The Grim Reaper’s job is not a pleasant one. But is nonetheless necessary. Death people from all walks of life. The Rich, The Poor, The young, and the old. No one is immune. All lives must come to an end. And despite having such a grim occupation, the Reaper tries to make the best of it, asking if there are any last words and whatnot. But he can’t help but feel numb and mirthless about it all. It is a very draining job. But, as he would say, duty calls and SOMEBODY has to do the dirty work.
And so, one day, he was on a job in the slums. As he roamed the trashed cobblestone street, he saw the faint aura of death emitting from a small hovel. He sighed inwardly. Another soul to reap. The reaper adjusted his grip on his scythe and pulled his cloak closer around him and headed towards the hovel. Once inside, he found a woman buckled over on the ground.
“Sorry, lass,” he said emotionlessly. “Times up.”
She looked up at the sound of his voice and he noticed her forehead was beaded with sweat. Then she gasped.
“The baby’s coming.”
The reaper stood, mouth agape.
“What?”
“You must be a doctor!” she exclaimed. “How else would you know?”
Excerpt From A Book I’ll Never Write: Death to Life
By the Brooke 