A few other and myself from @joinourbookclub rolled the dice and were given "sleeping during danger" and "a place where it is comfortable to be alone" as a combination prompt! Thank you @chaoticstupidbird for providing these prompts!
Brainstorming: 10 Minutes
Writing: 30 Minutes
I hope you enjoy!
The Reaper sits cross-legged in the window sill. Behind her the sky rains ash and dust of The Dead. This event has everyone in her profession pulling overtime. It wouldn’t be so bad if the capacity limit wasn’t so close to being exceeded. Still, The Reaper sits apathetic and otherwise very bored waiting for her current retrieval to slip just enough into their own darkness to acknowledge her presence.
He’s fighting pretty hard. The Reaper observes the labored breaths the man makes. His eyes are glazed over with tears and blood and unbridled determination. He’s crawling, gripping his chest in an effort to force air back into his draining blood. His ultimate destination is the window. It’s the only exit available since the rest of his small condo was caved by the impact. He doesn’t realize he’s looking directly into the eyes of The Reaper.
One more half shuffle towards The Reaper is enough to exert too much force on his already broken body. He collapses – quite unceremoniously – and wheezes and wheezes and wheezes. The Reaper knows his airway is clogged with smoke and blood and tears and calls for his mother. All that manages to leave his mouth is a gross splattering of blood and his final breath.
The Reaper drops a leg off the edge of the window sill and looks into the eyes of Craig Anderson. According to The Reaper’s logs, he’s 42. Had a wife, a kid, and zero empathy. His cold eyes stare back into her nothingness.
“Did you deserve to die?” The Reaper has to ask. The answers have to be reported to the Bureau. Craig bolts upright with agility he has never possessed, especially in the last 5 minutes. He clammors backwards, hitting his back on fallen debris. His eyes flit from his lifeless body to The Reaper to the burning world just beyond. His head swivels from his blood stained bed to his unfinished beer and still smoldering pipe. Nowhere can he find his voice.
The Reaper slides out of the window and approaches Craig, careful to step around his body. Even though he’s cornered he still searches for a way out. The Reaper stops just in front of Craig and lowers down to his level. “Did you deserve to die?”
Craig manages a small shake of his head. The Reaper sighs and drops her head between her knees. Why must they always be so scared? She runs a frustrated hand over her face and looks back up at her assignment. “Use your words. We can’t get out of here until you do and I have a long list of others waiting.”
Craig chokes on nothing. The seconds tick tick tick past until it clicks. He’s dead. He’s dead? He’s pissed. “Of course I didn’t! Who the fuck are you to ask?”
The Reaper tilts her head slightly. The bold ones are fun to toy with. She would entertain this more if there weren’t more pressing matters to attend to. She stands to her full height and gazes down at Craig. With a wave of her hand she materializes a scythe. She allows the full weight of the weapon to pound the ground and smiles wickedly at Craig.
“I, dear boy,” The Reaper raises the scythe parallel to her arm, “am the one who sends you to those who decide if that is true.”
