Death comes to everyone eventually. Its how it has to go.Its just the way of life.
I don't like Death. It's taken away everything from me. My family. My best friend.
I'm Death's pathetic apprentice, Naomi. No-one calls me that here anymore, though. Now I'm just "go get me a coffee", because thats all anyone ever says to me.
When am I going to be a Grim Reaper, anyway? Four-hundred years? Can a human even live that long? I mean, its hardly fair that Sir Death is immortal and I'm supposedly next in line. What the heck is the point --
I've been interuppted again. It'd be nice if they can give me a break just this--
"Girl! Stop zoning out!" Death bellows.
Oh great! Did I seriously zone out in the middle of a meeting?
"U-uh, sorry! Um... what did you say... sir?" I mumble. Great. This is going well.
Death gives me that look again. The look that makes you want to punch that stuck-up skull of his.
"Girl. Concentrate for once. I was asking you if you'd get me a coffee."
See what I mean about the coffee?
"Yes, sir. Uh... where is the kitchen again...?" I mutter. My speech isn't great, as if you couldn't tell that already.
Again with the look. I can see myself in his blank, black eyes. Yup, there I am. Same scruffy black hair and dirty looking hazel eyes. Same old scatty clothes-
"Down the hell hall. Left. Then right. Then left...." His voice trails off as I rather rudely walk out of the room. Heh, thats what he gets for giving me that look.
You see, being Death's apprentice is about as fun as being down in the coal mines. Its not fun. Its not exciting. Its not amazing.Its just... bleh.
Everyone treats me like garbage. Technically, thats what I am. I'm the only human here. All the other workers can make cats fly or cast protecting spells or make pie out of a rotten shoe.
I can only just about make coffee. What kind of Grim Reaper are they planning to make me into? Oooh, maybe I'll be a---
"Girl! For heavens sake, watch where you're going! You just walked right into me!"
How the heck did I not notice that? Actually... now that I think about it, there does appear to be a rather large butler towering over me with tea on his shirt. Oops.
"Sorry, Damien. I wasn't looking." Obviously.
He raises his left eyebrow at me before strutting off in the oppisite direction. Damien is Death's butler. I'm higher in ranking, but he doesn't care about that.
I miss being a kid. Then everyone liked me. At least... I think they did. Maybe they just liked me more than now.
My mother was a witch. Its my fault she's dead. My fault that my brothers in prison. My fault my Dads a maniac.
That's just how it is.
Hey! This is something I wrote back in March, for the BBC's 100 words competition... In the category for ages 12-16. But... I never got anything for it. Nothing at all.... Not even a message back. I suppose it must not have been good enough. ^^; Anyway, this is just an entry for that and I will probably never continue it.... But I hope you enjoy what's there.
- Bli <3