Death's AviaryMature

One day, I poked my head into Grace’s cubicle. Her head was buried in multiple windows as she kept me organized.

“You look like you could use a break,” I smiled. “Want to see something really cool?”

I tossed her a binder and led her down the hallway to a large door. I unlocked it and we went in.

Grace’s eyes widened as she took the place in. It was an endless field of soft rolling hills, lovely trees in full blossom, and crystal bodies of water. A cool breeze carried the scent of hibiscus to us. Most remarkable of all, orbs, glowing brighter than any Grace had yet seen, flitted like butterflies.

“What is this?” Grace asked.

“This is the aviary,” I explained. “Once in a while we come across a soul so perfect, that instead of recycling it, we bring it here and keep it.”

I led her through the aviary. “Come on,” I said. “We’ll do a census.”

Grace opened the binder. “I don’t recognize any of these names.”

“I don’t expect you would,” I said. “Perfect souls don’t usually seek recognition.”

The End

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