[ WP ] Your name is Death . You work 168 hours a week as the reaper of souls on planet Earth . You 're living on just a couple bucks above minimum wage , you like to travel , you have a crush on the reaper on planet Xenor and you secretly take 4 sugars in your coffee . Today is your first ever day off .

`` God damn it!'' 
 
 `` Damn what?'' replied the old man. For someone that created the universe, he sure could be dense at times. 
 
 `` These dipshit bureaucrats,'' I replied. `` You are fucking GOD, can you really not find a way around this.'' 
 
 `` Hey, I do n't make the rules around here Death.'' 
 
 `` YES YOU FUCKING DO!'' I shouted at him. `` You make ALL OF THE RULES.'' 
 
 `` So maybe I make all of the rules,'' he replied. God really could be a cheeky fucker when he wanted to be. `` We all have to do things we do n't want to do sometimes.'' 
 
 `` But it is bullshit, pure bureaucratic bullshit...............'' At this point I knew the discussion was over. After all, it is n't like you could negotiate with God. He is freaking God. 
 Resigned to my fate, I considered my options. I thought I might as well head to Xenor and see if Muerta is free to hang out. After all, it is n't like there is a litany of reapers out there to socialize with. 
 
 Like clockwork, the old man replied, `` Have a nice trip to Xenor.'' `` Get out of my head you geezer,'' I responded. I fucking hate when he does that. 
 
 I headed out of the office, my mind lingering on Muerta. It had been quite a while since we were last together. Woodstock, if I remember correctly. There were so many OD'ed hippies it was more like reaping wheat than souls. We were like kids in a very, very grim candy store. 
 
 I wasted no time finding Muerta once I left the office. Luckily, when leaving heaven they can take you to wherever you want, so I had them drop me right in the middle of Xenor. Now, I could have searched the planet for her, perhaps checked the obituaries, but that all seemed too troublesome. Instead, I simply swung my scythe and decapitated the closest person. Why wait, it is n't like I do n't kill thousands daily. It'd be stupid to wait for a death organically. I watched the life drain out of his face, and I considered how unlike most humans his death actually benefited me. Then, I heard heels clack behind me. 
 
 `` Well well well,'' spoke the approaching female, heels clacking all the way. `` What brings you to my territory, Death?'' 
 
 She was an average sized girl, with medium length scarlet hair and piercing green eyes. As I met her gaze I could feel her eyes cut right through me. The spunky redhead gleamed with an attitude worthy of a reaper. 
 
 `` That's actually quite a funny story,'' I replied, feeling sure of myself. `` I was wondering if you would want to go hear it over cocktails?'' 
 
 `` Well are n't you smooth,'' she retorted. `` I guess I really am just a sucker for funny stories.'' 
 
 I turned around, pleased with myself, as I began walking with Muerta to the bar. We walked and reminisced on old times, when she suddenly pulled me into an alley. `` You know Death,'' she said seductively, `` Nobody can see us here. We can have a little fun before we get that drink, ca n't we?'' That was all I needed to hear. Our lips crashed together and we went at each other like animals. Forget the Pearly Gates, this was Heaven. She was sensational. 
 
 But then, I immediately felt it. As a practitioner of death, you begin to develop a sense of the air around a death scene. The killing intent becomes tangible, thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Professional killers always knew how to clean up after themselves: bleach, disposal, the works. But no matter how experienced the killer, it was impossible to relieve the ambiance of a murder scene, the tension in the air just as somebody was about to get whacked. And right as I felt those sharp eyes cut through me, I caught her wrist holding a dagger aimed at my heart. 
 
 As I dashed away, I looked at her. `` So I'll take that as a no to drinks.'' 
 
 The fiery redhead glared black at me. She was in a much less cushy mood now. `` There is a price on your head Death.'' 
 
 `` Is that so?'' I retorted. It really was a shame. We could have been a great couple. 
 
 The redhead seemed sure of herself, but that changed quickly. In a matter of seconds, those sharp eyes that could cut through iron became duller than a plastic spoon. Her fiery spark devolved into despicable whimpering. She was reduced to a mere shell of herself as she faced Death. Not the sorry excuse for death she doled out to mere mortals, but the one, true Death. 
 
 As fear enveloped her, she pleaded, `` It was just business. Please do n't kil.....'' *slice*. Her slashed throat spurted blood like a fountain, which began to stain the sidewalk. While the river of blood grew longer and longer, I reached into her pocket and grabbed her cell phone. 
 
 `` A Nokia? What the hell is this cheap shit?'' I questioned. I guess I ca n't blame her for trying to kill me. She really, really needed the money if she is lugging this 1995 brick piece of junk around. I scoured the phone looking for intel on whoever put a price on my head. Finally, I called the voice message box. 
 
 `` You have one message,'' the narrator stated. I sat there in silence, and pressed one hoping to catch the son of a bitch. 
 
 `` Muerta. I've got a job for you'' 
 
 The voice seemed awfully familiar.......... but it could n't be. I listened even more intently. 
 
 `` Death is on his way, I gave him the day off. Once he arrives, he'll probably ask you out for a drink. After that, while he is caught off guard, I need you to silence him. Permanently. I ca n't do it myself, the PR would be horrible. But Death needs to be dealt with. So, the task is simple, just take him out when you have the chance. You'll be rewarded handsomely. Also, make sure to delete this message. That is all.'' 
 
 As the message played, I sat there in disbelief. There was only one thing left to do. 
 
 
 Kill God. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

