[ WP ] Death lives in your house . He 's been the best roommate you 've ever had . After tomorrow 's breakfast , he needs to speak with you .

**If you like this, let me know, and I will keep writing! Writers only write when they have an audience, after all. So let me know I have one! ** 
 
 You know what? I'm sure it's nothing. 
 
 I'm sure it's something blissfully simple, like he wants to talk about which way I put the toilet roll on. Back to front, or front to back? Or maybe he's tired of eating pancakes every morning. They're very *good* pancakes, though. Maybe he's tired of my snoring! Oh god, what if he's going to cull my soul because of my-my- because of my *nighttime trumpeting*? 
 
 Living with Death as a roomate is... interesting, to say the very least. You're constantly walking on eggshells, terrified that you'll somehow piss off the Lord of the Underworld. Meanwhile, Death himself is the most down-to-earth, relaxed guy. Neat, clean, and a good chef! He calls himself Sirius. I still call him Mr. Death. 
 
 He's as you'd imagine - a upright black hood with a formless void somehow giving it shape and form. He took off his hood once, and there was nothing, even though his sleeves were still holding the edges as it fell around what should have been his shoulders. He explained that it was humans missing the ability to see his skin colour. `` Your eyeball palette is quite... minute.'' He had a voice like a stream - littered with little bumps and humps from rocks and pebbles, but as a whole, quite smooth. 
 
 `` But, I should be able to see something!'' I argued. 
 
 `` You do. My robe. I had it specifically made as a courtesy to the human race. It's not terribly polite for me to walk up to someone and take their soul when they ca n't even make eye contact, is it? This way, they have a general guidance of where to place their gaze.'' He put his hood back in place. 
 
 I asked to touch his face, once. He said we were n't that far into the relationship yet. 
 
 When he first started living here, the elephant in the room was, `` How do I introduce Death to my family and friends?'' 
 
 Of course, I did n't need to - Death took that responsibility on himself. He crafted a careful story about being a member of a local LARP ( which, suprisingly, was true ) and that his religion required him to stay in ceremonious garb at all hours, except for showering ( kind of true ). He only carried around a scythe when he was off to a job, but it was a plastic, pitifiul looking thing. `` It's more for the humans, really,'' he told me one day when I inquired. `` You have this image in your history books of someone with a very threatening visage and a wicked looking sickle. The least I can do before I end your life is live up to your expectations. Unfortunately, real metal is deathly bothersome to get through airport security.'' 
 
 `` Ant?'' 
 
 His query hung in the air, and my neck cracked like a whip towards him. `` Please, look, I'm sorry for the toilet paper and the snoring and the-'' 
 
 Death held up a sleeve and an invisible hand and even though I could n't see it, I could hear the creak of a smile. `` Ant, I need some assistance, and I'm afraid you're the only human I really trust with this.'' 
 
 `` Uh, o-okay...'' 
 
 `` There's an event, you see, that... well, every year, certain beings such as myself....it's improper to show up by one's lonesome...'' He was fiddling with the front of his robes and he seemed very flustered. If I did n't know any better, I'd say he was blushing. 
 
 `` Sirius, uh -'' 
 
 A deep, ethreal sigh. `` Anthony Wellinger, would you please accompany me to the Bitennial Celestial?'' 
 
 Silence. 
 
 `` I... picked you out a dress,'' he added sheepishly. 
 
 **Part Two is below. If you'd like to see more, I'll be turning this into a full'book' on my website, www.ohgodagirl.com. If you hate visiting random websites, I'll cross-post it to the subreddit /r/OhGodAWriter. ** 

