Power over death itself is only the beginning…
Experiencing grief is a part of human nature, but what can be said for those who control death itself? The fate of humanity all rests with one girl, but she’s not in the best place in her life to make responsible decisions. A Reaper, only one of many who judge human souls, shows her a world where lives can be saved or snuffed out on a whim like cheap cigarettes, and suddenly the line between good and evil is blurred. The world rests on the edge of a Reaper’s scythe, but how long until it’s torn asunder?
I opened my eyes in a bit of a daze. As soon as my body agreed to do what it was told, I lowered my hand to check the status of my sheets.
“Please no blood,” I chanted.
No blood, which was always a good way to start the day. No sheets either, though. No bed. I’d fallen asleep on the living room floor. The aches that were inherent to sleeping on the floor aside, my body felt different. Lighter, perhaps. I flexed my fingers. My hands felt foreign, like I was trying out someone else’s, but it otherwise seemed to be the same body I’d fallen asleep with.
But why the hell was I on the floor to begin with? I must have been pretty tired, but from what? I had literally done nothing for quite a while. It was kind of sad, really.
I shook my head, rattled my brain. I couldn’t remember anything, but I was still in one piece and not covered in my own blood, so that was reason enough for me to celebrate. I decided to do so with a much-needed shower. I stood up and spied the lighthouse-shaped clock ticking away on the mantel. It was right around noon, which meant I’d either been down for only an hour, or...
“It’s Christmas?” I said with a gasp. “Half the day is already gone!”
How could I have slept for so long?
I wobbled up the stairs, remembering how to use my legs as I went along, and got the shower water running. I stuck my hand into the stream after a few seconds and tugged it back with a yelp and a string of curses. I glared at the shower head for attacking me with a thousand tiny lava needles, waiting for its apology.
“You’re a little more sensitive to external stimuli,” I whispered to myself in another voice. “You should adapt quickly.”
But I wasn’t whispering to myself in another voice, was I? That would be weird. What had actually happened, as I assured myself, was that another person was speaking to me from inside my head.
Though that seemed weird, too...