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

Grace Files 
 
 The Department Break-Room is always a fun place. 
 
 Its employees, like me, all share one little gift from the Chief Executive: Immortality. So long as we continue to do our jobs, we ’ re given all the time we could ever want or need. A large chunk, usually a bit less than three quarters of it, is spent working. Mostly because there are so many people running around the world dying at any given moment. Even with the advantage of existing outside of Time and Space, we Reapers still have a bit of trouble processing all the people who are dying. 
 
 Of course, we can all still take off a quarter of our infinity to chill out on Earth or around the Department ’ s Campus, and that leads to another fun thing that being immortal causes: you get people from everywhere and everywhen you can think of. One of the older reapers was around when the Aztec Empire was basically a handful of guys with an insane idea involving a cactus, a snake, and an eagle. Another of us was on the Senate Floor when Gaius Julius Caesar was killed. You get a lot of weird interactions when you mix in so many people. 
 
 For example, you get Roman sitting in front of a big screen TV watching a Chariot Race from back when the Empire was at its height. The Aztec is chatting with a Norseman about the merits of hanging as opposed to cutting the heart out as a method of ritual sacrifice. Some of the Americans, such as myself, are chatting about college sports around a water cooler, and the younger members of our staff are setup in the region we call “ The Arcade. ” After all those people… there ’ s the guy at the bar. 
 
 He ’ s the oldest of the Reapers. We don ’ t even know the guy ’ s name, since he hasn ’ t bothered telling anyone and his records are covered up. He doesn ’ t get out much, but we ’ ve all seen him milling around the Department. Never seen him in the Break Room though, much less at the bar. We ’ ve got every drink imagined, at least up until the present day out on Earth. 
 
 I took a seat next to him. 
 
 “ Evening, ” I said without thinking too much about the guy understanding me since Language barriers don ’ t exist for Reapers, we hear everything in our native language. Everyone hears us in their native language as well, which leads to all kinds of insanity in the modern world… or when we talk to people in Ancient Greece or Rome. 
 
 “ Evening, ” the Eldest said. His voice sounded deep, and ancient. 
 
 “ What are you drinking to, ” I asked. 
 
 “ Death, ” the Eldest said. I didn ’ t laugh, and neither did he. 
 
 “ Whose? ” I asked. 
 
 “ Millions, ” he said. 
 
 I nodded in reply. Reapers may be immortal, and we may have a lot of not-quite-natural abilities, but we ’ re all still human at our core. Our minds are just like the minds of the people we reap, and doing our job is rough. I ’ d honestly call it the hardest job in the world… having to be there when someone ’ s dying. Seeing the grieving families of those who slip away to cancer, or other diseases, and having to deliver a bitter mercy to spare someone the pain. That ’ s not even thinking about the horrors you get when you walk into a combat zone to retrieve the deceased, or have to retrieve someone who succumbed to despair… 
 
 Anyway, there isn ’ t a Reaper on staff who hasn ’ t gotten depressed over that, over not being able to help the dying beyond giving them the bitter mercy that is death. We ’ re all human, and we all still have our empathy. I figured that the Eldest had managed to experience that. 
 
 “ You talked to the Councilors about it? ” I asked. The Councilors aren ’ t Reapers for the most part. They ’ re among the Dead, the people who live in whatever comes next. They ’ re also volunteers who come into the Department to help us out with our mental hang-ups. I know I spend a lot of time talking to ‘ em. 
 
 “ No… ” the guy said, “ at least… not this century. ” 
 
 “ Which deaths have you down? ” I asked. 
 
 “ Fratricide… ” the Reaper said, “ It… it reminds me of myself a bit too much. ” 
 
 I nodded. Reapers come in all forms. Some of us are like me, and we took the job offer to get someone else a better afterlife than they would have had otherwise. Some are here serving to get themselves into something halfway decent. The Eldest was apparently among the latter. 
 
 “ So, ” I said, “ You thought about requesting that those assignments be diverted to other Reapers? ” 
 
 “ Can ’ t… ” he said, “ It ’ s part of my… my sentence. ” 
 
 “ Ouch, ” I said, and I genuinely meant it. 
 
 When it comes to Reapers like the Eldest, they have something called a Sentence which is designed to reform them to a state where they would be acceptable in the Afterlife they ’ re due to be sent to. It ’ s a set of obligations they must fulfil, or be sent on ahead of schedule to one of the… less desirable final rests. If they ’ re lucky, they just get reincarnated. If they ’ re unlucky, they ’ re supposed to get thrown into Torment. 
 
 “ It ’ s just… ” He said, “ I ’ ve seen so many of them. Every time I go out… I don ’ t see the person I ’ m sent for. I see someone… someone I knew back before I was a Reaper… and I see myself standing over them. ” 
 
 I saw a tear roll down the Eldest ’ s cheek at those words, and I remained silent. 
 
 “ Damn it… ” the Eldest said, “ I need to get back to work… need to get out of here… ” 
 
 “ Luck, ” I said, “ and consider scheduling an appointment. We don ’ t need you going renegade. That generally results in a lot of paperwork for the rest of us. ” 
 
 The Eldest scoffed at that, and nodded in my direction as he got up to leave. 
 
 It was only once he ’ d left the room that I realized that I still didn ’ t have his name.
