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

The life of the Reaper is a simple one. Walk next to this soul as he unknowingly takes his last dose of chemotherapy. Stand next to the bed of this woman as she tosses handful after handful of pills into her mouth. Cross the street with this little boy just before that runaway bus takes the life of the only person capable of curing cancer. All he needs to do is be there and claim a soul. Easy work for an eternity. 
 
 He does n't do this out of spite or pleasure; it simply fulfills his contract. Many millennia ago, he met came to be just before humans gained souls. He spoke to a being without body that made him shudder in his new pristine robes of the darkest black. The being spoke of things to come, and things that have passed. The Reaper was not very interested, but tried to pay attention. After years of talking, the being suddenly told the Reaper that he had a job, and it involved these beings that were to be called humans. The being spoke of granting humans a miraculous gift, a soul. A soul was special because it allowed for the owner to reach out passed surviving. He wanted to watch as something created things far greater than themselves, so he was to give them souls. The Reaper was mildly interested, but did n't understand what his job was to be. At once the being crafted from an ancient tree a stick which was odd in shape. At one end the being wove a blade of what he said was the materialization of the Reaper's soul. He called the object a Scythe, and beckoned for the Reaper to use it on the humans when they were to die. The Scythe would harvest the soul so it would not be lost. The Reaper questioned why he was to be given such a gift and responsibility. The being simply crafted a paper with a few words: 
 
 
 You will survive as long as you harvest souls. 
 
 
 The Reaper felt a fear creep up his spine as he read these words over and over again. He agreed out of fear of his own death. And the being laughed a booming laugh that crafted lightning and shook mountains. The deal was done. 
 
 The Reaper never heard from the being again, he simply found himself drawn to those who were about to die, and so he harvested. With every soul he drew into himself, he felt anger, regret, grief, and sorrow. At first they were overwhelming, for they were foreign concepts to him. All he knew was fear. He was always so afraid of dying, that he took soul after soul after soul. He took on the grief and pain until he began to affect his surroundings with it. Humans began to grieve for their dead as the dead grieved for their loss of life. The Reaper was dutiful and did his job perfectly for thousands of years. 
 
 One year, an entire civilization disappeared; no deaths, no souls. As the Reaper stepped at the top of the Myan pyramid as he had done so many times in the past only to see an empty city. He felt something change in him as he looked over the once bustling city. Gradually he felt his perfect robes begin to rip as each unaccounted for soul was lost forever, each soul tearing a new hole. He began to panic, `` Is this death!? Am I dying due to an oversight?!'' he screamed from the depths of his rib cage as all the grief he had accumulated began to wash over him in waves of fear, desperation, pain, and sorrow. Suddenly, he felt a familure tug and relief swept over his bones as he stepped into a small hut with a child running a high fever and fading quickly. He never felt such a high as when that pain and heat of fever swept over him. He was glad to see he was not going to die, despite the now tattered robes that hung loosely on his bones. He was alive and that was all that mattered. 
 
 A number of years passed without incident and the Reaper began to regain his confidence as the weight of recent events were bearing down on him. Conquests and false friendships often cause more than a few deaths and tears, and with it, plenty of pain for the Reaper to bear. After all this time, he thought he could handle the deaths of humans, but he was not prepared for trails of tears, camps of concentration, and ruthless dictators. The pain caused by these events weighed so heavily on him that he began to be able to feel tears roll from his empty sockets and off his bony chin. He was confused and pained by everything happening. Bombs that split atoms were becoming fairly common place, and he knew that if something happened and one was set off, the following events would crush him to dust. He became vigilant of the skies, watching for anything that hinted to his destruction. 
 
 He was watching the wrong place. Most humans had begun to hate death long ago, and now they had the technology to try to fight it off. They had been successful at extending life, and beating many diseases, and now they were working to stop death altogether. The humans knew about souls and their value, they did n't want to give up more of them. Many years after the only atomic bombs to be used in war were set off, the breakthrough was made. 
 
 The Reaper knew something was wrong. When he visited hospitals where many died of age and disease, many of those who seemed near death were seemingly getting younger, stronger, and healthier. When he visited congressional offices, where many died due to a'random' bombing, a poisoned drink, or a well placed bullet, people were happy and signing many treaties. When he visited war zones where people died simply because of malice, there were cease-fires. He did n't understand, his reaping had begun to happen less often, and people seemed to stop being so close to death so often. The news hit him as he reaped an elderly lady in a famous hospital. He had been there for some time, waiting for her to die. He learned that there was a serum that reverses the aging process, learns and kills all diseases, and prevents the host from dying due to trauma to the body. He could n't believe it, so he did some snooping while he waited for another person to die. He arrived in a testing area for the serum where they were determining the strength of it's regenerative abilities. A man took 459 different bullets to the head and heart, was exploded in multiple ways, drowned and suffocated, and they were talking about dropping a nuke on him. The Reaper looked on in disbelief as the man's arm dragged itself back to the pile of blood and gore and he was reconstructed himself. 
 
 Panic. That was the Reapers second reaction. No deaths, no harvesting, no souls. He would not be able to survive if this happened. For years he tried to affect the living world, but could do nothing. He felt himself begin to weaken from the lack of harvesting, and felt the grief he had bottled up so well begin to leak. 
 
 The last soul he was able to reap was that of a 125 year old man who had refused the serum. The old man spent his last days in bed reading a book. His great-granddaughter would come in and feed him as well as ask him to take the serum, each time he would simply shake his head. The woman understood he would never take it, but she always kept some hope and a syringe handy. 
 
 The day had finally come, the old man was awake and had begun to feel himself slipping away. To his surprise the say a skeleton sitting by his bed, crying. The Reaper by now was little more that brittle and broken bone with small scraps of cloth hanging from his shoulders. He kept a firm grip on his scythe though, with his soul still glowing faintly in the shape of a blade. The old man smiled at the sight, `` About done too, huh?'' 
 
 The Reaper looked up at the old man and laughed a slight, weezing laugh. `` I am but a shadow of my old self. You are the last of the humans to die, you know that do n't you?'' 
 
 `` Yes well, I wanted to great death as a friend, not flee from him as an enemy.'' 
 
 The Reaper quietly nodded his head and thought for a moment before speaking, `` Why do you not fear death? Why do you not fear me?'' 
 
 The old man's eyes took on a far away look as he relived his life, `` I lived a good life, I did good things, and I loved a good many people. My time is done. The point of life is to live, and then die, there is no point if you live forever.'' 
 
 The Reaper looked long and hard at the old man, `` I am going to die... And I have yet to live.'' 
 
 `` If you use your time as you please, you will have lived. Is that not what you do now? You are talking with me, is that not what you want to do?'' 
 
 The Reaper set down his scythe on the floor and bowed his head, `` I want to be free of this pain, and feel joy.'' 
 
 The old man quietly watched the Reaper and began to scoot over on his bed which squeaked with every movement. `` Come lay down with a friend.'' 
 
 The Reaper hesitated before taking the spot next to the old man. `` To die happy, with no regrets, is that what you want to do?'' 
 
 `` Yes,'' replied the old man, `` and I ca n't do that without dying with newest, closest friend.'' 
 
 The Reaper looked at the old man and felt relief flood him, `` I want to die with my only friend.'' 
 
 `` And die we shall.'' 
 
 The time passed slowly as both of them faded away. The man getting colder, the Reaper's scythe getting dimmer, until it faded away, and the handle crumbled. 
 
 Somewhere off in the distance, was a clap of thunder, and a mountain shook.
