"I didn't kill him! I did not kill that man! I'm innocent – I'm not the murderer!"
Except he was. Except he did kill that man. I knew this, naturally, because I had been there.
Seeing as it was my job to collect the victim's soul, there was no other option. As another example of my bad timing, I was early again. That day was a lemony yellow, and I was not acknowledging the murder itself. It was too early in the morning. The color of lemons reminded me of other things – it distracted me. I saw his face though. I noticed the features. But most importantly, the day had been yellow – like lemons.
The victim's soul hadn't been ready. He hadn't even considered death. Confused, at his absolute best. His soul was as far from upright as it could have been. The soul was curled up, crawling and gaining no ground.
For a second, I took pity, like I always did with murdered souls, but then I recalled the numbers. There were too many murder victims, and not enough time to pity all of them. It felt wrong to pick favorites.
So on a yellow morning, without pity, I took a soul.
This morning happened to be yellow as well. Not like lemons – but like sunflowers. Darker.
Either he knew I was coming, or he would repeat it to the end.
"I didn't kill him!"
Except, he did.
I still don't like playing favorites. However, I reserve the right to play least favorites. So I dragged his soul out. Slowly, I slipped it from its body. I let him drift. Left him dazed, blurred somewhere between life and death, saying one thing, the same thing.
"I didn't. I didn't kill him."
Except, he did.
When I finally took his soul, it was still clawing out, reaching for what had been its body. But I hefted it under my arm, squeezing it to cease the squirming.
I'm not human, but I'm not God. I have emotions, and a habit of acting upon them – one that I ought to curb, truly. But seeing as I am not God, it is not my job to be perfect. My only job is to be on time.
"I didn't kill him!"
How – how – did he imagine this sort of thing worked? I was not God, and although I had seen the murder, it meant nothing. But if I had; if I had seen the murder, then surely God had too. Lying did not seem the greatest way to earn God's mercy. But I was not the judge of that. I am not the judge of that. I could not decide.
Some humans never change.