[ WP ] To keep up with challenges by mortals , Death must master every new game that comes up . But there 's one game that he just ca n't figure out for the death of him .

It turns out that taking souls from the very recently deceased can actually get quite dull and repetitive. There ’ s an awful lot of begging, the occasional try at bargaining, and the good old ‘ there must be some kind of mistake, Mr. Death… ’. I found out that it is actually easier in some ways to let humans think that they have some way of getting out of their demise. So I offer them a choice if they decide to get a bit attached to their lives. I tell them that they can play a game of their choice against me, and if they win, I let them go. The problem is, of course, that this kind of thing is legally binding. If I make this promise I have to let them go if they do beat me. So in order to make sure that I get all the souls on the list, I just be sure to always win. That was easy back in the dark ages when the idea of leisure pursuits wasn ’ t a particularly advanced or varied field, but in recent years I ’ ve noticed an alarming increase in the number and variety of games that I ’ m challenged to. But I try to work around it. The fact of the matter is that with enough practice you can become the best at anything. I ’ ve mastered chess, hide and seek, and all kinds of games that people have suggested. More recently this Pokémon thing had given me a bit of trouble, but I think I ’ ve got that one sorted. 
 
 It was all going fine one day until I ran into a problem I hadn ’ t considered. I rock up at the hospital bed where the sadly newly expired blighter is enjoying a whole new lease of life, or well, death. I introduce myself, and he gives me the goggle-eyes for a bit, which is something that you just have to get used to. I think it ’ s the whole ‘ grim reaper ’ look, and the whole romanticising of it. The truth is I appear how people expect to see me, but more often than not people make it harder than it needs to be by imagining some terrible horror, and not, say, a plump elderly gentleman with a penchant for backgammon and the occasional glass of port. 
 
 “ I suppose it ’ s pointless for me to ask you not to take me ”. He stated the question rather than asking it, but I decided to humour it with an answer. 
 
 “ Absolutely! ” I exclaimed cheerfully. I liked this one. He was handling it rather well. There ’ s usually far more sobbing than this. 
 
 “ Can I ask anyway? ” 
 
 “ If you want. But be quick about it. I ’ m on a tight schedule ” 
 
 “ Please don ’ t take me. I don ’ t want to die ” 
 
 “ Well considering you put it so nicely, I ’ ll offer you a chance. ” He perked up at this. “ A game, if you want, that is. You can pick a game, we play it, then if I win I get your soul, and if you win, I go away and leave you in peace for a bit. ” 
 
 “ So I get to choose the game? ” 
 
 “ That ’ s the idea. Do hurry up though. ” He sat back and thought for a few seconds, then his eyes lit up, as a thought seemed to dawn on him. This was not encouraging, as generally if one thing can be said about mortals it was that when they got sudden ideas in situations like this, they were often quite infuriatingly good ones. He turned to me and spoke: 
 
 “ Rock, paper, scissors. That ’ s my game. One round of rock, paper, scissors. ” I was taken aback. This certainly was a first, and now that I thought of it, I couldn ’ t see any way of making sure that I ’ d win. 
 
 “ Are you sure? Seems a bit too much like chance to stake your life on ” 
 
 “ Rather a chance of losing than the certainty if I don ’ t play. ” 
 
 I didn ’ t know what to say to that. But I supposed that a deal ’ s a deal, and he ’ d picked his game. We set out the rules of the game, and began, both shaking our fists in unison. As we shook I tried desperately to work out a way of winning, but I couldn ’ t for the life of me. Metaphorically speaking of course. 
 
 As we reached the final shake and revealed our hands; I opted in a split second for scissors. It just seemed like a good choice. I watched his hand remain in a fist. Rock. Shit. Looked like he ’ d beaten me fair and square. Now while many things can be said of me, the Reckoning That Visits All Men, one of them is not that I am a sore loser. I take pride in being magnanimous in victory and gracious in defeat. It ’ s all a matter of being professional. With that in mind I pulled the list out, and rescheduled this man ’ s death to a few of his mortal years in the future. He ’ d earned it I supposed. 
 
 As I left the hospital ward, I wracked my brains for ways to win at rock paper scissors. Every other game had a method, a way of surely beating your opponent. But not this. It troubled me sincerely. It just wouldn ’ t do to lose half of my collection every day over a game of chance, and the only alternative was to stop playing the game. Truly a conundrum. Hopefully this wouldn ’ t catch on, and the next mortal would choose something mundane and pedestrian like chess or Minesweeper, so that I could go home early with enough souls to fill out my quota. 

