The Job

As I stealthily made my way down the street, I clapped my hands gleefully seeing the rivers of blood flowing down.

I walked further searching for souls to collect. I saw my younger brother Destruction, all proper in his grey coat, on the other side of the street. I waved to him. He waved back, but at the exact moment, the building next to him dropped to rubble.

He grinned sheepishly.

I shook my head at his naivety. I had to go wherever he went. It was the golden rule set down.

I heard screams, I heard guns, I heard despair, I felt despair.

But it was a job. And a job had to be done to perfection.

I swished around the roads with my black cloak floating silkily behind me.

I stepped into a shelter and saw a man fighting for his country. Or his pride. I can’t make out anymore and I don’t even try. He had deep gashes all over his body. I felt pity for him and decided to relieve him of his misery.

Slowly, I floated towards him, touching my finger to the centre of his forehead, and immediately I was enveloped with warmth, the memories of his life. His wife, his beautiful kid, his honor, his pride.. His country..

The bluish silver ball of light lifted from the centre of his heart and settled in my hand. My ice-cold hand warmed a little by the heat the ball was emanating.

I smiled at his lifeless body, lying limp on the floor next to a photo of his family.

The job was hard. But, it had to be done. And done to perfection.

I moved out of the shelter when I heard a loud, clear voice announce “When I meet god, I will tell him everything.”

I swished around in a frenzy to look at the source of the voice and was shocked to see a kid.

A mere kid.

I knew they blamed me. They blamed Death. Who wouldn’t?

But, weren’t they to blame for this? I was the mere messenger. Collecting the souls and depositing them.

How can I be blamed for such a blasphemy?

Before I knew it, I was blazing angry. My black coat turned a shade of red as I lifted my hand and waved at the boy.

And it was done.

A golden-silver ball of light emanated from his core and settled into my hand, burning into my palm.

A pure soul.

I was enveloped in a sense of guilt. Anger wasn’t good for me, History had proven time and again.

And yet, I lost it. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t reverse it. Because it didn’t work that way.

My shoulders slouched as I touched the ball of light and whispered, “help” softly.

Immediately, he appeared. His wings a glorious golden, his eyes devastatingly beautiful, his halo shining like the moon.

He looked at me in anger and disappointment and I slung my head and handed him the ball of light.

He snatched it out of my hand, stroked the dead boy’s forehead, and was gone the next instant.

Here I was, in Syria. Death. I should be happy. Business was good here.

But, at what cost..?

Yea, the job was hard. But, it had to be done. And done to perfection.




(Heya guys, this was an assignment that had to be done. I am so sorry for the depressing note, but there are so many things, so many opinions I have conveyed without getting in trouble, I hope. I also hope I have done some kind of justice to my writing and your standards of reading, because I wouldn’t want to disappoint my readers. All three of them.


Anyway, yea, that’s pretty much it. Ciao.)


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