Death is a Girl

Chapter 34 – No More Miss. Nice Reaper

He took a step back, now regarding her cautiously, his eyes moving along the scythe and taking in the glowing blue blade.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Well, you understand that you’re dead, right? You’re what's called a wandering spirit because you haven’t been able to find your way to heaven yet. See how my scythe is glowing blue? That means you’re a good soul who deserves passage to heaven. If it was red… well,” she chuckled. “This would be an even more uncomfortable conversation.”

He seemed to hesitate, thinking something over. “I get that, but is there any reason it needs to happen right now?”

Morrigan considered the man’s question. “I don’t know why things happen when they do. But I do know that wandering as a spirit can be lonely and confusing. The longer you stay, the harder things will get. Plus, there’s always the risk of turning into a hollow.”

His voice wavered slightly. “A hollow?”

“Yeah, it’s... not something you want to become. A hollow is a lost spirit that’s been consumed by negative emotions, turning into something... less human.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting to the scythe and then back to Morrigan. “So, what happens when you... You know.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Morrigan assured him. “I know that much, at least. Afterward, you go to heaven and… I don’t really know what it’s like exactly, but I do know it’s peaceful, and I’m sure it’s better than staying here.”

“Sorry, this is just too weird. So you called yourself a reaper. Like the Grim Reaper? You don’t look like what I’d imagine it as.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I only died a week ago myself. I used to be a human just like you.”

“A week ago…” He folded his arms and looked upward, tapping his foot. “You look like you’re just a kid.”

“I’m sixteen…” she said dryly.

“Right, so, I’m wondering… how do you become a reaper?”

“Are you saying you want to be one?”

“Sure, why not? I’m sure heaven is great and all, but you see, I kind of got cut short on my life here. I just finished writing my book and I even signed with a publisher and everything!” He sighed. “If I become a reaper I can stick around, right? I at least want to know how well my book sold.”

Morrigan scratched the back of her head, lips tight in an awkward grimace. Now she kind of wished she did have Death or Noir here to play bad cop.

“Um… becoming a reaper isn’t exactly something you just sign up for and believe me—you don’t want the job. Long hours, pay sucks, no benefits.”

The man chuckled. “I’m a writer, so don’t worry. I’m completely used to long hours and shitty pay.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Morrigan spoke dryly. “Being a reaper is a huge responsibility. You are constantly seeing people in their last moments, and wracking yourself with guilt over what you have to do. You can’t live a normal life, you look like a freak, there’s demons and hollows you have to worry about and all kinds of stuff like that. You don’t want the job. Just trust me.”

“Look, kid, I get what you’re saying but you said yourself you’ve only been at it for a week. Besides, I’m a lot older than you; I’ll probably have a better time adjusting.”

Morrigan’s annoyance grew. “It’s not about age. The job changes you. You can’t just hang around to see how your book does. You won’t be part of this world in the same way. It’s…” she sighed. “It’s isolating.”

He chuckled again. “I’m a writer! I’m used to isolating myself!”

“I’m sorry, but no. It’s time to pass on.”

“What if I refuse?” he said, his tone becoming defensive and taking a step back. “I want to talk to someone with a little more authority than you first.”

“Well, there’s nobody else right now; it’s just me.” Her tone grew louder, feeling insulted by this spirit who she just went out of her way to help. “For the record, the only reason I became a reaper is because I was sacrificed in some kind of demonic ritual and couldn’t get passage to heaven. I literally had no choice!”

“Well I do have a choice!” he yelled at her. “I don’t want to pass on, so thanks for your help but you can leave now!”

“NO! This isn’t an option!” Morrigan yelled at him. “You’re dead. I’m a reaper. You’re going to heaven now. So just be happy about it!”

“Fuck this,” he said, turning and walking away.

“Wait, where are you going?” Morrigan said, following him, scythe still in her hands waiting to be used.

“Doesn’t matter,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Thanks for your help! I don’t need you anymore. You can go now.”

“I-I can’t just leave you as a spirit!” she insisted, following after him.

“Sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

“It WILL be your problem when you turn into a hollow!”

“Whaaaat eeever,” he sang back at her uncaringly.

She looked up and down the winding mountain road. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about getting hit by a car, but the last thing she wanted was to be immortal with a broken body.

“Wait, come on! Don’t do this!” she called after him. “Just come back here! Let's talk about it!”

“Not interested!” he called, not even looking back, his glowing form disappearing further into the darkness.

“Okay. You know what? Screw it! I was trying to help you, but whatever! Good luck with being a hollow!”

“That’s nice,” he called back.

Morrigan let out a frustrated growl and stomped back to the truck. She tossed the scythe away, letting it disappear into blue flames, then climbed in and slammed the door.

“Frikken douchebag!” she yelled and pounded a fist on the dashboard.

She turned the keys and the truck roared to life. She would just continue on her way, find somewhere secluded to sleep for the night, and forget about him. Maybe if she found a hotel on the way she could sneak into an empty room using the skeleton key and sleep on an actual bed. Yeah, it wasn’t her problem, and at least she got him up from the bottom of the cliff so maybe another reaper would find him later.

She drove to the end of the pull-off, her left turn signal on as she was going to continue the opposite way. She wasn’t even a real reaper anymore, right? So, who cares? There were no names on her list so that meant she probably got fired.

She stared down the dark mountain road.

“Nope, not my problem,” she said, tensing her hands as if about to turn the wheel and get going.

What if he were never found by another reaper? He would eventually turn into a hollow, and as Death had said, hollows that are left to wander can eventually become dangerous. That guy could end up haunting this highway and hurt someone.

Morrigan’s resolve wavered as she considered the potential consequences of leaving the spirit to his fate. She flicked down the turn signal, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath. With a heavy sigh, she put the truck in reverse, turning it around to head back in the direction the spirit had gone.

The truck’s headlights cut through the blanket of darkness as she drove slowly, eyes scanning the roadside for any sign of the wandering spirit. After a few minutes, she spotted a faint glow off the side of the road.

“No more Miss. Nice Reaper…” she said under her breath, thinking about Micheal Roy. By delaying and allowing him to think there was a chance, he became desperate. He tried to escape his fate. That is exactly what was happening with this wandering spirit.

Death was kind to those he reaped, but he was also firm. The business lady who died in a car accident had been resistant, and Death spoke to her in a way that left no room for argument, no room to believe there was another way. That was how a reaper should operate.

Noticing her approach, the spirit stopped and turned around, a hostile look in his eyes. Morrigan pulled up as close to the guard rail as she could, and put the emergency flashers on.

“No more Miss. Nice Reaper,” she said again, under her breath, trying to strengthen her resolve as she climbed out of the truck.

“You again?” he said as she approached. “There’s nothing to talk about. Just leave me alone!”

“You’re right,” Morrigan said cooly as she stepped towards him. “There isn’t anything to talk about.” She flicked her wrist, and with a flash of light, her scythe materialized in her grasp.

The spirit stepped back with notable fear appearing in his eyes. “H-hey! Just back off! I said I don’t want anything from you!”

Morrigan tried to think how Death would handle this. He was always firm but not outright unkind to his clients. How could she do that for him?

“What’s your name?” she asked, partly to buy time.

“Why does it matter?” he retorted, his tone still hostile.

“It matters to me,” Morrigan said. “I don’t want to think of you, or anyone else, as just another spirit who needs to be reaped. But I have my job to do, so I’m not taking no for an answer.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she put a hand up to silence him. “...And if it’s okay, I’d like to look up your book.”

He looked over his shoulder like he was contemplating making a run for it.

“You are dead,” Morrigan said. “You died three months ago—long enough that there is no longer any signs of the accident. You’ve spent three months at the bottom of that cliff, and in that time, your body was found, your car cleaned up, and a funeral was held for you. I’m sure you have many loved ones who are still feeling the hurt of losing you, but your time in this world is over, and you need to accept that.”

“But…” he clenched a fist, looking down. “I-it’s not fair, though. Do you have any idea how hard I worked on my book? I put everything I had into it and now, when everything was finally falling into place, I died! How is that fair at all!” he yelled with tears in his eyes.

“It’s not fair,” Morrigan agreed. “I know what that's like. I’m only sixteen years old and I was murdered pointlessly. I never had very much in the first place, but everything I did have was taken from me because of two people who…” She exhaled. “...it was like a game to them. Do you know how that feels? I was chased down, beaten up, and treated like some toy for their fucking bullshit ritual. I was so scared… more scared than I had ever been in my life… And they were just laughing like it was all a game!”

She didn’t mean to make this about herself, but once she started, she couldn’t help it. She realized tears were sliding down her cheeks. “Life and death are not fair,” Morrigan said, turning her gaze away.

The man seemed somewhat sobered by her outburst. He cleared his throat, eyes shifting, then eventually said, “Sam… my name’s Sam. How about you?”

She turned her eyes to him. “Morrigan.”

“Morrigan…” he repeated it. “That’s a unique name.”

Apparently, she was named after the Celtic goddess of war and fate. She had come across that fact at some point, but never asked her mom why that's what she was named. Well, Mom’s answer would probably be, ‘thought it sounded cool.’

Sam chuckled. “I’d kind of like to write a character with that name…” He sighed and walked over to the guardrail, taking a seat. Morrigan turned her head at the fact he didn’t fall through it. She really didn’t understand the rules on how spirits interacted with physical objects.

“Do you think…” Sam began, “...that I’ll still be able to write stories in heaven?”

“I don’t see why not,” Morrigan answered. She walked over and sat near him, her scythe still an ominous presence in their exchange. “So what’s your book called?”

A smirk touched his lips. “Twilight of Swords.”

“Fantasy?” she smiled. “I love fantasy.”

He glanced over to her and she noticed a slight twinkle in his eye. “Actually, it’s cyberpunk. It has elements of body horror and romance.” He looked up as if to gather his thoughts. There was some sort of resignation in his gaze as he stared up at the stars. “It’s set in a dystopian future where the lines between humanity and technology blur, and there is this evil corporation using its bio-enhancements to turn people into slaves. The main character is part of a demonic sect that uses illegal bio and machine enhancements to fight against the corporation and the corrupt government it has control of. But, in his fight he comes across a female agent for the corporation and ends up saving her life. They fall in love and it becomes a sort of Romeo and Juliet story. They start contacting each other in secret and…”

He went on and on, but Morrigan listened patiently and thought it actually sounded quite interesting. She could see his passion as he explained the multiple plot turns, and couldn’t help but smile at the flicker in his eyes.

“Sounds intense,” she said when he seemed to get to the end of his explanation.

Sam’s expression softened. “Yeah. Like I said, I put everything into it.”

“I wish I could let you stick around a little longer, to at least see some reviews or something but… You’ll just have to have faith that it's going to impact the people who it was meant to.” She looked at him, gauging whether he was ready yet.

He shook his head. “Thanks but, like I said already, I don’t want you to help me pass on or whatever.”

Morrigan kept her eye contact with him. “I’m sorry, but like I already said, it’s not a choice.”

He hesitated and opened his mouth as if to say more, but her red eyes were glowing with a cold intensity that stonewalled any complaints. “I… just don’t feel ready.”

“I understand,” Morrigan said. “But you are not the only one to die with unfinished business. Feeling completely satisfied with one’s life at the time of their passing is a rare luxury afforded to few.” She had borrowed those words from Death.

Sam’s shoulders slumped, a look of resignation washing over his face. “It’s… hard to let go, though.”

“I know it is. But holding on won’t change what’s already happened. You have to trust that your story will live on in your place. You’ve left your mark, Sam. It’s okay to let go now.”

His head dropped, and his shoulders shifted as he let out a soft, resigned sob. He took a moment to gather himself then looked at the scythe, then back at Morrigan. “W-will it hurt?”

“No,” Morrigan assured him. It’s peaceful. I’ve helped many souls pass on, and they always look content. I know it doesn’t hurt.” The one exception, of course, was Michael Roy, whose wailing still haunted her dreams. But she forced that back out of her mind for now.

Sam didn’t say another word, but closed his eyes. Morrigan stepped forward, figuring now was the time. She lifted the scythe, its blue glow casting a serene light around them, and then, with a swift, gentle motion, she reaped his spirit. Sam’s form shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into a peaceful glow, drifting upwards and fading into the night sky.

Morrigan watched him go, feeling the bittersweet moment, and knowing he would now be at peace.

She got back into the truck, brought it up to speed, and turned the hazard lights off.

He resisted his fate, but eventually managed to find it in himself to accept it. She wondered then if she wasn’t being a hypocrite. For all her well-spoken words, she, too, was resisting her own fate. She had run away from Death’s cabin, from her responsibilities as a reaper, seeking some semblance of her old life.

Then she thought about her last life. She idolized the old Morrigan as someone who was free and wasn’t afraid to get what she wanted, but maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe that old Morrigan was also running, and simply never stopped? Maybe that’s why running away from Death’s cabin came so easily. Because it wasn’t new to her. The momentum was already guiding her—she had been running her entire life.