Our Death to Our Life
The first one walked with his head bowed, arms tight around himself with the drying streaks of tears on his cheeks. There was nothing and no one that could change his mind as he made his way to the bridge that was meant to hold his happiest memory, instead it would hold the memory of his last day. The clouds were a dark grey after a thunderstorm that had soaked him to the bone, not that it mattered much anyway as he had given up caring many months ago.
He approached the bridge and hardly thought as he clambered onto the stone arch, staring down at the rapids at the bottom of a fair distance fall but to him, his heart had already stopped so this was just going to be the final nail in the coffin. He stood at the very edge peering down into his watery grave, partly concerned how he didn't even think about changing his mind while he teetered on the edge yet at the same time, glad he didn't have second thoughts. Taking a deep breath and spreading out his arms, he allowed himself to topple over the edge where he fell into the waters, cracking his head on a sharp rock, knocking him unconscious and letting him drown in the waves that carried his body until a blade was caught in his shirt to pull him onto the bank where his soul was to be collected. "William T. Spears, age twenty-five. Cause of death, suicide by jumping and drowning."
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The second broke down in sobs in what many would call a hovel rather than a home. The town, his family and all he knew growing up had turned on him when he had started wanting to wear gowns, to grow out his hair, wear woman's make up to look pretty. As disgusted as his parents were when they kicked him out, he hadn't expected the entire town to mock him for something he didn't even fully understand.
Today was the final straw. A woman, the only one who had tried to sympathize with him, to help him understand why he wanted to be this way, was apparently truly disgusted by him. The words hurt as they had come from the only person in the town that he thought hadn't hated him but now, he was once again alone. It didn't seem fair as he hadn't asked for any of this but if they wanted him gone, he was more than happy to give them what they wanted. Underneath his pillow was a bottle of rat poison he had procured from a traveling vendor. He had spent all his coin on it, figuring if he was leaving, why did he need money?
Sobbing harder, he uncapped the bottle and without another thought, drained the entire bottle in four gulps. The same blade that had come for the first bore into the second's chest when the poison took effect, leaving his soulless body crumpled on the wooden floor. "Grell Sutcliffe, age twenty-six. Cause of death, suicide by poison."
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The third came as a shock to everyone. A man that was cocky, tall and good looking on the outside but in, he had felt alone, depressed, yearning for someone to actually sit down and tell him they cared. All he received instead of that were whores beckoning him for a good time.
His first and only lover left him for someone richer, shattering his heart. Though he kept up his persona, deep down, he wanted to murder every noble he saw. For him, the final factor was seeing his lost lover with her children and husband, the children he should have had with her, he should have been her husband. Even when he asked if she regretted what she had done, if she missed him even the smallest amount, both were answered with a shake of her head. The man felt his heart crushed all over again and to prevent taking out his gun and shooting the family right then and there, he was calm as he made his way back to his home, toward his bedroom, sitting upon the bed he shared with the woman who never loved him.
As he stared at his gun, his mind ran free with all the possibilities he could do with it, maybe even go up and kill the king to take his thrown then he'd have all the lovers he could possibly want, however he knew it wouldn't win her back. Sighing, he set the barrel of the gun to his temple, finger stroking the trigger before he closed his eyes, blew a kiss to her then ended it. The reaper had come again, doing his job quickly in order to avoid the curious eyes he knew were going to come to investigate the gunshot. "Eric Slingby, age twenty-six. Cause of death, self-inflicted bullet to the head."
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The fourth was a smaller man, frail and week from a sickness he had since birth. He wasn't allowed out due to everyone believing he was infectious though he never believed it. All he could do was sit in his small bedroom day in and out, only feeling the sun from his window, never actually able to go outside and feel it against his deathly pale skin.
His mother and farther hadn't left him to rot thankfully. They were there whenever he needed anything though he had said multiple times all he wanted was to go outside, see the world before this illness took away what shitty life he had. Of course he wasn't permitted that, instead they forced him back to bed where he had to take such foul tasting medicine. It made him nearly sick to just taste even half a teaspoon. At times, he rejected the medicine, yelling with his soft voice that he'd rather just finally die then be locked away like some kind of creature. His mother sobbed when she heard that, begging him to take the medicine; that she didn't want to lose her son she loved so dearly. Her tears were enough for him to agree, his father thanking him as well with a soft kiss to his forehead while his mother tucked him in.
They loved him, which was why doing this was so much harder but he knew it was best for all of them if he went on his own terms. He had hid the noose he had made under the floorboard and when he knew his parents were asleep, he removed the rope, after a couple of tries, finally managing to hook it over a wooden beam. He made sure it could hold what little weight he was before standing on his desk chair and slipping the noose over his head. Feeling the rope brush against his neck was terrifying but at the same time, he felt relief. Closing his watery eyes, he kicked away the chair and hung there until the reaper came to him. "Alan Humphries." The reaper said. "Age, twenty. Cause of death, suicide by hanging."
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The fifth and last was a small bit younger then the fourth. He was called a street rat by many who passed him the ally's. His dirtied hands were always lifted, begging for even just a penny but none looked his way and if they did, he would receive many bruises from the beatings by the townsfolk who didn't want trash muddling up their streets.
He didn't have a choice with his orphanage being burned down and the new one too small to fit all the children. He was one of the few that had to be turned away even if he had been one of the oldest kids there. The streets had been his home for many years after that and being the age he was now, an orphanage would never accept him. Thus he kept to the streets, having once tried to find a job but no one would hire someone who was filthy as he was. Sometimes he was lucky to get a few pennies and he spent it all on bread, even if it was dry and crumbled in his hands. At least it was something to fill his empty stomach however not even bread could satisfy him anymore. He didn't know when he came to decide to do it as he stood beside the stone road but it felt like the right thing to do, especially with how quick it should be. Thus when a carriage came rushing around the corner, he dove out in front of it, the sound of his body breaking never registered in his ears like it did everyone else's. Woman cried out and men went to the young teen's side but the reaper pushed them all back to deliver his scythe down upon the body. "Ronald Knox, age, eighteen. Cause of death, suicide by being hit by a carriage."
Though it was their choice to take what was supposedly so precious, they didn't get the peace they wanted. Work was now their debt, having to watch the memories of the dead and see the many regrets, how many just wanted one more day, to say goodbye, to do anything but lay in darkness forever, but, there was also something so lovely about being part of the undead. Perhaps it was because William was finally respected, that Grell was accepted to a great extent, that Eric was able to finally have a proper lover, that Alan was free to enjoy the outside, that Ronald wasn't just a lowly beggar anymore. As cliché as it sounded, they had found each other and even though it took death to find peace, I can see all of them doing it again.
"Wow, that was so lame sir."
"I wouldn't same it lame, but true."
"Mm, Will does have a way with words…even if the subjects a bit morbid, not that I'm complaining!"
"Hm, still. Was nice tae hear tha 'm not the only one with a wee soft spot fer all ye lads…and lass."
"You are not…even I have grown a soft spot for the four of you; however that shall never leave this office."
With smiles and promises from the four and the lunch break over, William allowed them out as he peered down at the photo of the five of them standing before the cemetery that housed each of their graves.
So, after the new chapter of Kuro came out and finding out in order to be a reaper, you must commit suicide, me and my Best Bud, FuryOfTheBlackBird, started talking about how each reaper ended it so this came out. I hope it was an enjoyable read for such a dark (?) subject. Hey, at least the ending was happy!