I wake up suddenly, as if from a bad dream.

The first thing I see upon waking is the single streak of sunlight across the desolate gray ceiling of my apartment. But even that small stripe of brightness causes me to shut my eyes in disgust, inwardly cringing.
It’s a little hard to get used to, this whole “hating any sign of light” thing, but it can’t be helped. I have to learn to get used to it, just as I have to get used to many changes these days.

Of course, getting used to things isn’t even important. Emotions will eventually be useless to me--an echo of a past life. Someday, I will barely feel anything anymore. I won’t even have to eat anymore, or sleep. But until my transformation is complete, I prefer to keep up these habits--even if they are no longer necessary.

I get up without hesitation, because I no longer feel tiredness. I stand up, run my fingers carelessly through my long black hair. Turning around, I cast my gaze upon my bed. The mattress is torn, with patches of fluffy stuffing poking out here and there. The blankets thrown across it are tattered and wrinkled. Not too long ago, the sight would have disgusted me. But now, looking at it, I feel nothing.

For a moment, I get that awful feeling again. Just for a few agonizing seconds, I feel like I am falling. There is a rush of desperate fear, when I think of everything that I have lost, of my thoughts and emotions slowly draining away, of what I will become someday. But then a shudder passes through me, and the terror is instantly gone.
I have a job to do right now. I can’t forget that.


It is hard to describe exactly what I must do. Back when I was truly human, I might have thought it cruel and saddening. But now that emotions almost completely escape me, I have no opinion of it. I have one simple task, an assignment, that I have to carry out. That is all. So there isn’t much else to say.

I walk through the city in the first early rays of sunshine. Even in such early hours, cars speed by me on the road, and people walk by me on the sidewalk. Even though I am still visible to mortal eyes, I prefer not to be noticed. I dare not make eye contact with anyone. If anyone ever noticed me--if they looked at me too closely, or for too long, they would be able to glimpse something unusual about me.
And trust me...That would not turn out well.

So I keep my eyes ahead of me, staring blankly forward, not really taking in my surroundings. I don’t have to worry about tripping, or crashing into anything, because my feet instinctively take me exactly where I have to go. I don’t have to worry anymore about addresses, about getting lost. I could get anywhere I wanted in this whole city with my eyes closed. I don’t really know how I can do all this, but that’s just the way it is. There’s no point in questioning it.

At last, I reach my destination. I look up at the small, run-down apartment building--covered with colorful graffiti, some of the windows boarded up. It looks like a dismal place to live, but anywhere in this city is, anyway.

I sigh, with no real emotion. It isn’t a real sigh, actually, because I don’t really have lungs anymore. There is nothing inside of me but emptiness. The sound is just an imitation of the actual thing. I don’t know exactly where it comes from. Nonetheless, I always make this sighing noise before I complete my tasks, because I feel like I should be nervous. The truth is, I never am--at least, not anymore. There is always the small chance that something could go wrong. But so far, that has never happened to me.

I climb up the crumbling stone steps to the building, until I reach the front door. Without hesitation, I go inside.

I find myself in a small, enclosed area. On one side of me are the doorbell buttons for each apartment; on the other side are the compartments for the residents’ mail. In front of me is another door, which is locked.

I let out another sigh, glancing at the buttons on the wall. I wonder if I should ring...? No. He wouldn’t be able to answer, I would think.

I glance up at the ceiling, into the corners. I don’t see or sense any cameras fixed on me. This doesn’t surprise me, since this place doesn’t seem advanced enough for decent security. And so, having decided that no one is watching, I walk right through the door, without opening it. (I would like to mention that I only attempt to do this trick when no one is watching, and I have a mission to accomplish.)

Now, I look around, double-checking that no one is there to see me. No one is there, as I had thought. There is nothing but a short, deserted hallway, with a few closed doors lining the wall--the entrances to each apartment. I do not detect much life in this place. It feels that most of the apartments are empty.

But the person I am searching for does not live in any of the apartments here, on this floor. He must live on the next floor, I think.

So I turn to the nearby staircase, and begin to climb.

Climbing stairs is a very human thing. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort. Of course, effort has no effect on me anymore. But going up stairs is still troublesome. If I wanted, I could probably just float up them, or even transport myself from one place to another in the blink of an eye. But there is still a part of me that is attached to human habits. And besides, I haven’t really figured out the extent of my own powers yet.

As I reach the final step at the top of the staircase, I feel something in the air growing stronger. I know that he is nearby, now. He is just sitting there, unaware of what is about to happen to him. Or maybe he sort of knows, but not completely. Something inside of him must know, but maybe he thinks he can avoid it.
I reach the door at the end of the hallway, briefly examining the two golden digits nailed to the door that form the number 13. One of the nails holding down the 3 has come loose, and it hangs at a slight angle.

Perfect--room number 13. I suddenly remember that humans think the number 13 is unlucky, for some reason. Unlucky 13. Well, the occupant of room number 13 is definitely unlucky today. But all mortals will meet his same pitiful fate someday. They won’t reach it in the exact same way, maybe, but they’ll reach it eventually.
Once again, I have no choice but to walk through the door.
And there I find him. He sits at a small table, bent over, next to the window. The curtain is drawn back, and a ray of sunlight glitters on the brown bottle that he is holding.

Alcohol is another pitiful human enjoyment. And evidently, this young man has enjoyed too much of it. A whole array of bottles sit on the table, glinting in the early sunlight. Some others lay smashed on the floor, dark liquid pooling on the floor, the shattered pieces surrounding his feet. For a moment, I feel a slight twinge of human feeling which is pity. He’s young, I think--maybe twenty years old or so. I hate when they’re young. I hate having to do this to them. But I don’t have a choice.

I don’t move at first, slightly hesitant. I just stand there for a few silent minutes. The boy doesn’t move either.

Finally, he lifts his head. He turns toward me slowly, looking at me from under drooping eyelids. No expression crosses his face. There isn’t even a flicker of surprise in his dull grey eyes.

“Um, hi,” I say awkwardly.

The boy blinks. His eyes narrow slightly. “Who’re you?” he mutters, the words smushed together.

I don’t answer, because honestly, I don’t know how. Once, my name was Eva. But that isn’t really who I am anymore.

“That doesn’t matter,” I answer quickly. “But what about you? What’s your name?”
He thinks, as if remembering his own name is difficult. I guess that it is, in his condition.

“Drew,” he finally answers.

“Well, Drew,” I sigh. I take a few calm steps towards him. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m kind of here to take your soul.”

Sometimes, these words shock people. They make people cry. Some people accept them with no protest. Drew just stares at me, his intoxicated mind not really registering the words.

“Whoa,” he finally says slowly, carefully. “So...So you’re like...” He pauses, trying hard to think. “You’re like, the Grim Reaper or something?”

I almost wince at that particular, inaccurate phrase. But I keep my face straight. “Yeah, kind of,” I admit.

“Whoa. So the Grim Reaper is a chick? Weird.”

Drew looks away from me for a moment. He laughs--slowly, softly. But the sound is one of sadness, more than it is of amusement.

I take another step forward. It’s okay, Drew, I think. It will all be over soon. But I can’t find the heart to say the words out loud. And that isn’t surprising, really, considering that I don’t have a heart anymore.

Drew looks up at me again. He blinks slowly. “You’re pretty,” he comments.

“Thanks,” I say softly. I feel another stab of human emotion. (Sometimes I can’t control it. There’s still a part of me that is human. Sometimes human feelings just creep up on me.) I look down at him, and feel an awful sadness and pity. The only thing I can think is, what made him do this to himself? Something must have happened. Someone must have hurt him, deep down. I look at the display of bottles before him, and I know that he did this on purpose. The only question is, why?
Sometimes I wish I could rewind people’s lives. I wish I could see all of the things that led up to this moment. I wish I could see their childhoods, their friends, their families. I wish I could see all of the love, the hate, the trust, the betrayal...everything that added up, building their emotions until the breaking point. But I can’t. I never know what made them this way. It’s not a part of my job.

Drew is crying now. Sobs silently shake through his body. Tears course down his face. It seems that he no longer sees me standing there. He looks past me, at something that I cannot see. Maybe he sees a face, a person. He sees a person that was once special to him, but is gone now. Maybe that person is dead. Or that person betrayed him. Wherever they are, the sight of them brings him pain.

“Shhh,” I whisper, leaning forward. Drew lowers his head onto the table, the way I found him. I gently reach out a hand, touching his shoulder.

Soon, his sobbing stops. A literally deathly silence hangs in the air. I take a step back, looking at his still form, slumped miserably in the chair by the window. His soul is gone now. I don’t know exactly where it has gone. Knowing where the souls go is not a part of my job.

I can only stand there and stare, wondering. I wonder what thought entered Drew’s mind at that last moment, before his life had slipped away. I wonder if he felt any pain.

Some people die slowly, they say, in great agony. Some people die in an instant. The people who die in a single moment are supposedly the lucky ones. Or so it is said. They say that those people who die so quickly feel no pain.

But they do feel pain. No matter what the speed of your death, it is still death, and there is always pain. Even if it only takes a moment for you to die, there is an instant when you feel the horror, the disbelief. You feel your world slipping away. Your life briefly flashes through your mind. In one instant, you realize all the things you could have done, and that all those opportunities are gone. Then, just for one second, there is the terrible agony. But that second seems like an eternity. It is the last thing that you ever feel.

And trust me, it is a horrible feeling.

I should know, because I’ve experienced it.

{END EXCERPT}