Becoming Death: Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
After my father’s death, I carried on as usual. I had work to do. I wanted to feel bad—I thought I should—but I couldn’t. Something inside me wouldn’t let me. It was as if my human soul was locked away in a vault, sealed forever.
I spent my break beneath a skeletal tree on the endless white plains of Limbo, the cracked earth below serving as a canvas for my introspection.
My thoughts were usually scattered. Sounds from my previous life—car horns, the click of typing, the smell of rain—fragmented and littered the streets of my mind.
Absurdity runs rampant in this realm. Human and supernatural elements are stitched together in an unholy tapestry. Why did I even need a break? The concept seemed absurd here—a vestige of human Order bleeding into the afterlife. It felt unnatural. Strange.
I sighed and checked my next task. A soldier’s soul had just been added to my list. Another casualty of human Order.
The soldier had a slow, painful death. Shot in the gut and left to die in the field. By the time I arrived, the heat was oppressive, the air thick and humid. I was already annoyed—I hate the heat, and I hate wearing shorts. I look stupid. I still have my vanity.
When I got to him, he wasn’t quite finished dying. So, I sat down across from him and fell asleep.
I woke up with a start. The soldier was gone.
"Shit!"
His trail was easy to follow. I found him hiding in a small cave, like a wounded animal. Quietly, I crept toward him.
His eyes were wide with fear, his shirt stained with dried blood. A part of his small intestine hung from his stomach. I couldn't stop thinking about how hot it was.
"Are you Death?"
"Yes."
"You've come for me?"
"Yes."
"I can't go now. I'm not dead yet."
"You are. Let's go. Be brave. Don't be like everyone else."
At this point in my career, if you couldn't tell, I had completely given up on humanity. Their fear of death disappointed me. I could not fathom the illogic of it. Why cling to a rock that feels nothing for you? A rock that, eventually, will be consumed by an exploding sun? Humanity’s fate is sealed. The logical conclusion is obvious: existence is futile. And yet humans persist. If they were truly rational creatures, they’d all kill themselves.
From my observations, humans don't want to live. They just want an experience. Yet most of them waste their time scrolling through videos of other people’s experiences instead of having their own.
The soldier glared at me, annoyed. He felt as if I challenged his bravery. He was looking at me with narrowed eyes. For a second I thought he was going to pounce on me.
“Bravery is for dumbasses,” he spat. “The coward survives.”
“Profound,” I replied dryly. “But is a coward’s life worth living?”
“There’s no difference between living or dying as a coward,” he said. “We’re all cowards in the end.”
He was fumbling with his intestines, trying to shove them back into his gut.
“None of this is real anyway,” he muttered. “There’s nothing after death.”
“I didn’t take you for an atheist,” I said. “But for all their supposed logic, humans will never know what happens when they die. Only the dead know—and they can’t tell you.”
The soldier narrowed his eyes. “Then tell me this, Grim: what happens when you die?”
“Beats me.”
That gave him pause. He stopped messing with his stomach and stared at me.
“You don’t know?”
“Nope. Now quit stalling. This isn’t a movie. I’m on the clock, and my job is to deliver you to Headquarters.”
He leaned back, exhausted but defiant. “I’ll go. I’m not trying to escape. I just want to understand the point of it all.”
“It seems like you already know there isn’t one. You existed; soon you won’t. Or maybe you will. Either way, it’s none of your concern. Take it from me—ambivalence is the only thing that’ll get you through this journey to the End.”
He studied me for a moment. “How don’t you know? Aren’t you Death?”
I almost told him the truth—that I’d never crossed over myself. But I stopped short. Why was I entertaining his questions? They all tried this—challenging me, stalling for time. Chess matches, footraces, arm wrestling—they’d tried everything. And they always lost.
The guilt I once felt, the sorrow I’d searched for in myself—it was all fading.
But then, an idea crept into my mind: What if I let him go? What would happen? Would the threads of reality unravel? Would the universe collapse into chaos?
I remembered an onboarding video I’d seen.
The narrator, Cerberus, was wearing a tie. The video had that grainy VHS aesthetic, like a late night public access program that felt like a fever dream.
“So, you might be wondering,” Cerberus droned, “what happens if you fail to report all your souls? Short answer: nothing good. You’ll get fired. You’ll lose all your benefits. Then, you’ll be sent to the last circle of Hell with all the other traitors. And trust me, Judas Iscariot is not a good hang.
“Your essence will never be released back into the universe. You’ll never realize the meaning of life or death. In short, you’ll be stuck in perpetual ignorance—the nature of life itself. And that, my friend, is true damnation.”
I tied the soldier up by his feet and dragged him behind me. I started this new thing of blindfolding and gagging them because I couldn't stand the sound of wailing anymore. It just reminded me of everything I lost.
I tossed the soldier at Cerberus's feet. He looked up from his desk smirking.
"It's finally getting to you now, huh, kid? You're becoming Death."
"When will I be able to cross over?"
"You probably never will. Sorry, guy. It's the lot you drew.
"Is there no way out?"
Cerberus scratched his ear. “Well, I heard about a janitor down by the Styx who wanted to put in his two weeks. No idea what happened to him. But don’t get any ideas, kid. Your job’s way more important. You’re the force that keeps everything in balance.”
Balance. Easy to have a collective attitude when you're not the one getting fucked for an eternity.
Cerberus yawned, his jaw stretching wide. His mouth transformed into an enormous bronze door, inscribed with runes from every mortal and immortal language. After fumbling for the key, he unlocked it, revealing a deafening abyss.
I wasn’t allowed past that threshold. I tossed the soldier inside, and Cerberus slammed the door shut.
“Bad egg,” he muttered. “Killed kids or something. See? Sometimes you are the good guy.”
He belched and waved me off. “Alright, get out of here. You’ve got work to do. I need a Pepto."
I had about 3,000 souls left for that particular day. But then my mind kept drifting to that janitor. Was there truly no way out for me? I was sick of existing, sick of death, sick of life. I wanted to get rid of it all. I felt like I knew how Sisyphus felt pushing that boulder. Or Atlas, holding the sky up. I was one of those forces. The Immortal Ones.
Then it struck me. What if I brought Death to the undying? Forced the Immortals to the other side? It would collapse the Order humanity clings to. Chaos would reign—true, natural, divine Chaos.
Death, I realized, is just an idea. And ideas can be destroyed.
That was my purpose.
To destroy the idea of Death itself.
END OF CHAPTER 3