover it too is a USB drive. Just like before I pop it into my PC and a screen greets me "Cat Version 5.5 - Update to Cat Version 6.0?" Glancing down at my cat he nods again, encouraging me to update his firmware just like I had the dog's just moments ago. I click yes and offer head scratches as the update is downloaded. Once again I try to pop the ear in, turn it 180 degrees then turn it right back around to have it go in. My cat responds very much the same way, body going limp, eyes glossing over, exactly the same. "Friend cat okay?" My dog asks with a small whine. "Friend cat okay." I respond with a smile and nod as my cat's body starts to come back to life. Yawning and stretching as he stands up on his own he clears his throat and looks right at me "You've made a grave mistake."	Dog v1.5.0 Patch Notes =================== - Disable incest due to abuse on reproduction system - Update Empathetic Telepathy system - Allows Dog to better read and understand Human emotions - Enable test mode for self awareness - Untested, may have bugs - Allow Dog to switch between good Doggy and bad Doggy - Minor modifications to variables so that Dog knows it is being abused and / or attack - Update fight or fly response system - Optimize neuron pathways of Dog - Increase computation performance of Dog - Disable constant need of human companion - Allows Dog to be good Doggy even without owner
Edit: Wow. Wasn't expecting this response. Sorry bout the mislabeling btw.	[WP] Tell the tale of how Jimmy Neutron, Boy genius, began a long downward spiral that ended in him casting aside his old identity and adopting a new one; Rick Sanchez.	After many decades a long awaited reunion between old friends occurs in Rick’s garage. Sheen, Carl, and Morty stand watching Rick gather supplies and build what looks like a high tech gaming system next to a large screen tv. “Ultra- Lord!” Sheen suddenly exclaims while waving an old worn action figure. “Ultra- who?” Morty asked. Rick sighs and explains, “He’s the only one who can… burp… help us defeat... burp… Robo-Fiend.” “Robo-Fiend?” asks Morty. “Do you pay attention like ever? I… burp… forgot more this morning while taking a shit than you ever learned in your… burp… life.” Rick again sighs and continues, “Robo-Fiend is like this evil lactose intolerant robot bitch that that… burp… that gets off on doing evil and we’re gonna stop him. “How is a robot lactose intolerant?” Morty asks. “Wouldn’t any kind of liquid be harmful to a robot? Why would it be milk? That’s what lactose is right? It… it’s milk right?” Rick replies, “I don’t know why a robot hates milk Mooorty, why do cats hate water and why does Hollywood hate Brendan Fraser? They just do Morty. They just do. And we’re the ones who suffer because of it.” Rick grabs Morty by the shoulders. “Sometimes I think of going to a different dimension where cats love to swim and Brendan Frasier starred in Dexter. He wouldn’t have let the writers ruin it the way they did Morty.” Rick begins to tear up. “He wouldn’t have let Dexter end like that. That’s why we have to fight Robo-Fiend, even it doesn’t… burp… make any sense. You understand now Morty?” “Ummm… okay.” Morty falls silent then asks. “Who are these two guys? Are they coming with us?” “These are my old friends Sheen and Carl. Carl, Sheen meet my pain in the ass Grandson Morty.” “Hello.” Sheen and Carl say in unison. “Sheen! Carl!” Beth enters and gives the two a hug. “Wow you look just like her Beth.” Sheen says with a pained expression. “Yeah, we really miss your mother. Cin…” Carl starts but is cut off. “Let’s not… burp… dwell on the past too much. Remember, the Robo-Fiend. We’ve got a cross… burp… over adventure motherfuckers!” Rick says as he throws his hands in the air with his held high as if looking into a camera that wasn’t there.	Ya know uurp Morty, my real name isn't Rick. Its James. No, shut up Morty. I'm gonna tell you a story. So, when I was boy, I was really smart and really tried to help people. But, something happened. I was testing an experiment on my friend, Carl, and it went wrong. Horribly wrong. He became completely disfigured, looking like he belonged in the Cronanburg universe. I flipped. 14 year old me had no idea what to do. I tried everything I could to reverse the affects, but nothing worked. Eventually, I had tried a very rare crystal in my huge portal machine and I was able to visit a different dimension. I looked behind me and was almost trapped as the portal began closing instantly. I knew I needed something portable to use for travel. I took out the crystal and created my first portal gun. Then, it was time for my mission to find a cure for my friend. I decided to take my girlfriend Cindy at the time. It was a great trip, we had crazy, zany adventures, way better and more fun than you've been on. Anyways, we found this crazy planet that worshiped Cindy before she had stepped on the planet. They kidnapped her in the middle of the night and held a ritual to eat her flesh to become like her. Not only had I lost my friend, but now my girlfriend. It was terrible. I decided to give up on Retroville and travel the dimensions, hoping to find a cure for Carl, but with no luck. I met Birdperson during this dark time of my life. He introduced me to some other anarchists and we just did so many terrible things. I didn't want my family in Retroville to be in danger, so that is when u went from James Isaac Neutron to Rick Sanchez
Edit: Wow. Wasn't expecting this response. Sorry bout the mislabeling btw.	[WP] Tell the tale of how Jimmy Neutron, Boy genius, began a long downward spiral that ended in him casting aside his old identity and adopting a new one; Rick Sanchez.	"R-r-Rick!" Morty exclaimed as Rick portaled through his bedroom wall. "Hey, buurr Morty, how ya doin' my buddy?" Rick stumbled through the portal as it closed behind him, beer bottle in hand. "Traveling the world uuurrpens your eyes, Morty, you know that? I should bring you along someday, you'll see what I mean." "You've brought me along before! Many times!" Morty quavered out, jumping out of his bed just as Rick collapsed onto it. "Wh-what am I saying? You're drunk, Rick! Go get some rest!" "Whaddaya think I'm doing now, dirtbag?!" "That's it!" Morty took a step forward. "I-I-I've had it, Rick! Get out of my room!" "Wh-uurrr-oa, Morty! Look, I'm sorry for that, alright? You're a good kid, and I wanna make it up to you, okay? J-just let me have a moment here, just you and me, and I'll tell you a burp secret right now. No, you know what? I'm gonna tell you a story. Sit your ass down, Morty. Grandpa Rick's gonna tell you a story right now." "Why do I have a feeling this won't end well?" Morty mumbled as he sat onto the bed next to Rick's nigh-motionless body. "Okay, here's the skinny. My real name isn't 'Rick'. That's just something I picked up along the way. My real name's James. Ja-uurrrppp-mes Neutron." "Wha-" "Shut up, Morty! See, the buuurproblem is that you never let me finish! Anyway, when I was sixteen I made my first portal gun. Not the one I'm using now, because that one was a piece of shit! Anyway, I used it, a-a-and it brought me to the world of Glaxxon Five, where the Galactic Federation immediately arrested me. You see Morty, they- urrhhh - wanted to study my portal gun and steal the design. But..." "B-But what, Rick?" "That was the beginning, Morty. I musta killed a hundred aliens that day." Rick sat up and leaned forward. "One thing led to another. I was on the run, and I knew I couldn't go back to Retroville, I just couldn't. They would have used my family against me. From then on I became Rick. Rick Sanchez." "Gee, Rick. You know, this sounds like something straight out of a comic book..." "You think you're being funny, but you're not, Morty. Urrrrpp You don't understand the pain I had to suffer that day, Morty. I had to leave my family behind, y'know. How many families did you ever have to leave behind? Zero, that's what! Oh wait, there was that world we Cronenberg-ed up..." "You Cronenberg-ed up-" "Whatever, I'm still one on top of you. Take it from me, Morty. Whatever happens, you and I, we'll stick it out together and-" Rick slumped onto Morty's bed again, out like a light. Morty scratched his head and looked about the room, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, Rick sprang back upright, still seated on the bed. "Wait, where was I?" Rick looked around, eyes slightly glazed. "Y-you knocked out." "Oh no, the Kyborgian beer's finally kicking in. It makes you flash in and out of consciousness. So anyway-" Rick slumped back onto Morty's bed again. Morty groaned. This was going to be a long night. _____________ Never thought I would do a Rick and Morty fanfic. /r/Script_Writes	Ya know uurp Morty, my real name isn't Rick. Its James. No, shut up Morty. I'm gonna tell you a story. So, when I was boy, I was really smart and really tried to help people. But, something happened. I was testing an experiment on my friend, Carl, and it went wrong. Horribly wrong. He became completely disfigured, looking like he belonged in the Cronanburg universe. I flipped. 14 year old me had no idea what to do. I tried everything I could to reverse the affects, but nothing worked. Eventually, I had tried a very rare crystal in my huge portal machine and I was able to visit a different dimension. I looked behind me and was almost trapped as the portal began closing instantly. I knew I needed something portable to use for travel. I took out the crystal and created my first portal gun. Then, it was time for my mission to find a cure for my friend. I decided to take my girlfriend Cindy at the time. It was a great trip, we had crazy, zany adventures, way better and more fun than you've been on. Anyways, we found this crazy planet that worshiped Cindy before she had stepped on the planet. They kidnapped her in the middle of the night and held a ritual to eat her flesh to become like her. Not only had I lost my friend, but now my girlfriend. It was terrible. I decided to give up on Retroville and travel the dimensions, hoping to find a cure for Carl, but with no luck. I met Birdperson during this dark time of my life. He introduced me to some other anarchists and we just did so many terrible things. I didn't want my family in Retroville to be in danger, so that is when u went from James Isaac Neutron to Rick Sanchez
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	Having traveled as far as possible without changing course, I stepped out and planted my bare feet on to the melting pavement. I gave the driver a neighborly wave as he pulled away, large columns of black smoke in his trail. My first instinct was to rest, but I knew that resting would only make my journey more strenuous. I made a bargain with the voice in my head that I would not rest until I reached Baltimore. I pulled out my canteen - the one Stephen had given me back in Morgantown. He told me it would be useful, but I knew I had to make it last. The canteen did little to quench my thirst, but at least it was cold. I felt a new wave of energy come over me as I marched on down the solid white line. I've always been anxious around loud noises, and the cars were not helping my nerves. The green signs continue to taunt me. I believe the games they're playing with my mind have gotten more intense. The mile markers aren't so bad, no, because they only tell me where I am...but I know where I am. Why would I want to know where I am? BALTIMORE 68? Is that supposed to make me feel better? ssomeone called the cops on me. fuck. I see their lights flashing and theyre tires parked right where my feet were five fuckin seconds ago. their lookin fer me. theyve got the flashlights and dogs and the hole 9 yards. Ibooked it into the woods...you shouldve seen how fasy I was runnin. i dont know what im gonna do now. OK so heres the deal i heard the dog barking so I ran from the bastads and i came out the other side of the woods and im in little town somewhere. i, i, i dont know whre i am.. i dont really know. im breathin real heavy now, i need to bet some water or im gonna die. i see a place called rooneys, or roneys or smethin, across the street, they have water there im sure - "Man, this is your big day. You've earned that promotion, fair and square. Just because you're in charge now, doesn't mean we can't still be friends. To Henry!" "To Henry!" the crowd echoed. I didn't feel right about this. O'Rourke is a good guy but I knew that toast should've been for me. I've been with this company for twenty-five years and haven't received so much as a "thank you." He truly believes he's something special, but I know he lied, cheated, and stole to get where he is today. But, just like everything else, I will take it to my grave in the interest of being a good friend and a decent co-worker. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I wanted to go home, but not before talking to Trishia. She was the image of perfection- and I made it my mission to talk to her. Trisha was the head of accounting and for some reason, I've always been attracted to smart women. I craned my neck to scan the place, and I didn't see her stunnning blonde hair anywhere. I did notice that a homeless man had wandered into the bar. He looked to be about 45, with a scraggly beard and no shoes. In his possesion, he had nothing but a canteen. Probably filled with booze. Alcoholic, for sure. I saw Trisha immidealtely re-appear and find her way over to this man. She'll talk to him, but she won' t talk to me? d maybe if I quit my job and grew a beard, or maybe i should take off my shoes. What good are shoes any way? i went over to see trisha an the patient. be cool, mitch, be cool. "you know, you got a thing for bums? i do too." nailed it.i dont think she heard myjoke but ill try agin later. she told me the man was traveling, wounded, an on the run. for what i dunno (like bob marley!) i wonder why the sherrif tried to shoot him anyway. so sad. anyway, trcia called me an uber and took my keys away evn though ive obered up by now, When the uber arrived the alchohoic asked if he could hitch a ride to whereever i was goin. the more the merrier.n jds; we climbed in the back seat, he said his name but i wasnt listening. i asked him about the bob marley song. "man, why was the fuckin sherif such a fuckin prick man? cant he just...cnt he just...get along? we all need to get along." he asked - about tricia. i told him in the best i could about her but i jsst ended up crying nd tld him i loved her ad naybe threw up alittle just a bit. the alcoholic gave me his canteen. HIS ONLY THING LIKE HOLY SHIT ad told meit woud be useful. it wzs a beauftiul ,oment.	Alright kids, sit down and let me weave you a tale. This one is called The Little Mermaid. Once upon a time there was a beautiful mermaid that lived under the sea. She was very kind and courageous, and brilliant as well. However, she was just as curious and often got herself into trouble or into places she shouldn't. Clears throat... mhmmm ok so as said before she was very curious and often found herself staring at the shore where the humans lived, which was forbidden. Fuuuuuuck. DAMNIT. I meaaaaan....darn. Sorry kids dont repeat that. Don't tell mom either. Anyway, the little mermaid often spent the bulk of her time watchin a very sexy prince that would often walk along the beach. She was fascinated with him and wished to walk among them and somethin. I dunno. What? No this isn't like the movie. Shuddup. Alright so then....there's some stuff...aaaaaand oh yeh k so lik then teres a big storm maybe? Yeah yeah I got it now. Ok so then sexy prince guy gets on a boat. EAIT I FUKD UP. Sunvabich. OK REWIND. Shit ok so before that ariels lik yo I wanna hit that wink wink haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa OK so she gets legs someho ye thems like rocking legs by da way very noice. Yup so then she goes to the shore and they probs bang hard if pipkin wat I puttin down aaaaaayyyyeeee. AND THEN BITXH ASS SEXY PRENCE GOEW ON A BOAT OR SOME SHET. Yeah fuckd up I know what a bitch. ALMOST DROWNS...fuckin lame BUT here we got yo girl sexy legs ariels with rescue. So basically she pulls mr did to shore l. Wait. I dunno uhhh OH YEAH. DONT INTERRUPT ME JEESUS CRIST. Wait for it.....SHE DIES HAHAHA. Fuckin bith.
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	There was once a village, a small village in the middle of nowhere, a place surrounded by forestry and lakes. On the outskirts of the village is where the hero of our tale resided, on a patch of farmland where he spent his days looking after cows and sheep in peaceful solitude. Our hero's name was Colin, and though he was now merely a farmer, in days gone by he had been a renowned and fearsome slayer of dragons. That was a pretty long time ago, way back in his youth. It had been decades since he picked up a sword and he liked it that way. So when a messenger rode into town with news of the last dragon, Colin slunk away. Folks of the village were a little pesky about this sort of thing, they liked to get people pulling their weight and weren't to keen on people refusing to do what they were told. The village mayor came knocking at Colin's door to have a word with him. Colin opened the door and straight off the bat he was all "Leave me alone, I don't fight anymore". Thing is, that wasn't good enough for the mayor and he came back like "You're the dragon hunter, who else can we get?" Colin was getting really annoys with him and when he whent to slam the door in his face the mayor held out his hand and was like "For fucksake Colin, we've all got to do shit we don't want to so jus get on with it will you?" Then Colin was all like BAM! He fucking floored that guy! You don't go teling a super badass dragon slayr what to do and he was just like BAM BAM and fuccxng BAM! Then the stupid fuckity fucking people fuck wankers of the village showed up and then they were just really fucking shitty and fucking, blegh, y'know? Basically he just fucking had to do it and it was like, what's the point, y'know? Like, it's his own life and he's just trying to look after some fucking cows. What, that not good enough for you you fucking shitstain society gotta fckig get yourself into everyone's life and just Like seriously, what's the fucking point of it all? I mean not just the story but like, really, what's the point? You just do what the fuck everyone else wants and just want to do your own thing but they just make it like, fuck how much you want to just chil woth your cows and just do what we say and it's like what Milan said like dishonour on you and dishonour on your cow and like why am I alive? Fuck this shit, so he went fucking super saiyan or some shit, I don't fucking care, whatever, and he kills the crowd and fucking dies so his kid gathering the dragonballs and just fucking wishes and senzou bean and over nine tHOUSAaaanD like fucking that what the cunty people want, they just want commercial shit and Fucking WHAT the shit is this crap, I need to rewrite this in the morning I'm going to sleep okay Google save okay Google okay Google oh fuck it's not on assistant it's voice typing Shit piss cunt fuck cocksucker motherfucker tits	Alright kids, sit down and let me weave you a tale. This one is called The Little Mermaid. Once upon a time there was a beautiful mermaid that lived under the sea. She was very kind and courageous, and brilliant as well. However, she was just as curious and often got herself into trouble or into places she shouldn't. Clears throat... mhmmm ok so as said before she was very curious and often found herself staring at the shore where the humans lived, which was forbidden. Fuuuuuuck. DAMNIT. I meaaaaan....darn. Sorry kids dont repeat that. Don't tell mom either. Anyway, the little mermaid often spent the bulk of her time watchin a very sexy prince that would often walk along the beach. She was fascinated with him and wished to walk among them and somethin. I dunno. What? No this isn't like the movie. Shuddup. Alright so then....there's some stuff...aaaaaand oh yeh k so lik then teres a big storm maybe? Yeah yeah I got it now. Ok so then sexy prince guy gets on a boat. EAIT I FUKD UP. Sunvabich. OK REWIND. Shit ok so before that ariels lik yo I wanna hit that wink wink haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa OK so she gets legs someho ye thems like rocking legs by da way very noice. Yup so then she goes to the shore and they probs bang hard if pipkin wat I puttin down aaaaaayyyyeeee. AND THEN BITXH ASS SEXY PRENCE GOEW ON A BOAT OR SOME SHET. Yeah fuckd up I know what a bitch. ALMOST DROWNS...fuckin lame BUT here we got yo girl sexy legs ariels with rescue. So basically she pulls mr did to shore l. Wait. I dunno uhhh OH YEAH. DONT INTERRUPT ME JEESUS CRIST. Wait for it.....SHE DIES HAHAHA. Fuckin bith.
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	Ten little boys went out to dine; blam, and then there where nine. Nine little boys sat up very late; blam, and then there where eight. Eight little boys travelling to Devon; blam, and then there where seven. Seven little boys chopping up sticks; blam, and then there where six. Six little boys playing with a hive; blam, and then there where five. Five little boys going in for law; blam, and then there where four. Four little boys going out to sea; blam, and then there where three. Three little boys walking in the zoo; blam, and then there where two. Two little boys sitting in the sun; blam, and then there where one. One little boy living all alone; blam	Alright kids, sit down and let me weave you a tale. This one is called The Little Mermaid. Once upon a time there was a beautiful mermaid that lived under the sea. She was very kind and courageous, and brilliant as well. However, she was just as curious and often got herself into trouble or into places she shouldn't. Clears throat... mhmmm ok so as said before she was very curious and often found herself staring at the shore where the humans lived, which was forbidden. Fuuuuuuck. DAMNIT. I meaaaaan....darn. Sorry kids dont repeat that. Don't tell mom either. Anyway, the little mermaid often spent the bulk of her time watchin a very sexy prince that would often walk along the beach. She was fascinated with him and wished to walk among them and somethin. I dunno. What? No this isn't like the movie. Shuddup. Alright so then....there's some stuff...aaaaaand oh yeh k so lik then teres a big storm maybe? Yeah yeah I got it now. Ok so then sexy prince guy gets on a boat. EAIT I FUKD UP. Sunvabich. OK REWIND. Shit ok so before that ariels lik yo I wanna hit that wink wink haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa OK so she gets legs someho ye thems like rocking legs by da way very noice. Yup so then she goes to the shore and they probs bang hard if pipkin wat I puttin down aaaaaayyyyeeee. AND THEN BITXH ASS SEXY PRENCE GOEW ON A BOAT OR SOME SHET. Yeah fuckd up I know what a bitch. ALMOST DROWNS...fuckin lame BUT here we got yo girl sexy legs ariels with rescue. So basically she pulls mr did to shore l. Wait. I dunno uhhh OH YEAH. DONT INTERRUPT ME JEESUS CRIST. Wait for it.....SHE DIES HAHAHA. Fuckin bith.
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	Having traveled as far as possible without changing course, I stepped out and planted my bare feet on to the melting pavement. I gave the driver a neighborly wave as he pulled away, large columns of black smoke in his trail. My first instinct was to rest, but I knew that resting would only make my journey more strenuous. I made a bargain with the voice in my head that I would not rest until I reached Baltimore. I pulled out my canteen - the one Stephen had given me back in Morgantown. He told me it would be useful, but I knew I had to make it last. The canteen did little to quench my thirst, but at least it was cold. I felt a new wave of energy come over me as I marched on down the solid white line. I've always been anxious around loud noises, and the cars were not helping my nerves. The green signs continue to taunt me. I believe the games they're playing with my mind have gotten more intense. The mile markers aren't so bad, no, because they only tell me where I am...but I know where I am. Why would I want to know where I am? BALTIMORE 68? Is that supposed to make me feel better? ssomeone called the cops on me. fuck. I see their lights flashing and theyre tires parked right where my feet were five fuckin seconds ago. their lookin fer me. theyve got the flashlights and dogs and the hole 9 yards. Ibooked it into the woods...you shouldve seen how fasy I was runnin. i dont know what im gonna do now. OK so heres the deal i heard the dog barking so I ran from the bastads and i came out the other side of the woods and im in little town somewhere. i, i, i dont know whre i am.. i dont really know. im breathin real heavy now, i need to bet some water or im gonna die. i see a place called rooneys, or roneys or smethin, across the street, they have water there im sure - "Man, this is your big day. You've earned that promotion, fair and square. Just because you're in charge now, doesn't mean we can't still be friends. To Henry!" "To Henry!" the crowd echoed. I didn't feel right about this. O'Rourke is a good guy but I knew that toast should've been for me. I've been with this company for twenty-five years and haven't received so much as a "thank you." He truly believes he's something special, but I know he lied, cheated, and stole to get where he is today. But, just like everything else, I will take it to my grave in the interest of being a good friend and a decent co-worker. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I wanted to go home, but not before talking to Trishia. She was the image of perfection- and I made it my mission to talk to her. Trisha was the head of accounting and for some reason, I've always been attracted to smart women. I craned my neck to scan the place, and I didn't see her stunnning blonde hair anywhere. I did notice that a homeless man had wandered into the bar. He looked to be about 45, with a scraggly beard and no shoes. In his possesion, he had nothing but a canteen. Probably filled with booze. Alcoholic, for sure. I saw Trisha immidealtely re-appear and find her way over to this man. She'll talk to him, but she won' t talk to me? d maybe if I quit my job and grew a beard, or maybe i should take off my shoes. What good are shoes any way? i went over to see trisha an the patient. be cool, mitch, be cool. "you know, you got a thing for bums? i do too." nailed it.i dont think she heard myjoke but ill try agin later. she told me the man was traveling, wounded, an on the run. for what i dunno (like bob marley!) i wonder why the sherrif tried to shoot him anyway. so sad. anyway, trcia called me an uber and took my keys away evn though ive obered up by now, When the uber arrived the alchohoic asked if he could hitch a ride to whereever i was goin. the more the merrier.n jds; we climbed in the back seat, he said his name but i wasnt listening. i asked him about the bob marley song. "man, why was the fuckin sherif such a fuckin prick man? cant he just...cnt he just...get along? we all need to get along." he asked - about tricia. i told him in the best i could about her but i jsst ended up crying nd tld him i loved her ad naybe threw up alittle just a bit. the alcoholic gave me his canteen. HIS ONLY THING LIKE HOLY SHIT ad told meit woud be useful. it wzs a beauftiul ,oment.	I remember when it first happened. I was walking into a grocery store to buy what I needed for the week. A gallon of 2% milk, some root beer and cream soda, and maybe a steak to throw on the grill. PING! I had just turned down aisle 7 and was looking at the soup when I saw him. A masked man in a light grey trench coat with a hood, his face well hidden behind a mask covered with fabric. I, Robert Moore, had just unknowingly walked into a nightmare. PSCHEW! Another incredibly loud noise and I suddenly found myself covered in Minestrone. I sprinted in the opposite direction and headed towards the door. I suddenly thought of all the other mass shootings I'd completely forgotten about over the past few years. FWWT A shot went straight into the man in front of me, he collapsed, writhing on the floor as blood poured out of his right forearm. I didn't have time to do anything but run. What were the chances I'd be caught up in something like this? It only ha- PF-THHGGG The first time hurts, that's for sure. But I'm Robert Moore, the main character, so I have plot protection.
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	There was once a village, a small village in the middle of nowhere, a place surrounded by forestry and lakes. On the outskirts of the village is where the hero of our tale resided, on a patch of farmland where he spent his days looking after cows and sheep in peaceful solitude. Our hero's name was Colin, and though he was now merely a farmer, in days gone by he had been a renowned and fearsome slayer of dragons. That was a pretty long time ago, way back in his youth. It had been decades since he picked up a sword and he liked it that way. So when a messenger rode into town with news of the last dragon, Colin slunk away. Folks of the village were a little pesky about this sort of thing, they liked to get people pulling their weight and weren't to keen on people refusing to do what they were told. The village mayor came knocking at Colin's door to have a word with him. Colin opened the door and straight off the bat he was all "Leave me alone, I don't fight anymore". Thing is, that wasn't good enough for the mayor and he came back like "You're the dragon hunter, who else can we get?" Colin was getting really annoys with him and when he whent to slam the door in his face the mayor held out his hand and was like "For fucksake Colin, we've all got to do shit we don't want to so jus get on with it will you?" Then Colin was all like BAM! He fucking floored that guy! You don't go teling a super badass dragon slayr what to do and he was just like BAM BAM and fuccxng BAM! Then the stupid fuckity fucking people fuck wankers of the village showed up and then they were just really fucking shitty and fucking, blegh, y'know? Basically he just fucking had to do it and it was like, what's the point, y'know? Like, it's his own life and he's just trying to look after some fucking cows. What, that not good enough for you you fucking shitstain society gotta fckig get yourself into everyone's life and just Like seriously, what's the fucking point of it all? I mean not just the story but like, really, what's the point? You just do what the fuck everyone else wants and just want to do your own thing but they just make it like, fuck how much you want to just chil woth your cows and just do what we say and it's like what Milan said like dishonour on you and dishonour on your cow and like why am I alive? Fuck this shit, so he went fucking super saiyan or some shit, I don't fucking care, whatever, and he kills the crowd and fucking dies so his kid gathering the dragonballs and just fucking wishes and senzou bean and over nine tHOUSAaaanD like fucking that what the cunty people want, they just want commercial shit and Fucking WHAT the shit is this crap, I need to rewrite this in the morning I'm going to sleep okay Google save okay Google okay Google oh fuck it's not on assistant it's voice typing Shit piss cunt fuck cocksucker motherfucker tits	I remember when it first happened. I was walking into a grocery store to buy what I needed for the week. A gallon of 2% milk, some root beer and cream soda, and maybe a steak to throw on the grill. PING! I had just turned down aisle 7 and was looking at the soup when I saw him. A masked man in a light grey trench coat with a hood, his face well hidden behind a mask covered with fabric. I, Robert Moore, had just unknowingly walked into a nightmare. PSCHEW! Another incredibly loud noise and I suddenly found myself covered in Minestrone. I sprinted in the opposite direction and headed towards the door. I suddenly thought of all the other mass shootings I'd completely forgotten about over the past few years. FWWT A shot went straight into the man in front of me, he collapsed, writhing on the floor as blood poured out of his right forearm. I didn't have time to do anything but run. What were the chances I'd be caught up in something like this? It only ha- PF-THHGGG The first time hurts, that's for sure. But I'm Robert Moore, the main character, so I have plot protection.
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	Having traveled as far as possible without changing course, I stepped out and planted my bare feet on to the melting pavement. I gave the driver a neighborly wave as he pulled away, large columns of black smoke in his trail. My first instinct was to rest, but I knew that resting would only make my journey more strenuous. I made a bargain with the voice in my head that I would not rest until I reached Baltimore. I pulled out my canteen - the one Stephen had given me back in Morgantown. He told me it would be useful, but I knew I had to make it last. The canteen did little to quench my thirst, but at least it was cold. I felt a new wave of energy come over me as I marched on down the solid white line. I've always been anxious around loud noises, and the cars were not helping my nerves. The green signs continue to taunt me. I believe the games they're playing with my mind have gotten more intense. The mile markers aren't so bad, no, because they only tell me where I am...but I know where I am. Why would I want to know where I am? BALTIMORE 68? Is that supposed to make me feel better? ssomeone called the cops on me. fuck. I see their lights flashing and theyre tires parked right where my feet were five fuckin seconds ago. their lookin fer me. theyve got the flashlights and dogs and the hole 9 yards. Ibooked it into the woods...you shouldve seen how fasy I was runnin. i dont know what im gonna do now. OK so heres the deal i heard the dog barking so I ran from the bastads and i came out the other side of the woods and im in little town somewhere. i, i, i dont know whre i am.. i dont really know. im breathin real heavy now, i need to bet some water or im gonna die. i see a place called rooneys, or roneys or smethin, across the street, they have water there im sure - "Man, this is your big day. You've earned that promotion, fair and square. Just because you're in charge now, doesn't mean we can't still be friends. To Henry!" "To Henry!" the crowd echoed. I didn't feel right about this. O'Rourke is a good guy but I knew that toast should've been for me. I've been with this company for twenty-five years and haven't received so much as a "thank you." He truly believes he's something special, but I know he lied, cheated, and stole to get where he is today. But, just like everything else, I will take it to my grave in the interest of being a good friend and a decent co-worker. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I wanted to go home, but not before talking to Trishia. She was the image of perfection- and I made it my mission to talk to her. Trisha was the head of accounting and for some reason, I've always been attracted to smart women. I craned my neck to scan the place, and I didn't see her stunnning blonde hair anywhere. I did notice that a homeless man had wandered into the bar. He looked to be about 45, with a scraggly beard and no shoes. In his possesion, he had nothing but a canteen. Probably filled with booze. Alcoholic, for sure. I saw Trisha immidealtely re-appear and find her way over to this man. She'll talk to him, but she won' t talk to me? d maybe if I quit my job and grew a beard, or maybe i should take off my shoes. What good are shoes any way? i went over to see trisha an the patient. be cool, mitch, be cool. "you know, you got a thing for bums? i do too." nailed it.i dont think she heard myjoke but ill try agin later. she told me the man was traveling, wounded, an on the run. for what i dunno (like bob marley!) i wonder why the sherrif tried to shoot him anyway. so sad. anyway, trcia called me an uber and took my keys away evn though ive obered up by now, When the uber arrived the alchohoic asked if he could hitch a ride to whereever i was goin. the more the merrier.n jds; we climbed in the back seat, he said his name but i wasnt listening. i asked him about the bob marley song. "man, why was the fuckin sherif such a fuckin prick man? cant he just...cnt he just...get along? we all need to get along." he asked - about tricia. i told him in the best i could about her but i jsst ended up crying nd tld him i loved her ad naybe threw up alittle just a bit. the alcoholic gave me his canteen. HIS ONLY THING LIKE HOLY SHIT ad told meit woud be useful. it wzs a beauftiul ,oment.	Being Deaf and diagnosed with depression , anxiety , and possibly OCD really fucking sucks The struggle to read lips , missing out information , and then giving up completely I am defeated and alone Makes me not want to make friends I don’t want to get out of my home my safe and warm haven Just to be disappointed and heartbroken And I asked myself questions “Is it worth it?” “Maybe I don’t deserve to live?” And so on If God is so loving ... Then why is he letting me suffer like this? Why? Why? Why? Never-ending questions Circling around and around Makes me want to pull my hair Gnaw on my skin And give myself a concession .. To make the noises in my head To stay silent
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	There was once a village, a small village in the middle of nowhere, a place surrounded by forestry and lakes. On the outskirts of the village is where the hero of our tale resided, on a patch of farmland where he spent his days looking after cows and sheep in peaceful solitude. Our hero's name was Colin, and though he was now merely a farmer, in days gone by he had been a renowned and fearsome slayer of dragons. That was a pretty long time ago, way back in his youth. It had been decades since he picked up a sword and he liked it that way. So when a messenger rode into town with news of the last dragon, Colin slunk away. Folks of the village were a little pesky about this sort of thing, they liked to get people pulling their weight and weren't to keen on people refusing to do what they were told. The village mayor came knocking at Colin's door to have a word with him. Colin opened the door and straight off the bat he was all "Leave me alone, I don't fight anymore". Thing is, that wasn't good enough for the mayor and he came back like "You're the dragon hunter, who else can we get?" Colin was getting really annoys with him and when he whent to slam the door in his face the mayor held out his hand and was like "For fucksake Colin, we've all got to do shit we don't want to so jus get on with it will you?" Then Colin was all like BAM! He fucking floored that guy! You don't go teling a super badass dragon slayr what to do and he was just like BAM BAM and fuccxng BAM! Then the stupid fuckity fucking people fuck wankers of the village showed up and then they were just really fucking shitty and fucking, blegh, y'know? Basically he just fucking had to do it and it was like, what's the point, y'know? Like, it's his own life and he's just trying to look after some fucking cows. What, that not good enough for you you fucking shitstain society gotta fckig get yourself into everyone's life and just Like seriously, what's the fucking point of it all? I mean not just the story but like, really, what's the point? You just do what the fuck everyone else wants and just want to do your own thing but they just make it like, fuck how much you want to just chil woth your cows and just do what we say and it's like what Milan said like dishonour on you and dishonour on your cow and like why am I alive? Fuck this shit, so he went fucking super saiyan or some shit, I don't fucking care, whatever, and he kills the crowd and fucking dies so his kid gathering the dragonballs and just fucking wishes and senzou bean and over nine tHOUSAaaanD like fucking that what the cunty people want, they just want commercial shit and Fucking WHAT the shit is this crap, I need to rewrite this in the morning I'm going to sleep okay Google save okay Google okay Google oh fuck it's not on assistant it's voice typing Shit piss cunt fuck cocksucker motherfucker tits	Being Deaf and diagnosed with depression , anxiety , and possibly OCD really fucking sucks The struggle to read lips , missing out information , and then giving up completely I am defeated and alone Makes me not want to make friends I don’t want to get out of my home my safe and warm haven Just to be disappointed and heartbroken And I asked myself questions “Is it worth it?” “Maybe I don’t deserve to live?” And so on If God is so loving ... Then why is he letting me suffer like this? Why? Why? Why? Never-ending questions Circling around and around Makes me want to pull my hair Gnaw on my skin And give myself a concession .. To make the noises in my head To stay silent
	[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot	The Cat in the Hat (with progressive shots of vodka) The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day. I sat there with Sally, we sat there, we two. And I said, "I found daddy's vodka, let's drink til' we're blue." So all we could do was to drink drink drink drink And we really liked it. Sally's face had turned pink. And then something went BUMP! How that bump made us jump! We puked! Sally screamed "Yo da fuck?! What was that?" We puked! And we saw him, the cat in the hat. And he said to us "Why do you drink here like that? I know it is wet, and the weather is shit, but you should be sharing, that you'll have to admit!" "I know some good games we could play," said the cat. "Makes the day pass by a lot quicker. A lot of good games, with a whole lot of liquor. When we are all done, you'll be close as my brother. Just please, for my sake, do not tell your mother." Then Sally and I did not know what to say. This Cat in the Hat seemed awfully gay. But our fish said "oh no, make that cat go away! Tell that cat in the hat you do not want to play!" Or maybe he didn't, perhaps he just splashed. Cuz Sally and I were pretty damn smashed. The cat grabbed the bottle- dad's liquor he tasted. And not before long he was red-faced and wasted. "Fish, shut the fuck up, you're harshing my buzz." He ate him right up then and there just because. "Look at me! Look at me now!" Said the cat. "I just ate your fish! I just pissed on your mat!" I knocked him the fuck out and I shat in his hat. And Sally and I did not know what to do. Was this cat even real? Was our goldfish dead too? He'd come out of nowhere, all our fun he did drain. We dragged him outside, left him out in the rain. It lay there, his body, twitching and winking. As we headed back home to catch up with our drinking. ______________________________________ [more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)	Today I'm going to tell you the story of the Scarlet Letter, by the great Nathaniel Hawthorne. The story has been canonized as one of American Literature's classics, and explores complex morality issues faced in a time when giving in to our own human natures was viewed as both detestable and wrong. I'll tell the story as best as I can remember it. Sorry if some of the details are off, it's been a while. The Scarlet letter takes place in the 1800s. The main character, Hester Prynne, lived in small town colonized by Puritans or Quakers (one of those churches that built their community around measures of austerity), and she committed one of the worst crimes one can possibly commit in that society: adultery. She already had husband, but he was a man much older than herself, and she found herself attracted to a young priest. A devoted woman, she would often church and talk with the priest. There was an undeniable attraction between them, and then one day gives in to her base desires and sleeps with him. All would have been good and well, except one day she has a child, and it could not have been her husbands, because he was away at the time, or maybe he was sterile, or presumed dead, or maybe the baby was too good looking to be his...been a while, don't remember. But man, he was pissed when he saw her holding that baby. Let me tell you. A lot of people asked her to name the father of the child, but she knew that snitches get stitches, so she kept that mouth shut. So what do these Puritan/Quaker/Amish hard-asses do? The make a great big, red 'A' and they stick right on Hester's boobs. Chest. She has to wear it at all times, to remind herself of what a great big adulter-er (?) she was. If you ask me, they shoulda been the ones wearin' the 'A's on their chests, for being a bunch of A-Holes. Jesus, give the girl a break. That priest was the hottest piece of ass in town, not her fault she wanted a taste of the forbidden fruit. Plus, her husband was gross. I don't really remember what he looks like in the book, but I do remember him from the movie, and let me tell you, 3/10 at best. The rest of the story doesn't really matter. I think the priest feels guilty or something. Huge plot twist, right? What happens to Hester? Don't remember. The baby...don't remember. The husband... who cares. The priest...maybe he commits suicide? Don't hold me to that. I think he might have confessed in the end. Or maybe he didn't...hiccup...we may never know. I read the Scarlet Letter...when did I read that...way back in high school? It was better than a Tale of Two Cities...that one was drier than the Sah...Saharherre...the desert. What's...the...hiccup...the moral? Don't...don't live in a place that punishes you with letters...it sucks. Wait, no. Wear your letter with pride. Yeah...hiccup... I like that better. My letter would be a 'D'. Big D, they'd call me. Hey, can you order me an Uber home? I dropped my phone earlier and broke it.

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