Prologue

A young man sits on his bed.

There is no particularly extraordinary quality about this young man, except for the fact that he is going to die tonight, at the early age of seventeen. Actually, no, no, the only extraordinary qualities about him are his death circumstances and his twin sister, who, at the moment, is asleep in her room. It is 2 o' clock in the morning.

This young man's sister is actually quite important to the story, but, for right now, we'll talk more about the brother. She'll come into play in due time.

This particular boy has dreamt about his death for some time now—not because he is suicidal, but because he has been having visions of it. He feels that something is trying to warn him, but being only human he can only assume that the dreams are nothing more than dreams, or that there is nothing he can do to stop them from coming true. He is actually quite practical.

He stares out his open window into the darkness of the night—or, rather, the very early morning. He believes that this will be the night that he dies, if his dreams prove to be true. He just hopes, for his family's sake, that they will not notice until they wake up at 7:30. With his father's death earlier that week, it has been hard to get his mother to go to sleep.

The young man notices a dark shape climbing towards his window, and he knows that the time has come. His hands begin to shake and he realizes something—he doesn't want to die. But what is he supposed to do about it now? Running away could only put his family in danger, and his own death would probably be loud, slow, and painful as a result. He dreamt that he would die at the hands of a powerful creature, though he never did see the face of the creature. In fact, he never did see much in those dreams at all, except that he died as a result of a thing climbing through his window. The cons outweigh the pros by a longshot. So he stays put, even though silent tears are now running down his face.

The dark shape opens the window, letting in a summer's night breeze. The shape appears to be human, with the tall, towering gait of a man. The shape looks the young man, but the young man cannot make out any defining features on the dark shape, and his breathing is becoming rapid. The shape moves across the room, nearly tripping over the young man's shoes in the process. The shape merely flips on the lights.

The young man is staring into the dark eyes of another man. He wears a black suit and has a rather weak-looking jaw. His dark brown hair is combed back neatly, and his shoes are shinier than the silver the young man's mother keeps locked in a drawer downstairs. Of all the things that this young man thought he would be killed by, this gentleman was definitely not one of them.

"Don't look so surprised," says the other man. "You've been dreaming about this for months, haven't you?"

The young man nods.

The other man sighs. "Yes, yes, thought so. Your name is Thomas, right? Thomans King? Yes. Pleased to meet you." His voice was surprisingly soft. The gentleman holds out a hand.

Thomas blinks, but does not shake the man's hand. "Are you… are you going to kill me?" Thomas asks, his voice unsure and shaky.

The man smiles sadly. "On the contrary, Thomas, you're already dead."

Thomas looks around, surprised, and then he notices that his own body is slumped over next to him from where he sits on his bed.

"What?" Thomas says, emotions mixing together in his chest. "But I didn't feel anything."

"Yes, yes, I thought I'd be kind to you," the man says, a hint of impatience in his voice. "You're just a kid. And you weren't supposed to die yet, anyway, so I thought I'd show you mercy."

"That doesn't make sense," Thomas replies.

"It's better this way," the man says. "Now come with me. There isn't much time to lose."

"Wait." Thomas stand from his spot on the bed, looking at his own dead body. His eyes are closed, his face looks peaceful. There are still damp lines on his face from crying earlier. "Who are you?" Thomas finally asks.

The man shrugs. "I'm your Reaper. I usher souls to where they need to go after death."

"Then why did you say that I wasn't supposed to die?"

The Reaper sighs. "It's very complicated. Someone pretty much has me on a leash and is controlling my actions and I can't really stop it or say no. I'm trapped. And they put you on my list of souls to collect. So sorry. Now come with me, please, unless you want to stay here for all eternity as a consciousness slowly going crazy and deteriorating into something in-between existence and non-existence with no peace or rest because you're too sentimental to leave this life behind. Will you follow me?"

The Reaper holds out his arm as if to say, after you. Thomas walks forward, and the Reaper ushers him towards his bedroom door. The Reaper opens the door, a bright white light blinding Thomas for half a second before they step through to the afterlife.