The Essay - chapter 2 - Maka Centric - Table 1 - Theme#2 Carry
Title: The Essay
Author: unseen_daydream
Rating: T
Pairing: Maka Centric
Theme #: 2
Theme Title: Carry
Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, if I did, There would be more Kidd/Maka!
Summary: ‘My partner and I have collected 199 kinshin eggs and 1 witch’s soul. With my perception I have seen hundreds of others. Out of all of those, 42 souls stand out above the rest.’
Notes: I don't like this one too much to be honest. I kept revising it over and over again before comming up with this and deciding it was good enough. The theme doesn't even come into play until the very end.
The Destination of a Soul
‘Three things make up human beings, as well as every other living being: the body, the mind and the soul. We know what happens when the body dies, and we know that the death of the mind is equal to insanity. But what happens when to the soul? Where does it go?’
Black*Star is an idiot.
A simple statement, an attention grabbing one at that, which no doubt makes Black*Star happy. It is a statement that more often than not is met with nods of knowing agreement. Oh, he’s not always an idiot, there are times where he shows a surprising amount of thought and insight and care. Whether these glimpses of a deeper Black*Star are the reality beneath a miraculous illusion or if they are just freak incidents is one of the longest running underground debates in Shibbusen history.
Most of the time, however, he’s just an idiot. Which is why Maka and Kidd are in the middle of a desert town, lost and without their weapons.
Maka is already mumbling to herself about finding the largest dictionary, no encyclopedia, she can find-hard back edition, of course- and walloping The Idiot over the head with it. Kidd isn’t saying anything, but the distinct twitch in his eyes (left AND right: even his twitching is symmetrical) displayed his obvious annoyance and distaste with the situation.
How they got in this situation is quite simple, you see, it all started when…
Actually, no, it is not simple or neat or precise (and is most certainly NOT symmetrical) so we’re not going to discuss it right now, because Maka’s mumblings are starting to increase in detail, morbidity and volume, and Kidd himself is adding his own eight cents here and there. The pair is surprisingly violent when they’re ticked, and quite frankly, your narrator is afraid of what may happen if they overhear anything of which she is dictating (Fourth wall? What fourth wall?).
All that you really need to know to understand what’s going on is that Black*Star is an idiot, Soul Eater is his partner in crime, and the pair totally bribed Liz and Patty with something or the other(shopping, most likely, and a trip to the local zoo), thusly leaving Maka and Kidd in the middle of a desert town, with no clue as to where they are and how to get back to where they were.
“…and then I’ll slice his Achilles tendons and force The Idiot to watch soap operas over and over again-“
“Spanish soap operas,” Kidd interjected, “really bad ones, with French subtitles.”
It is safe to assume that Balck*Star will be avoiding the pair of them for a long time, because even The Idiot knows better to take on a pissed Maka and Kidd at the same time. The hot desert sun laughs manically at the meister pair, Maka glares at the sun harshly, wondering if it is possible to chop the sun. This, of course, only serves to make the sun laugh harder.
They are not is Nevada, that would be too easy. The pair is instead somewhere in Egypt. Away from the big pyramids and sphinx and cities such as Alexandria, and instead walk through a small eroded town. It is not deserted, the people bustle past, their dark skin draped in clothing designed less for beauty and more for protection from the sun and sand storms.
Maka and Kidd are walking through what is evidently the market place or perhaps the town square; there are little stalls with merchants shouting out their advertisements in a foreign language, the sounds of haggling and bustling life float through the air. This town, whatever it’s called, may be small and beaten down, but the presence of life is strong. These people have a strong will to them and a deep love for their desert home.
Maka cannot understand what the people are saying, but Kidd seems to understand easily. Despite his annoyance there are times that he glances at the people talking and bustling around him, eyes dancing in amusement over some gossip it appears he over heard.
“What language are they speaking?” Maka asks as her temper is put on the back burner in favor of figuring out what is going on around her.
“Egyptian Arabic, or Maşri, it’s the most common language in Egypt,” Kidd replied, his voice matter-of-fact.
Maka, however, is surprised, “How many languages do you know?” she asked with incredulity.
Kidd blushed lightly with embarrassment, “All shinigami are born with the gift of tongues, it is necessary in our line of work.”
She started for a moment, that’s right, Kidd is a shinigami, Maka had forgotten. No, not forgotten, the thought of it always lurked in the back of her mind. Out of all of them, Kidd’s future always seemed the most shrouded, the most mysterious. No one knew what was in store for themselves, the only thing certain for them was death, but Kidd, what is in store for him?
(Another thought, deep and unbidden came to mind, but Maka pushed it away, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, but it’s still there, gnawing at her heart and wetting her eyes, still so young and already weighted down with the pains of an adult.)
She smiles, “Heh! That’s so cool, being able to understand languages like that!” the smile feels a little crusty, dried and cracked, but it’s really hot in the desert so she’s obviously a little dried out.
His eyes are concerned for a moment before he blinks and shrugs the thought away, modestly adding, “It’s not that big of a deal…”
Maka rolls her eyes, sometimes; Kidd just seems so backwards to her. She’s about to tell him this, when she feels something grab her butt. She stops, stiffens, and grows angry. She spins around, ready to give whatever pervert or thief or whoever grabbing her a good thrashing, not particularly caring if he or she could understand or not. Just as she opens her mouth to yell she blinks, there’s no one there.
She blinks again, confused, before foreign babbling reaches her ears. She glances down.
There is a child there, a very small child with dark cinnamon skin covered with patches and dirt and scrape. The child is wearing old patchy clothes, two sizes to big, with sleeves and pant legs rolled over a few times. The child’s raven hair is long, scraggily and full of sand while cedar wood eyes are wide and desperate and old. The cheekbones are pronounced and the body is oddly bony and angular. The child’s age is young and appearance gives no obvious signs of gender: this is a thousand year old child, expecting nothing after having been caught in what is obviously an attempted theft.
Maka glances and Kidd, having no idea as to how she should handle the situation, but he says nothing, his eyes are sharp as they pierce through her but they do not offer any assistance, she is on her own here.
She turns to the child who appears close to tears, “Shhhhh…” she coos squatting down to the child’s level and placing her hands onto the child’s face. The child flinches, and Maka coos again, trying to help the child understand that there is no harm coming. She smiles at the child, a sad but warm feeling bubbling in her chest, she wonders if this is what is called ‘maternal instinct’.
She pulls the bag off her back, what is obvious now as the child’s original goal, judging by the slightly guilty look. She opens and rifles through it. There is not much in the bag that could help here, mostly books from school, but she does find some nutrition bars that she’s been trying to convince Soul to eat. They aren’t the best, but she isn’t carrying money and it’s all she has.
The child lights up and beams, rapidly speaking in the same foreign dialect as before, Maşri. The child gratefully snatches the few bars and darts off. She stands again, glancing around, besides a few pointing bystanders, no one seemed to have noticed what had occurred. She walked over to Kidd, who was staring in the direction the child had run off too.
“You could’ve helped, you know,” Maka says, slightly irritated.
Kidd shrugs in response, “You did fine by yourself,” he is staring straight ahead, but Maka can see in his eyes, light and dancing quietly, that he’s pleased with something.
“How are we going to get out of this mess, anyway?” Maka asks, feeling her skin tighten and dry under the sun’s laughter, she was going to need to break out the aloe after this.
“We could use Beelzebub to get back, but it’s a long distance, especially going over the ocean where we won’t be able to stop. Not to mention that a skateboard really isn’t suited to fit two people. Then we could always fly the old fashion way, the nearest airport that is, or I could use my shinigami powers to get us both back, though that wouldn’t be a good idea unless there’s an emergency. I’ve never transported two people over such a long distance before.” Evidently, Kidd had been thinking about the same thing himself.
Maka stuck out her tongue; she isn’t a big fan of flying and tends to cling to whomever she’s with during take off or landing. It really is the best option though, so she doesn’t say anything. It appears as if plane tickets would be the only way…
“We’ll make Black*Star pay for them,” Maka said with only a little bit of her vindictiveness seeping through.
Judging by Kidd’s smile, he was thinking the same thing, “Shall we go first class, then?”
“Definitely!” She replied with a laugh.
For the next few hours the pair walked aimlessly, chatting and bantering and some open, friendly discussion (see: plotting Black*Star’s demise). It isn’t long before night begins to descend, shrouding the desert land as a bleeding moon rises, insanity in it’s eyes where the sun only held humor. The streets quiet as the people scurry into their homes, shutting doors and windows as they prepare for the cold night.
Before too long, Maka is shivering and rubbing her own arms, the Desert is a place of say to night extremes, The Sun is sweltering where the nights seems to chill one to the very bone. Kidd notices the temperature change only by the way Maka shiver’s, his body being more resilient to things such as temperature changes. He begins searching the signs above doorways, obviously searching for one in particular.
“There,” he says, pointing at a building some blocks away, advanced eye sight is also one of the perks to being a shinigami, “It says ‘hotel’, we can stay there tonight and tomorrow we’ll make our way to one of the larger cities that has an airport.”
“S-sounds good,” Maka replies, her teeth chattering lightly
The two walk on in silence. One is too cold to speak, the other is gazing around, alert, searching for something in the darkened streets of this strange dessert town. He seems to find it as he changes directions suddenly and without word. Surprise flows through Maka as she quickly sprints to catch up with the young shinigami.
“What the hell Kidd?! The hotel is the other way!” She half yells as she catches up to him. But he is not look at her. The two are standing in some alleyway or another. Maka pants warm air into the night chill as Kidd stands straight and stiff as a pole. He doesn’t answer her, and just as she is about to fully yell as him for running off and not answering her, she takes a quick glance at the direction he is. She double-takes, taking in the sight before hr with morbid fascination.
It is a by. Dead, obviously. Not for too long, but long enough that the dark skin is almost pasty and grayish. For a moment her heart jumps, is it the child from earlier…?
A slightly closer examination reveals that, no, it is not the same child. She almost sighs in relief before Maka realizes that it really shouldn’t matter whether or not the body belong to the same child or not, because there is still someone lying in front of her, dead as can be, and all she can think of is that she’s glad it’s not the same person as before. She is slightly disgusted with herself, but she has no time to dwell as Kidd makes his move, approaching the body slowly, cautiously, as if it were a frightened animal.
She blinks in realization before activating her Soul Perception.
There is a small soul hovering above the body, it is pure blue and shaking wildly, frightened and without the slightest clue as too what’s going on. Kidd approaches the soul, cooing softly coaxing it with murmured words and soothing motions. The soul’s shaking slows, and moves/floats/hovers toward the young shingami.
His hands cradle the soul, his hands almost engulfing the small, tender thing. He brings it toward his chest and holds it there, while Maka can only watch in a sort of trance at what is taking place before her. She wants to look away but she doesn’t want to look away. It is an opportunity to learn more about Kidd and it is an opportunity to see something sacred, something she knows she may never see again. A secret insight on what happens when a person dies. She wants to run away, she wants to throw up, she want to comfort the lost soul, and she wants to walk up to Kidd and say, “this is not you’re job, not you’re responsibility, you don’t need to suffer for this soul,” because he is suffering, she can tell by the way his hands tremble, but she can’t say those things because like it or not it is his responsibility, and if its not, it will be, eventually.
“It’s okay,” Kidd whispers, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.”
He brings the soul closer to his chest, his heart, and closes his eyes in apparent concentration. It sinks into him, the soul, right into the area above his heart. Maka’s heart is pounding in her ears, from fear or excitement or sorrow she does not know, but she watch the soul disappear into Kidd’s chest (into his heart) until nothing but a soft glow can be seen, and even that eventually fades.
She does not ask, but he answers anyway.
“I could hear it crying.”
She approaches him slowly, cautiously, as if he were a frightened animal. She lifts her hands and touches the side of his face, cradling it. There are no tears, not that she expected them. But there is a deep sorrow that turn his topaz eyes dark with it’s depths. And behind that sorrow there is a sense of determination or duty and acceptance.
They do not embrace. But he leans his head into her hand and his shoulders slump forward, tired and weary. There are no words. There is no need for them, not here not now.
Maka knows that Kidd can carry his burdens well, that he is stronger than anyone she has ever met, but she also knows that sometimes when things become to heavy its easier if there is someone there to help share the weight, if only for a little while.
‘The soul is an incredible and beautiful thing. When a person dies, that soul is released. And with that, a shinigami must be there to carry it to where it needs to be. I don’t know where they take souls or what happens to them. I only hope that when my time comes my own soul isn’t a heavy burden.
---------------
The things with the soap operas is actually my own personal and favorite form of torture myself. Because, personally, I don't think there's anything worse than watching a bad soap opera in a language you can't understand with subtitles that you also can't understand. Try it sometime, you'll see what I mean.
Author: unseen_daydream
Rating: T
Pairing: Maka Centric
Theme #: 2
Theme Title: Carry
Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, if I did, There would be more Kidd/Maka!
Summary: ‘My partner and I have collected 199 kinshin eggs and 1 witch’s soul. With my perception I have seen hundreds of others. Out of all of those, 42 souls stand out above the rest.’
Notes: I don't like this one too much to be honest. I kept revising it over and over again before comming up with this and deciding it was good enough. The theme doesn't even come into play until the very end.
The Destination of a Soul
‘Three things make up human beings, as well as every other living being: the body, the mind and the soul. We know what happens when the body dies, and we know that the death of the mind is equal to insanity. But what happens when to the soul? Where does it go?’
Black*Star is an idiot.
A simple statement, an attention grabbing one at that, which no doubt makes Black*Star happy. It is a statement that more often than not is met with nods of knowing agreement. Oh, he’s not always an idiot, there are times where he shows a surprising amount of thought and insight and care. Whether these glimpses of a deeper Black*Star are the reality beneath a miraculous illusion or if they are just freak incidents is one of the longest running underground debates in Shibbusen history.
Most of the time, however, he’s just an idiot. Which is why Maka and Kidd are in the middle of a desert town, lost and without their weapons.
Maka is already mumbling to herself about finding the largest dictionary, no encyclopedia, she can find-hard back edition, of course- and walloping The Idiot over the head with it. Kidd isn’t saying anything, but the distinct twitch in his eyes (left AND right: even his twitching is symmetrical) displayed his obvious annoyance and distaste with the situation.
How they got in this situation is quite simple, you see, it all started when…
Actually, no, it is not simple or neat or precise (and is most certainly NOT symmetrical) so we’re not going to discuss it right now, because Maka’s mumblings are starting to increase in detail, morbidity and volume, and Kidd himself is adding his own eight cents here and there. The pair is surprisingly violent when they’re ticked, and quite frankly, your narrator is afraid of what may happen if they overhear anything of which she is dictating (Fourth wall? What fourth wall?).
All that you really need to know to understand what’s going on is that Black*Star is an idiot, Soul Eater is his partner in crime, and the pair totally bribed Liz and Patty with something or the other(shopping, most likely, and a trip to the local zoo), thusly leaving Maka and Kidd in the middle of a desert town, with no clue as to where they are and how to get back to where they were.
“…and then I’ll slice his Achilles tendons and force The Idiot to watch soap operas over and over again-“
“Spanish soap operas,” Kidd interjected, “really bad ones, with French subtitles.”
It is safe to assume that Balck*Star will be avoiding the pair of them for a long time, because even The Idiot knows better to take on a pissed Maka and Kidd at the same time. The hot desert sun laughs manically at the meister pair, Maka glares at the sun harshly, wondering if it is possible to chop the sun. This, of course, only serves to make the sun laugh harder.
They are not is Nevada, that would be too easy. The pair is instead somewhere in Egypt. Away from the big pyramids and sphinx and cities such as Alexandria, and instead walk through a small eroded town. It is not deserted, the people bustle past, their dark skin draped in clothing designed less for beauty and more for protection from the sun and sand storms.
Maka and Kidd are walking through what is evidently the market place or perhaps the town square; there are little stalls with merchants shouting out their advertisements in a foreign language, the sounds of haggling and bustling life float through the air. This town, whatever it’s called, may be small and beaten down, but the presence of life is strong. These people have a strong will to them and a deep love for their desert home.
Maka cannot understand what the people are saying, but Kidd seems to understand easily. Despite his annoyance there are times that he glances at the people talking and bustling around him, eyes dancing in amusement over some gossip it appears he over heard.
“What language are they speaking?” Maka asks as her temper is put on the back burner in favor of figuring out what is going on around her.
“Egyptian Arabic, or Maşri, it’s the most common language in Egypt,” Kidd replied, his voice matter-of-fact.
Maka, however, is surprised, “How many languages do you know?” she asked with incredulity.
Kidd blushed lightly with embarrassment, “All shinigami are born with the gift of tongues, it is necessary in our line of work.”
She started for a moment, that’s right, Kidd is a shinigami, Maka had forgotten. No, not forgotten, the thought of it always lurked in the back of her mind. Out of all of them, Kidd’s future always seemed the most shrouded, the most mysterious. No one knew what was in store for themselves, the only thing certain for them was death, but Kidd, what is in store for him?
(Another thought, deep and unbidden came to mind, but Maka pushed it away, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, but it’s still there, gnawing at her heart and wetting her eyes, still so young and already weighted down with the pains of an adult.)
She smiles, “Heh! That’s so cool, being able to understand languages like that!” the smile feels a little crusty, dried and cracked, but it’s really hot in the desert so she’s obviously a little dried out.
His eyes are concerned for a moment before he blinks and shrugs the thought away, modestly adding, “It’s not that big of a deal…”
Maka rolls her eyes, sometimes; Kidd just seems so backwards to her. She’s about to tell him this, when she feels something grab her butt. She stops, stiffens, and grows angry. She spins around, ready to give whatever pervert or thief or whoever grabbing her a good thrashing, not particularly caring if he or she could understand or not. Just as she opens her mouth to yell she blinks, there’s no one there.
She blinks again, confused, before foreign babbling reaches her ears. She glances down.
There is a child there, a very small child with dark cinnamon skin covered with patches and dirt and scrape. The child is wearing old patchy clothes, two sizes to big, with sleeves and pant legs rolled over a few times. The child’s raven hair is long, scraggily and full of sand while cedar wood eyes are wide and desperate and old. The cheekbones are pronounced and the body is oddly bony and angular. The child’s age is young and appearance gives no obvious signs of gender: this is a thousand year old child, expecting nothing after having been caught in what is obviously an attempted theft.
Maka glances and Kidd, having no idea as to how she should handle the situation, but he says nothing, his eyes are sharp as they pierce through her but they do not offer any assistance, she is on her own here.
She turns to the child who appears close to tears, “Shhhhh…” she coos squatting down to the child’s level and placing her hands onto the child’s face. The child flinches, and Maka coos again, trying to help the child understand that there is no harm coming. She smiles at the child, a sad but warm feeling bubbling in her chest, she wonders if this is what is called ‘maternal instinct’.
She pulls the bag off her back, what is obvious now as the child’s original goal, judging by the slightly guilty look. She opens and rifles through it. There is not much in the bag that could help here, mostly books from school, but she does find some nutrition bars that she’s been trying to convince Soul to eat. They aren’t the best, but she isn’t carrying money and it’s all she has.
The child lights up and beams, rapidly speaking in the same foreign dialect as before, Maşri. The child gratefully snatches the few bars and darts off. She stands again, glancing around, besides a few pointing bystanders, no one seemed to have noticed what had occurred. She walked over to Kidd, who was staring in the direction the child had run off too.
“You could’ve helped, you know,” Maka says, slightly irritated.
Kidd shrugs in response, “You did fine by yourself,” he is staring straight ahead, but Maka can see in his eyes, light and dancing quietly, that he’s pleased with something.
“How are we going to get out of this mess, anyway?” Maka asks, feeling her skin tighten and dry under the sun’s laughter, she was going to need to break out the aloe after this.
“We could use Beelzebub to get back, but it’s a long distance, especially going over the ocean where we won’t be able to stop. Not to mention that a skateboard really isn’t suited to fit two people. Then we could always fly the old fashion way, the nearest airport that is, or I could use my shinigami powers to get us both back, though that wouldn’t be a good idea unless there’s an emergency. I’ve never transported two people over such a long distance before.” Evidently, Kidd had been thinking about the same thing himself.
Maka stuck out her tongue; she isn’t a big fan of flying and tends to cling to whomever she’s with during take off or landing. It really is the best option though, so she doesn’t say anything. It appears as if plane tickets would be the only way…
“We’ll make Black*Star pay for them,” Maka said with only a little bit of her vindictiveness seeping through.
Judging by Kidd’s smile, he was thinking the same thing, “Shall we go first class, then?”
“Definitely!” She replied with a laugh.
For the next few hours the pair walked aimlessly, chatting and bantering and some open, friendly discussion (see: plotting Black*Star’s demise). It isn’t long before night begins to descend, shrouding the desert land as a bleeding moon rises, insanity in it’s eyes where the sun only held humor. The streets quiet as the people scurry into their homes, shutting doors and windows as they prepare for the cold night.
Before too long, Maka is shivering and rubbing her own arms, the Desert is a place of say to night extremes, The Sun is sweltering where the nights seems to chill one to the very bone. Kidd notices the temperature change only by the way Maka shiver’s, his body being more resilient to things such as temperature changes. He begins searching the signs above doorways, obviously searching for one in particular.
“There,” he says, pointing at a building some blocks away, advanced eye sight is also one of the perks to being a shinigami, “It says ‘hotel’, we can stay there tonight and tomorrow we’ll make our way to one of the larger cities that has an airport.”
“S-sounds good,” Maka replies, her teeth chattering lightly
The two walk on in silence. One is too cold to speak, the other is gazing around, alert, searching for something in the darkened streets of this strange dessert town. He seems to find it as he changes directions suddenly and without word. Surprise flows through Maka as she quickly sprints to catch up with the young shinigami.
“What the hell Kidd?! The hotel is the other way!” She half yells as she catches up to him. But he is not look at her. The two are standing in some alleyway or another. Maka pants warm air into the night chill as Kidd stands straight and stiff as a pole. He doesn’t answer her, and just as she is about to fully yell as him for running off and not answering her, she takes a quick glance at the direction he is. She double-takes, taking in the sight before hr with morbid fascination.
It is a by. Dead, obviously. Not for too long, but long enough that the dark skin is almost pasty and grayish. For a moment her heart jumps, is it the child from earlier…?
A slightly closer examination reveals that, no, it is not the same child. She almost sighs in relief before Maka realizes that it really shouldn’t matter whether or not the body belong to the same child or not, because there is still someone lying in front of her, dead as can be, and all she can think of is that she’s glad it’s not the same person as before. She is slightly disgusted with herself, but she has no time to dwell as Kidd makes his move, approaching the body slowly, cautiously, as if it were a frightened animal.
She blinks in realization before activating her Soul Perception.
There is a small soul hovering above the body, it is pure blue and shaking wildly, frightened and without the slightest clue as too what’s going on. Kidd approaches the soul, cooing softly coaxing it with murmured words and soothing motions. The soul’s shaking slows, and moves/floats/hovers toward the young shingami.
His hands cradle the soul, his hands almost engulfing the small, tender thing. He brings it toward his chest and holds it there, while Maka can only watch in a sort of trance at what is taking place before her. She wants to look away but she doesn’t want to look away. It is an opportunity to learn more about Kidd and it is an opportunity to see something sacred, something she knows she may never see again. A secret insight on what happens when a person dies. She wants to run away, she wants to throw up, she want to comfort the lost soul, and she wants to walk up to Kidd and say, “this is not you’re job, not you’re responsibility, you don’t need to suffer for this soul,” because he is suffering, she can tell by the way his hands tremble, but she can’t say those things because like it or not it is his responsibility, and if its not, it will be, eventually.
“It’s okay,” Kidd whispers, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.”
He brings the soul closer to his chest, his heart, and closes his eyes in apparent concentration. It sinks into him, the soul, right into the area above his heart. Maka’s heart is pounding in her ears, from fear or excitement or sorrow she does not know, but she watch the soul disappear into Kidd’s chest (into his heart) until nothing but a soft glow can be seen, and even that eventually fades.
She does not ask, but he answers anyway.
“I could hear it crying.”
She approaches him slowly, cautiously, as if he were a frightened animal. She lifts her hands and touches the side of his face, cradling it. There are no tears, not that she expected them. But there is a deep sorrow that turn his topaz eyes dark with it’s depths. And behind that sorrow there is a sense of determination or duty and acceptance.
They do not embrace. But he leans his head into her hand and his shoulders slump forward, tired and weary. There are no words. There is no need for them, not here not now.
Maka knows that Kidd can carry his burdens well, that he is stronger than anyone she has ever met, but she also knows that sometimes when things become to heavy its easier if there is someone there to help share the weight, if only for a little while.
‘The soul is an incredible and beautiful thing. When a person dies, that soul is released. And with that, a shinigami must be there to carry it to where it needs to be. I don’t know where they take souls or what happens to them. I only hope that when my time comes my own soul isn’t a heavy burden.
---------------
The things with the soap operas is actually my own personal and favorite form of torture myself. Because, personally, I don't think there's anything worse than watching a bad soap opera in a language you can't understand with subtitles that you also can't understand. Try it sometime, you'll see what I mean.