I feel like we should probably talk at some point…about that whole thing that happened…
@sweater-anon
(ooc: i need them to be friends again (not that they really stopped being friends but you know what I mean))
[* Easy29 looks at his phone. He replays the voicemail again again and again. He then stops, he looks at his fridge at the two drawings Knit drew for him. Talk... Does he want to talk..? He isn't sure. But if it was for Knit.. Then he probably would talk to her. For Knit. It's just for Knit, he said to Knit like a promise he would take care of them. He sends a voicemail back.]
"...Sure... When..? Just wanting to know. Not that I sound mean. Uh. Bye."
thinking about the fact that sweet pea and faye date for like six months without realizing it ❤️ i for one think it is not only acceptable but commendable for them to have no brain cells between them
So I'm writing a book and I have no idea if the premise is any good so I'm gonna post the prologue...
Please just inbox me or reply saying what you thinks, it's a few pages of A5 so I don't know how long it'll be on here, but, yeah...
Prologue
For a dead man, Christopher Swaye had a lot of issues. For one, Swaye was at war. Ever since he died, this had been his world. He watched it crumble, the buildings made from nothing, the rock and the stone splintering down as the Reapers make their unholy rampage through Death's domain. Swaye was once a detective on the streets of Johnstone, a small place close to Paisley, until his untimely demise. He didn't really remember it, but that was normal. He'd been dead for many more years than he cared to count, and he'd spent his afterlife fending off the Reapers - monstrous spirits who posses the ability to reap a soul. The only way to die here.
He didn't massively understand it, but it was clear to him that anyone caught in the view of a Reaper was history. He heard rumours, though. That Reapers were more than human, that they were real Demons, like in the Religions of the living. They were the cascading personification of evil, and drew their power from those they reap.
Swaye was alone in this world, and had no intention of becoming close to those he met. He just wanted to last the war out until it's end. He often thought it was a coward's solution, but he had no power compared to the Reapers. No one did. They were winning.
There was a resistance, somewhere, that was apparently building a weapon powerful enough to kill a Reaper, but no one he ever met had anything to do with it. Maybe it was just stories. To keep hope. Even in death there had to be hope, right?
He had been a Christian in life, but his expectations of Heaven and Hell seemed to be inaccurate. From what he had gathered from other people - dead people, he had to remind himself - the Reapers had began their attack not long before Swaye died. No one knew what their objective was, why they had attacked, or who was leading them. All that was known was that if you get in their way, you wont be there long. One sweep of their long, gleaming scythes, and your soul was reaped. You had died for the second time.
And so he hid, as many did. Moving every night to sleep through the day, in a world that resembled the living one. It was similar in shape, he discovered, only being different in that no buildings were identical to the ones on the 'real world'. He had a theory that it was all a different dimension, where your soul was forced after you die.
Hence why Swaye had, after a very long time moving, made it to the other end of the world and back. He was now in the spot he had woken up after death. The Spawning, people call it. Like a video game, apparently, in which you die and get a second life in a new spot. Spawning.
It was a small Scottish street, where he had lived and served as a Uniform, then as a detective, and finally where he had died. He didn't know what killed him, but he'd got worse problems since. Which is strange, really.
The Reaper's activity was quiet here, and he wasn't intending on making any noise or staying too long. Just for nostalgia's sake was he even here, so it wasn't much of a reason. He knew he shouldn't be here, but it was strangely nice.
He heard a crackle. The air seemed to fill with electricity, making the dead hairs stand upon his dead arm. Swaye shivered, knowing what was going on. Someone was Spawning here.
He stepped out into what would be a road, if there were any cars to drive on it. It was just a wide, deserted pathway here, but he suspected others shared his nostalgia for life. He watched the corner, as a bubble of crackling light started to accumulate on the stone floor, the sheerness of it forcing him to avert his eyes.
A sound like thunder, only easily less penetrating or booming, filled his ears, before cutting out. A moan.
Swaye turned back and moved his hands from his eyes, allowing him to see the teenager before him. Only a kid. Damn.
He helped the boy to stand, his ripped jeans and dirtied trainers struggling to hold his weight, as though there were none of him underneath. He managed though, the boy, and swept his thick fringe out the way. His eyes were blue, but warm. He looked scared.
'Who the hell are you?!' the boy yelled.
'Shut up!' Swaye ordered. 'You want Reapers on our arses?!'
'What?!' they looked at each other. 'Well?'
'Well what?'
'Well, aren't you an Angel, or something. I just got stabbed, and now I'm here. You must be here to help me pass, or however it works.'
'You religious?'
'Not really, no.'
'Good. It's all pretty much wrong. You're dead, so am I, and if we're not careful, the Reapers will notice and make it a more permanent state of affairs. Let's move.' Swaye started to walk.
'Move? Why?' Swaye stopped and looked at him.
'You wanna stand here all day?'
'Well no-'
'Good, because that would get you reaped. We move, we stay dead.'
'That a good thing?'
'Better than annihilation.'
'Wow. That's a nasty word.'
'Indeed it is, Lad. Avoid it. Now, I know there's a house down the road belonging to a friend of mine, or at least it did. Long gone now, had the sense to run, but the place is pretty secure. It'll last long enough for me to fill you in.' Swaye started walking down the road, taking a slightly longer route behind garden hedges, but the cover they held was too convenient to pass up. Swaye led him to a house that had the front door knocked in, and from within came the sounds of a struggle. They walked past, quickly, and Swaye directed the boy to a garden path. There was a loose bit of fence, which he dislodged and used to take the boy into the house behind. He headed straight into the house, the door being unlocked by Swaye's key. Handy. They stepped in and he locked it behind them.
The boy walked into the living room tentatively, not sure what to expect inside. It was dusty, sure, but seemed OK. No blood, at least. He caught himself, and wondered if ghosts have blood. He figured not.
There was no T.V, either, just two sofas and a leather chair. Swaye set down in the chair, after drawing the curtains. Just in case, he said.
'You're not Scottish. What is that accent?'
'I'm a Newcastle boy, mate. Got family living up here. I was going to get milk and…'
Swaye nodded, understanding. Everyone he'd met in this place had been murdered. Again, rumour was that there were different places for each way to die.
'So,' the boy said. 'This is death.'
'Yes it is. Any questions?'
'Reapers. What are they?'
Swaye smiled. 'Killers. They murder the dead.'
'Why are you smiling?'
'Because it's what I would have asked. No one really knows who they are, what happens to those who are reaped, only that it's permanent. No one survives. No one comes back. '
'What's your name?' the boy asked, leaning forward from the sofa.
'No names.' Swaye shook his head. 'Names lead to attachment. Attachment leads to mistakes, and mistakes to being reaped.'
'I'm Isaac.'
'I said no names.'
'I don't care. Why would I listen to you. I'm dead.'
'I saved your life.'
'I'm dead, I'll have you know. Reapers aren't going to do anything that bad, all it would be is the same as being stabbed. Again.'
'You have no idea, boy.'
'My name is Isaac.'
Swaye stood up to leave, but s topped dead at the door. He looked at the blinds, and just as he did, a figure moved away. Isaac stood up too now.
'My name is Christopher Swaye. Call me Chris and I'll personally reap you. It's Swaye.'
'I thought you said no names.'
'Makes no difference, that was a Reaper outside. We're dead.'
'Again?'
'Again.'
'I feel funny. Like a buzzing.' Isaac frowned, but Swaye ignored him. 'OK, that's starting to hurt.'
'Shut up!' Swaye hissed. The Reaper was at the door they had come through, they could see it's red cloak through the glass. The black face watched them, looking for a way in. It tapped the door, which instantly came off it's hinges.
'Wow, locking it made a difference. Right, Isaac, run!' Swaye grabbed the cringing Isaac and dragged him to the front door as the Reaper walked in the back.
Swaye dragged him by the hand for as long as he could, until Isaac collapsed in the middle of the road, yelling in pain. He grabbed his side, as though trying to force a wound shut. The Reaper approached, testing it's scythe on an unfortunate plant pot. Two more approached from behind, slowly. They had no reason to rush. The younger one was injured, and soon he would be gone.
Swaye knelt down beside Isaac, holding the boy's head in his hands.
'Nice knowing you, Isaac!' Swaye laughed a dead man's laugh before feeling the Reaper's scythe fall into his waist, just as another hit Isaac. Isaac's eyes flashed white, and the world span away.
