Red. The sickly color spurting from the soldier’s bullet wound as he lay dying in the swamped ruins of a German battlefield. Bombs and gunfire continued to blare in the distance as the captain called for his troops to retreat. The herd of mud soaked men followed their captain away from the brick fortress without as much as a glance towards their dead comrade. Another bomb went off. Three men flew into the air, but only two and a half fell back down. In less than an hour, the battlefield was empty of all living souls. Only two figures remained standing at the end of the bloodshed.
The first figure, a grim-faced man in a charcoal cloak, removed his hood and surveyed the damage with tombstone eyes. The bodies were strewn across the marshy land like maggots in a bowl of oatmeal. He could feel their souls beginning to stir from their dreamless sleep. Pulling his leather-bound from his pocket, he began to draw fundamental reports for each of the deceased soldiers:
Name: Carter Gordon, Age 25
Lived: January 23, 1917—April 7, 1942
Cause of Death: KIA (Chest wound)
Name: Tex J. Wilkerson, Age 19
Lived: May 12, 1926—April 7, 1942
Cause of Death: KIA (Mutilation)
The man heard a soft, delicate whimper beside him and looked down to find his young apprentice silently weeping. Sighing, the man kneeled before the frail girl and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You must absorb what’s in front of you, Rosaline,” he told her. “Whether or not you chose to acknowledge this suffering while you were alive, you must come to accept the reality of the world you’ve left behind.”
“I can’t, Thanatos,” Rose whimpered.
“Then you must.” Thanatos was growing impatient with Rose’s insistent denial. He should have listened to the Council when they warned him of her stubbornness, but he was certain he could handle the child. After all, he’d raised two daughters and trained five apprentices before Rose came along. All the girl needed was patience, time to settle her nerves and process this strange new world.
“Watch me carefully, Rosaline. You’ll need to learn your way fast if you wish to earn your way to Paradise.” Rose sniffed and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her flannel pajamas. Thanatos stepped forward as the soldiers’ souls awoke from their bodies. They spun their heads around the barren battlefield muttering, “What in God’s name?” and “Is this the Big Place?”
Slowly, Thanatos drew his bronze scythe from its sheath, and before any of the men had time to react, Thanatos slashed the blade through each soldier’s projection. The soldiers screamed, but their shock lasted momentarily (the same could not be said for Rose who had to grab hold of Thanatos to recover herself). Thanatos repressed a laugh. His scythe frightened many mortal souls, but Reaper weapons were designed only to harvest memories, never kill.
Suddenly, a geyser of golden light burst forth from each soldier’s chest and into the air. The light shifted and shaped into soft golden orbs that soared into the sky like birds in the wind. “The Flight of Memories,” Thanatos explained, “Is where the memories of the deceased are sent to the Council for Evaluation. There, the Council determines if their Notable Deeds outweigh the Notorious. Then, they will send us back the results so we can send them to the Afterlife.”
Rose gazed intently upon the Flight, her lips moving subtly in a whisper. Thanatos barely caught what she was saying: Please, remember. She’s recalling of her own Flight of Memories, Thanatos thought. He’d told Rose dozens of times that her case was one in a million and she had no reason to panic during the Flight, but she continued to recite her pleading mantra.
Soon, the memories glided down into the soldiers’ chests and sealed with a vibrant glow. In his notebook, fresh new words appeared next to each soldier’s names. Thanatos kept his face stoic and closed his book. Walking up to the soldiers’ souls, he let his mouth creep into a grin. “Congratulations to all of you. Your service to your country has earned you a place in Paradise. I wish you the happiest of afterlives from here on in.” And with a final salute to their deceased troupe, Thanatos pulled out a silver key embossed with golden feathers and held it into the air. “Rigor Mortis,” he announced, and in a cloud of silver, the soldiers disappeared, never to see the darkness of Life again.
Thanatos’s smile grew as a familiar wave of pride washed over him. “I hope you see now, Rose, that there is a particular beauty about death. It is not just the end of life, but the start of a grand adventure. It has been my greatest solace these past 30 years to usher these wonderful souls into new—Rose?
His apprentice was kneeling beside one of the soldier’s bodies with a strange expression on her face. Had Thanatos not known any better, he’d say it was nostalgia, but a girl like Rose could never fathom such an abstract emotion. Nostalgia for Rose was drawing water from an empty well: hopeful until one saw the empty bucket and was left thirsty for what couldn’t be had.
Thanatos spotted something small and crusty lying above the body’s hand. While mud had caked most of the exterior, Thanatos recognized the raised black letters of an Altoid tin twisting off the hinge of its lower tin. Inside was a soggy, faded picture of a man in a polo shirt with his arms around a woman holding a laughing child in her hands. Rose reached her hand towards the tin, but it passed through her fingers as fluidly as a dust cloud. Thanatos could sense an oncoming plague of fresh tears.
“You are here to stay, Rose,” Thanatos reminded her firmly. “Until you’ve reaped enough souls to go to Paradise, this is your new home. The sooner you learn, the sooner you can enter the next life.” He returned his notebook back in his pocket and pulled out a black Portal key. “Time to leave, Rose. A reaper’s work is never done.” Rose stood up, her head bent low, and dragged her feet towards her master. A small flutter like the brush of fingertips traced Thanatos’s heart, and to his surprise, he found himself extending his gloved hand towards Rose. She stared hesitantly at his hand a moment, as if it might be poisoned, then she laced her fingers tentatively through his. Raising the key into the air, the shocking gust of Transportation hit Thanatos like an arctic wind, sweeping him and Rose back to the Reaper Realm.
In the midst of the twisting and turning, Thanatos had a sudden realization. That strange sensation he couldn’t place before was pity. Pity for the child who was shot in the head and sent to the Reaper Realm to fight her way to Paradise. Pity for his apprentice without memories or a place to call home. Pity for the Reaper with no idea how much power she held in her tiny palms.
The first figure, a grim-faced man in a charcoal cloak, removed his hood and surveyed the damage with tombstone eyes. The bodies were strewn across the marshy land like maggots in a bowl of oatmeal. He could feel their souls beginning to stir from their dreamless sleep. Pulling his leather-bound from his pocket, he began to draw fundamental reports for each of the deceased soldiers:
Name: Carter Gordon, Age 25
Lived: January 23, 1917—April 7, 1942
Cause of Death: KIA (Chest wound)
Name: Tex J. Wilkerson, Age 19
Lived: May 12, 1926—April 7, 1942
Cause of Death: KIA (Mutilation)
The man heard a soft, delicate whimper beside him and looked down to find his young apprentice silently weeping. Sighing, the man kneeled before the frail girl and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You must absorb what’s in front of you, Rosaline,” he told her. “Whether or not you chose to acknowledge this suffering while you were alive, you must come to accept the reality of the world you’ve left behind.”
“I can’t, Thanatos,” Rose whimpered.
“Then you must.” Thanatos was growing impatient with Rose’s insistent denial. He should have listened to the Council when they warned him of her stubbornness, but he was certain he could handle the child. After all, he’d raised two daughters and trained five apprentices before Rose came along. All the girl needed was patience, time to settle her nerves and process this strange new world.
“Watch me carefully, Rosaline. You’ll need to learn your way fast if you wish to earn your way to Paradise.” Rose sniffed and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her flannel pajamas. Thanatos stepped forward as the soldiers’ souls awoke from their bodies. They spun their heads around the barren battlefield muttering, “What in God’s name?” and “Is this the Big Place?”
Slowly, Thanatos drew his bronze scythe from its sheath, and before any of the men had time to react, Thanatos slashed the blade through each soldier’s projection. The soldiers screamed, but their shock lasted momentarily (the same could not be said for Rose who had to grab hold of Thanatos to recover herself). Thanatos repressed a laugh. His scythe frightened many mortal souls, but Reaper weapons were designed only to harvest memories, never kill.
Suddenly, a geyser of golden light burst forth from each soldier’s chest and into the air. The light shifted and shaped into soft golden orbs that soared into the sky like birds in the wind. “The Flight of Memories,” Thanatos explained, “Is where the memories of the deceased are sent to the Council for Evaluation. There, the Council determines if their Notable Deeds outweigh the Notorious. Then, they will send us back the results so we can send them to the Afterlife.”
Rose gazed intently upon the Flight, her lips moving subtly in a whisper. Thanatos barely caught what she was saying: Please, remember. She’s recalling of her own Flight of Memories, Thanatos thought. He’d told Rose dozens of times that her case was one in a million and she had no reason to panic during the Flight, but she continued to recite her pleading mantra.
Soon, the memories glided down into the soldiers’ chests and sealed with a vibrant glow. In his notebook, fresh new words appeared next to each soldier’s names. Thanatos kept his face stoic and closed his book. Walking up to the soldiers’ souls, he let his mouth creep into a grin. “Congratulations to all of you. Your service to your country has earned you a place in Paradise. I wish you the happiest of afterlives from here on in.” And with a final salute to their deceased troupe, Thanatos pulled out a silver key embossed with golden feathers and held it into the air. “Rigor Mortis,” he announced, and in a cloud of silver, the soldiers disappeared, never to see the darkness of Life again.
Thanatos’s smile grew as a familiar wave of pride washed over him. “I hope you see now, Rose, that there is a particular beauty about death. It is not just the end of life, but the start of a grand adventure. It has been my greatest solace these past 30 years to usher these wonderful souls into new—Rose?
His apprentice was kneeling beside one of the soldier’s bodies with a strange expression on her face. Had Thanatos not known any better, he’d say it was nostalgia, but a girl like Rose could never fathom such an abstract emotion. Nostalgia for Rose was drawing water from an empty well: hopeful until one saw the empty bucket and was left thirsty for what couldn’t be had.
Thanatos spotted something small and crusty lying above the body’s hand. While mud had caked most of the exterior, Thanatos recognized the raised black letters of an Altoid tin twisting off the hinge of its lower tin. Inside was a soggy, faded picture of a man in a polo shirt with his arms around a woman holding a laughing child in her hands. Rose reached her hand towards the tin, but it passed through her fingers as fluidly as a dust cloud. Thanatos could sense an oncoming plague of fresh tears.
“You are here to stay, Rose,” Thanatos reminded her firmly. “Until you’ve reaped enough souls to go to Paradise, this is your new home. The sooner you learn, the sooner you can enter the next life.” He returned his notebook back in his pocket and pulled out a black Portal key. “Time to leave, Rose. A reaper’s work is never done.” Rose stood up, her head bent low, and dragged her feet towards her master. A small flutter like the brush of fingertips traced Thanatos’s heart, and to his surprise, he found himself extending his gloved hand towards Rose. She stared hesitantly at his hand a moment, as if it might be poisoned, then she laced her fingers tentatively through his. Raising the key into the air, the shocking gust of Transportation hit Thanatos like an arctic wind, sweeping him and Rose back to the Reaper Realm.
In the midst of the twisting and turning, Thanatos had a sudden realization. That strange sensation he couldn’t place before was pity. Pity for the child who was shot in the head and sent to the Reaper Realm to fight her way to Paradise. Pity for his apprentice without memories or a place to call home. Pity for the Reaper with no idea how much power she held in her tiny palms.