Oh shat. Last night, I had a little too much to drink and now I wake up in an auction room. Guess what they're selling up there? My death scythe. Yeah. That's right. I bet you're pretty horrified to hear that, because I know I sure am. I don't even really know how any of it happened. By 'it', I mean why am I wearing a grass skirt? Where is my left arm? Howcome auctionee #45, that old lady over there with the sagging right eye, is checking me out? This is what I'd ask myself but, unfortunately, myself is somewhere in this room stumbling about looking for more booze. I don't mean that in a bad way but, really, how can I mean it in a good way? I just watch from the sidelines, because I am my own subconscious. Sometimes, I embarass myself--like the other day, for instance:
It was a day like any other. The birds were singing, school was in, and I was out on another run to the retirement home in downtown Red Deer, Alberta. Unfortunately, I sometimes get my directions mixed up since I have so many souls to reap on a daily basis. You see, I somehow ended up inside the Red Deer North District Secondary School gym.
Ahhh...Yes, I see that you're starting to understand where this is going.
When I was young, my parents led me to believe that it is best not to judge a book by its cover and so, upon seeing the wheezing, profusely sweating, blue lipped Danny Sullivan dragging himself across the gymnasium to complete his second and last lap (mind you, this is a very small gymnasium), how was I to know that it wasn't his time? I hadn't been told that I was at a high school--I just thought it was a rather educational old folks' home. It never looks good on your transcript in the afterlife if you kill a thirteen year-old invalid by mistake instead of a ninety-eight year-old hag who suffers from severe atherosclerosis. Some people frown upon 'oopsie's such as this. They say that Death is a joke, that Life is unfair, and that they wish it was them. Well, I can honestly say that yes, I am a bit of a joke (but only on Sundays--that's my comedy night). However, I don't care much for the fact that these people just assume things and can't forgive an honest mistake. I know Life. He's a good guy, and usually he's pretty good on honesty and equality. I suppose you could say he's rather disinterested in his job, in a way, but that isn't really a bad thing for a guy like Life. It's better for him to be unprejudiced than to be on everyone's case all the time. It just irritates me that everyone always hands him all the credit on a silver platter. If people can be happy for the birth of a child, why can they not be happy for the death of those in a plane crash? Would they rather that their friends or relatives suffer painfully without any salvation? At any rate, I digress.
Here we are again, at the auction house. I really do hope that you've enjoyed my story, because I won't be around much longer. Death will soon go by the name of Bidder #56---Antoine Juarez. There could be a chance that I can somehow obtain my scythe before the end of the day, but it's risky. Wait. What am I talking about? I'm still Death. At least, for now I am.
~I, in my dazed and confused stupor, am still stumbling aimlessly. However, upon realization that my life might not be at its end, I leap forth! Flying at the auction associate with rage, I tear out his spinal cord and reclaim what is rightfully mine. The Death scythe, in all its resplendent glory, slices the still standing body of said auction associate in two.
Holding the bloody cord of spine above my head, I slowly lean towards the microphone. The horrified crowd trembles in silence and anticipation of what I am about to say. What crucial epiphany will I deliver to mankind? How will I exercise my wrath?? I breathe in slowly and open my mouth.
"Well, I'd heard that politicians and auctioneers alike are spineless, but I didn't think it was true!"~
At this point, I'd prefer not to tell you what happened after that. I will leave to your imagination the horrified expressions, shrieks of terror, and panic that may or may not have ensued. Let me just tell you that, after all was said and done, I came out of that auction house one spine less, and fifty-six dollars, twenty-three cents richer.
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