"O brother, who art thou?"
Where do shinigami come from?
It is a question that some are plagued with. Who are these creatures of death? Did they suddenly appear out of thin air? No, that is incorrect. These beings of power, these orderly and sometimes surprisingly chaotic spirits have an origin just like everything else.
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"B-brother?"
And down swung the blade of fate.
Crunch
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Fuzziness. A brief vision of retreating footsteps. Blood spattered on the grass.
...
The boy lay uselessly on his side.
...
What does it feel like to not feel pain? I do not remember the feeling.
...
Numbness, but at the same time, excruciating pain. Death. Death. DEATH! Please!
The words slowly slipped past his blood-drained lips. "...Please..."
A crunch in the grass signaled the arrival of another. "Oh dear, what a way to die." The origin of the noise sounded just above the boy's ear, the sudden sound sounding like a thousand blaring trumpets on a quiet day. "And by pruners too. How dreadful." The boy could just hear the grin in the unknown stranger's voice. "How did it feel?"
Blood dripped from the boy's lips. "Pl-" a cough plagued the youth's body, "-ease..."
The stranger cupped his ear and bent down. "Hmm..?"
"...Death..."
Golden and green eyes glimmered. "Fantastic!"
Sllllick!
A sword was unsheathed and placed at the boy's jugular. "I'll be happy to oblige." The weapon lifted agonizingly slow.
"Pl...ease..."
The boy closed his eyes as the blade was thrust downwards. Clink! Clink?
"Oh! How bothersome... It appears as though my access to your soul has been severed."
What?
The boy suddenly found his voice to scream as a searing pain was felt in his eyes. Pain. Pain. PAIN! The boy felt a circle slowly carve itself within the irises of both eyes.
The stranger simply looked on with disinterest. He sheathed his sword, adjusted his glasses, and slowly took a step back to watched the sun rise. "Another one... huh..."
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Has a shinigami ever told you why they need glasses? No, of course not. They prefer to keep their secrets to themselves.
Two circles.
The first one is green. The green certifies that the being had once been a living soul.
The second one is yellow. The yellow certifies that the soul had died and passed on to become a higher being.
The pain. The pain of the second circle, the circle of death, being carved into their very eyes is what causes them to lose their sense of sight. After this process, they will automatically need glasses for the rest of their... 'life'.
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The glasses of life.
The eyes of death.
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"What is your name, recruit?"
The man now standing before the speaker blinked. What was it again?
Ah... "W-William."
The man on the other side of the reception desk raised an eyebrow. "Full name?"
Right... Even he should have thought of that. "William T. Spears." This time there was no hesitation, only will. He was given a second chance for a reason.
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Never lose your glasses while reaping a soul. If you do, you will only bring 'death' where there should be 'life'.
...
What happens to souls that have been reaped without the power of 'life'?
...
A demon is born...
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"Here is your temporary Death Scythe. You will be given a new one based on 'circumstances' when your test, no, if your test is completed."
"Thank you."
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"Wielding this temporary scythe is shameful," a blonde whispered to her friend seated next to her as she sipped her tea.
The man's ears perked up.
"Why is that?" her friend responded.
"Doing so means one has not come to terms with their death."
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Fear.
Cinematic records shot up and threw themselves at the short-haired man as he desperately hacked away at the film. "Don't fight the inevitable!" he grit his teeth as he narrowly avoided being strangled.
I accepted death. My record... I did not struggle. So why?
A human's will to live is strong.
Then am I human?
A strong will flashed across the spirit's eyes as he adjusted his temporary glasses with his temporary Death Scythe.
And the record was cut.
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A shinigami does not become a shinigami unless he has passed his first reaping. In doing so, one has come to terms with his death and move on. They no longer see themselves as human, thus they severe their ties with all things living. They become something...
Inhuman.
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"Here are your new glasses, sir." A tall, lanky man offered a newly fashioned pair of black spectacles with elegance and finesse.
"Thank you," the now stoic man replied as he bowed deeply and rested the pair of spectacles upon the ridge of his nose. He turned to leave, but the voice of the glasses creator stopped him.
"Don't lose them. They are very important."
The newly dubbed shinigami smirked. "Of course."
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A scene of blood. The memory of betrayal.
Human memories are so fragile and useless. I have no need of them.
Brother...
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"Here is your new Death Scythe. You may modify it as you please."
The new shinigami glanced at the tool of reaping with a small feeling of nostalgia before he swiftly bowed, pocketed it, and left the scene.
I see... So they are testing me...
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A shinigami's first Death Scythe... It so happens to be the most traumatic weapon they could have remembered from their previous life.
How ironic.
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William T. Spears gazed at the collection of new 'souls' before him in disinterest. It seems the process repeats itself.
"Has a shinigami ever told you why they need glasses?"
END
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I'm sorry. This idea assaulted my brain at around 11 P.M. I know it was choppy, and it was meant to be vague. It was supposed to be a one-shot that got the gears in your head churning. Did you like it? Please inform me of how I did. Thank you.