As a Grim Reaper, I constantly deal with the troubles of deciding which soul is to live or die. However, there are times when even I question the validity of my job. Whether it's from stillborns, the elderly, children, or even adults who will never see their dreams, I have to decide on it all. I hate it and I love it. I see your foolish human beings eradicated, but I see those with the flame still burning inside of them extinguish so easily. And I get sad. It's even more heart-breaking when you fallen in love with someone on your To-Die List, regardless of their gender. Anyways, that's not the point. I'm here because of one of my souls. Her story or film or record haunts me to this very day. A tragedy of a life, if you ask me. But her name is Amelia and this is her song.

The first time I saw Amelia was when she was 16 years old. The year was, I believe, 2000, and she was living in America. More specifically, the Big Apple or New York City. Her parents were out that night, so they wouldn't know what she tried to do that night.

I let myself into their small house and saw that everything was what you expected out of a normal family. Tacky pictures and decorations here and there, a TV, a coffee table. I sighed as a new era will begin again.

I made my way up into Amelia's room and just entered. No knocks or anything. After all, all my clients were dead, so privacy wasn't a big issue. It was a normal teenage room from what you expected of this period, but details don't matter right now.

I looked around until I saw her, hanging from the ceiling. She was fair-skinned with long light brown hair. She was an average height and had clear blue eyes. All she wore was a hoodie and some jeans.

However, I shook my head and started the judgment. Each Reaper has a Death Scythe and mine just is just a katana. One made out of obsidian and has a white handle. I slashed Amelia right down the middle and the film starts to unravel.

My name is Amelia. Amelia Vonce. I was born on February 14, 1984 in New York. Growing up, I didn't talk much with other kids or even with my own parents for that matter. To be truthful, I hated my life.

I remember coming home from school every day to an empty house. I had to learn how to cook and clean quickly, or else I wouldn't be here today. No one told me how to do anything. My mom was a dedicated doctor working to help pay the bills and care for her patients. My dad was a businessman, always working overtime or overseas.

My dad often came home late at night, drinking his worries away. I would see just beer everywhere or even bottles of wine. Sometimes, if I was still up late at night, he abused me physically and verbally. Of course, my mom didn't knew anything about it, but she called every once in a while to say "I love you," or come into my room at 3 in the morning to kiss me good night.

I still loved my father, and I still enjoyed living.

At school, it was just a wonderful experience. Getting to learn everyday and just play with the kids. I didn't talk much with them, but they understood. It changed when I went to middle school. I didn't have new clothes or the right look or even anything new at all. People bullied me because I was "poor" when I never had the time with my mom to shop for them.

They never took the time to understand me, nor do I will them.

Still, I suffered with it for those two years. I thought it would change when I got to high school, but it didn't.

When I got into high school, it grew. Well the rumors did and so did the darkness. The rumors grew and grew.

"I heard she was a lesbian."

"She's homeless, ya know?"

"That would explain that ugly dress she's wearing."

"I heard she cheats on her tests. She's actually a dumb bitch."

"Isn't it it because she seduces her teachers to get a good grade?"

"No, she's the football team's whore."

It snowballed and snowballed until it got too big to handle. My heart got heavy and I just became a zombie, walking around the halls, refusing to look at anyone.

When I finished freshman year of high school, I stayed home doing nothing. I waited for my dad to come home every night, just for him to hit me and call me names.

"You weren't supposed to be born."

That's what he said to me and I started believing it. His words and everyone's words were a burden on my heart. It weighed immensely on it and I couldn't breathe or even talk for that matter. I was a mess.

So, in sophomore year, I decided to talk with my counselor, Mr. W. He was a young man trusted with the job of helping people, which a lot of students says he does extremely well, especially the girls. A lot of the girls here have a crush on him because he "truly" cares about them.

Bullshit.

I went to talk with him everyday and it seem like he actually cared about my problems. I talked to him about everything, from my parents, school, the rumors, and the heavy burden of the words. He offered suggestions on a therapist, child services, transferring to a new school, or even being homeschooled. I thought he was the first friend I ever made.

That is, until one day, he locked the door behind me. I could still hear the lock turning and the deafening click that signaled my story's end. He went back to his desk and sat down on it, smiling at me.

"Amelia, I'm sure you know that you can trust me, right?"

I gulped. "Yes, Mr. W."

"Now, I'm well aware of your problems and I figured out the best solution."

I looked at him, sweat starting to form. "And what could that be?"

"I think you're just a little attention whore and that all you need is some rough love." He comes closer, his hands reaching out. "You're a grown woman, and all you need is a respectable, loving man in your life. I can provide that." His hands touching my chest area, he moaned, "They're so soft…"

Scared, I immediately jumped out of my chair and unlocked the door and tried to run out of there. But before I even stepped a foot out of that door, he spanked me. "Our next meeting is tomorrow, Ms. Vonce," he yelled out as I ran away. I could have sworn he said "whore" as I was running too.

After that ordeal, I feigned sickness for the rest of the week. Now tonight, when my parents are out on a date, I decided to end everything. I wrote a note explaining everything. Why am I doing this. My apologies to my mom. And my last good-bye.

Out of everything that has happened so far, I started singing. I sung as I got the rope ready. I sung as I made the noose. I sung as I put my head through the noose.

I sung as I kicked the chair.

I cried as I sung.

And I thought to myself, "I won't bear this pain anymore."

I kept singing my last words on this earth.

My only regret was that I couldn't be stronger and live.

I'm sorry, mom, that I couldn't live anymore.

I'm sorry, that I couldn't be stronger.

And then the darkness took hold of my hand and smiled.

The film stops there. The poor soul. Mistreated, misjudged, and misunderstood. Amelia Vonce. However, I sensed something in her as her life played out.

I sensed regret.

I sensed a will to live.

I sensed a wish.

In the last moments of her life, she sung about her life and it was deafening. Her sharp clear voice pierces the silence of the night. The song was sullen, but it had an air that drew you in. You can hear it clearly, can't you? A melodious voice mixing in with the silence of the night to bring music to your ears. You can hear the sadness, the regret, the wish, and the will to live.

And so, I finished the judgment process. Amelia Vonce: age 16, death by asphyxiation and her the crushing of her heart. Ms. Vonce, you will live until you have died a fulfilled life. Now, wake up.

I waited in her bedroom until she woke up, going through useless stuff like her diary and her clothing.

It'll be a shock for her to see that she's still alive and me, Alistaire Darroch, a Grim Reaper, in her room.

Her story doesn't end here however. But that's all the time I have for you humans. I have more souls to collect and judge and I'm wasting my time talking to you bumbling fools.