man, it was supposed to be a poem. Oh well!
I wrote cool tabloid story for creative writing only to see if was supposed to be a poem, Oh well you can read it.
Grim Reaper to Retire - People Will Live Forever!
"So tell us, Mr. Reaper, how did you come to this decision?" The reporter was trying to hold back laughter; he was so overjoyed. "What made you give up the business?"
I sat back in my chair, my scythe under my feet. I pushed it back and forth, which made the reporter fidget in his chair. "I was down in Jamaica," I began. "There was a man who was dying of throat cancer. I came to claim him, for his hour was coming near. He saw me standing at the end of his hospital bed and he became terrified. He tried to scream, but I silenced him, and as I raised my scythe over him his eyes began to tear. He grabbed my sleeve and asked me, "Why are you doing this?"
I stepped back. That is not a question I get too often, surprisingly. Mostly people try to scream, run away, say they are ready to meet God, or beg me or something like that. This man, however, he asked me why. I stepped back and thought. I really didn't know."
"So," the reporter inquired, "This man changed your mind about taking lives?"
"No, I killed him, cause it was his time to go. Besides, he deserved his cancer. He smoked like a chimney." I stood up quickly to adjust my robe, and the reporter again fidgeted in his seat.
"After that, though is when I began to think, perhaps I'm getting too old for this. I'm tried of following you people around waiting for you to croak. Nobody likes me, and this damn scythe, it's heavy!"
"I guess what everyone wants to know, is this a retirement or a vacation?" The reporter leaned forward in his chair. His eyes hungry to know the fate of human lives, of his own life.
"Oh, this is definitely a retirement. I can't stand it anymore. I just want to be left alone. No more of you people, who have caused so much pain, who think that your life is worth something. Please, Mr. Grim Reaper, please don't take me yet. As if manners can help you. Please, leave me alone!"
The reporter looked as if he was about to explode in excitement. I could see the gears in his head turning thinking of all the things he could do with his immortality. "Is there a successor, an apprentice?"
"I never married, no, there are no Grim Juniors, nobody who wants to take over the business. Yes, yes, revel in it, you twirps will live forever. I don't care. I just want to be left alone."
The reporter didn't even end the interview. He just stood up and ran out of the room, off to beat up the jerk in cubicle three no doubt. I calmly stood up and smoothed out my robe. I could finally change this uniform. It was so restricting!
The scythe was beneath my chair. Perhaps I would keep it just for kicks. Tell people at dinner parties about it. Oh, that? Well, I used to kill people with it back when I was the Grim Reaper.
"Who do I have to kill to get some coffee around here?" My cry sent everyone in the vicinity scrambling to the coffee pot. Heh, it was still fun striking fear into people.
A young blonde girl brought me the cup, shaking it so bad that I thought I'd have to lap the coffee off of the floor. "Here you are, sir," she stuttered.
"Relax," I said, taking the coffee. "I'm not in the killing business anymore, and even if I was, I only kill your body. Whether your soul dies, that's up to you." I walked off with my coffee, and headed off to my freedom, leaving humankind to their own devices.
Grim Reaper to Retire - People Will Live Forever!
"So tell us, Mr. Reaper, how did you come to this decision?" The reporter was trying to hold back laughter; he was so overjoyed. "What made you give up the business?"
I sat back in my chair, my scythe under my feet. I pushed it back and forth, which made the reporter fidget in his chair. "I was down in Jamaica," I began. "There was a man who was dying of throat cancer. I came to claim him, for his hour was coming near. He saw me standing at the end of his hospital bed and he became terrified. He tried to scream, but I silenced him, and as I raised my scythe over him his eyes began to tear. He grabbed my sleeve and asked me, "Why are you doing this?"
I stepped back. That is not a question I get too often, surprisingly. Mostly people try to scream, run away, say they are ready to meet God, or beg me or something like that. This man, however, he asked me why. I stepped back and thought. I really didn't know."
"So," the reporter inquired, "This man changed your mind about taking lives?"
"No, I killed him, cause it was his time to go. Besides, he deserved his cancer. He smoked like a chimney." I stood up quickly to adjust my robe, and the reporter again fidgeted in his seat.
"After that, though is when I began to think, perhaps I'm getting too old for this. I'm tried of following you people around waiting for you to croak. Nobody likes me, and this damn scythe, it's heavy!"
"I guess what everyone wants to know, is this a retirement or a vacation?" The reporter leaned forward in his chair. His eyes hungry to know the fate of human lives, of his own life.
"Oh, this is definitely a retirement. I can't stand it anymore. I just want to be left alone. No more of you people, who have caused so much pain, who think that your life is worth something. Please, Mr. Grim Reaper, please don't take me yet. As if manners can help you. Please, leave me alone!"
The reporter looked as if he was about to explode in excitement. I could see the gears in his head turning thinking of all the things he could do with his immortality. "Is there a successor, an apprentice?"
"I never married, no, there are no Grim Juniors, nobody who wants to take over the business. Yes, yes, revel in it, you twirps will live forever. I don't care. I just want to be left alone."
The reporter didn't even end the interview. He just stood up and ran out of the room, off to beat up the jerk in cubicle three no doubt. I calmly stood up and smoothed out my robe. I could finally change this uniform. It was so restricting!
The scythe was beneath my chair. Perhaps I would keep it just for kicks. Tell people at dinner parties about it. Oh, that? Well, I used to kill people with it back when I was the Grim Reaper.
"Who do I have to kill to get some coffee around here?" My cry sent everyone in the vicinity scrambling to the coffee pot. Heh, it was still fun striking fear into people.
A young blonde girl brought me the cup, shaking it so bad that I thought I'd have to lap the coffee off of the floor. "Here you are, sir," she stuttered.
"Relax," I said, taking the coffee. "I'm not in the killing business anymore, and even if I was, I only kill your body. Whether your soul dies, that's up to you." I walked off with my coffee, and headed off to my freedom, leaving humankind to their own devices.