[ WP ] The straw that broke the Grimm Reaper 's back

Death usually did n't resent his job. Sure, it was n't as glamorous as Love or as respected as Bravery, but it was his job and he did it well. He went to the homes of the elderly, who were usually unsurprised, albeit annoyed, to see him. He was at the scene of every car wreck, where usually the victims stood watching the flames engulf their earthly vessel. 
 
 The only part of his job that frustrated him was visiting maternity wards. Babies, sometimes minutes old, were there waiting to be escorted away. It was Death's opinion that the responsibility of dealing with these particular cases belonged to Life. After all, he was the one backing out prematurely, although he would just call it `` keeping the human population in balance.'' 
 
 The worst part of taking babies, in Death's opinion, was n't that they passed before their time, nor was it watching the face of the weeping mother. No, he had to deal with much worse than that every day. It was that babies were so unyieldingly annoying in the afterlife. 
 
 Everyone can speak the language of the dead, no matter how young, and babies just do n't shut up. `` Where are we going?'' `` What am I?'' `` Who are you?'' `` What's it called when you're about to sneeze, but then you do n't?'' `` What does sneezing feel like?'' 
 
 Death has protocols that he is obligated to follow: Do n't lie to the dead. Do n't insult the dead. Do n't mentally or physically injure the non-physical embodiment of the consciousness of the dead. Normally these rules are easy to abide by. Protocol # 122, however, gave Death a headache, especially when he was escorting a baby: Answer all questions that are asked by the dead. As it turns out, he could just remain silent and the big guys upstairs would n't mind, but he felt as if there was no honor in abusing loopholes. So he answered. 
 
 `` We're going to the afterlife.'' `` You are the non-physical embodiment of the consciousness of a child.'' `` I am Death.'' `` To my knowledge, there is no official term for the feeling of a near-sneeze.'' `` It tickles.'' 
 
 This could go on for hours. The trip to the afterlife was n't difficult, but it was long. So, for year after year after year, Death answered hundreds upon thousands of these questions for the short-lived. Until today. 
 
 Somehow, a child managed to stumble upon the concept of math. In the time between life and afterlife this baby unraveled concepts that some fully grown adults did n't understand. This lead to the question that would cause Death to finally break protocol. 
 
 `` How would I find the area of a circle?'' 
 
 `` Multiply the radius squared by pi.'' 
 
 `` And what is pi?'' 
 
 `` A number.'' 
 
 `` I mean exactly, what is the number?'' 
 
 After a moment of silence the weight of the situation set in for Death. He was about to spend an infinite amount of time telling a baby an unrepeating, unending decimal. This did n't mean Death would have to quit, of course. Death had allowances to more efficiently perform his duties, and one of these was the distortion of time. Unfortunately all this meant was that nobody else would know that Death had spent a literal eternity reciting pi to the last digit, not that he would n't have to live through it himself. 
 
 After nearly twelve aeons on the job, Death finally snapped. He looked the child in the eyes and said simply, `` I hope you're proud.'' He then lifted his gaze to a point in the distance, shouted `` I quit! ``, and vanished. 
 
 The rest of the immortals made fun of Death for a while after that, of course, but he was able to finally live the unlife he had always dreamed of. The day came when he had to show around the new guy, his replacement, but he felt no envy. He went to meet him, shook his hands, gave him the mortal coils. `` Do n't be nervous,'' he said, `` just remember, silence is golden.''
