Death.

That is all I had known, and all I will know.

It is my past,

my present,

and my future.

~x~

The ominous silence that clings to the air, the imminent smell of death, the quiet chokes to wailing sobs of loved ones, the begging, the pleading whether to end their life or spare it.

Then there was the hate, the hate and the pity and disgust. From both human and immortal.

I had long forgone reacting to it. What else could I do but accept it? Accept the truth that I was the spirit of something that was ugly. Something that was dark, cold and heartless, that deserved to be despised and sneered upon.

That ever constant smell of desperation hit my nose as I gazed upon my next patron. Male, aged 43, a husband, and father to 3, injured badly in car crash and fighting for his life for 3 weeks now. Death - imminent.

The room was filled with the humming of machines, the quiet, lazy 'beep, beep' of the mans heart monitor was all that filled the silence. At my intruding presence however, the noise picked up a pace, signifying the awaking of Charles Foster.

His eyes darted around the room in tired weariness, immediately stopping on my cloaked form shrouded with the shadows.

He gulped, eyes drawn to the glinting scythe beside me.

His mouth opened, silent words escaping but I could read the small whisper.

'Grim Reaper'.

I gave him an unseen, apologetic smile and silently approached him. He seemed at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing desperately, eyes squinted in pain. Eventually his voice broke the thick atmosphere, a hoarse whisper among machines.

"Will it hurt?"

He accepted his death, excepted the inevitable. It gave me slight relief and I shook my head.

Charles sighed, closing his eyes in accepting defeat.

"Then go ahead"

I raised my scythe, dipping it down until the pointed tip pressed against the mans chest, the silver edge glowing a momentary blue. The last of his breath left his mouth and he stilled.

I withdrew my symbolic weapon, it's curve returning to never fading silver.

The heart monitor stopped, silence capturing once more before the long, slow drone of death filled the hospital room.

I watched, the heart monitors visual and limp, flat line. Somewhere far in the hospital footsteps picked up and I knew it was time to leave. Time to go find another soul in need of reaping.

I glanced down at my wrist, watching as the tattooed scrawl across it faded and stared at the mark under it.

I let my scythe shift, dissolve into the empty energy I held, letting my arm holding it drop as it was disappeared, before letting my body do the same. Black wisps flowed around me, caving in like a black hole as I let myself be transported far away to some remote village in the Indonesian Islands.

Faces of rushed nurses filled the last of my vision before the scene completely vanished and I felt my bodied energy shift south.

~x~

Death is all I have ever known, and all I will ever know.

I accepted that long ago.

Condemned myself to the inevitable.

Given up any hope of searching for a meaning, a purpose to why I do this.

I wish I didn't have to but there's nothing else I can do.

For if I won't end their suffering, who will?

~x~

I own nothing.

I shouldn't but I did anyway.

While this is an OC character and I'm usually not one for OC's, please know there is no romance or OCxJack or whatever.

This is only my own interest in exploring another spirits history and struggles as well as Jack's.

I got really interested into thinking about the other immortal spirits out there and well, Grim Reaper is awesome as.

This story will be mainly based around Jack's history and story, not just Grim Reapers.

This is short but is only a prologue (yes I like prologues) and only this chapter is in first person.

Reviews are kindly appreciated, next chapter is already written, and shall be up soon.

Xx

A.S