You know. Death isn't much fun. I should know. I'm a Soul Reaper, or Shinigami, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Currently residing in a Gigai--that's what we call a fake body, I've been stationed on the North American continent for about two centuries.
Man, I've been here for a long time. It's been at least a hundred earth years since I was back at the Court of Pure Souls on furlough. Vice Captain Izuru has been pretty good about keeping me up on things happening in the court, except I haven't heard much from him lately. Must be the bureaucracy hard at work.
Hollows aren't that common on this side of the world. It's probably because they're all being drawn to that place near Tokyo vice Captain Izuru mentioned in his last dispatch. Mostly it's been just soul burials. I hate those. Just last week I had to perform a burial on a four year old. I found him wandering around in the middle of a street in some run-down neighborhood crying for his mother.
I walked over to him and reached out a hand. "Hey kid."
He slowly raised his head and looked up at me, blinking at this imposing figure in worn black robes. I could see the bruises that had killed him. Those stains don't wash out so easily. He was bound to become a Hollow soon enough if I left him alone.
His bright blue eyes were tearstained and blank with sorrow. His chain of fate was less than a foot long. If he was the one I had read about in the paper, a boy murdered at the hands of his amphetamine-addled single mother, then he had reason to cry.
I was here to help him pass on. That was my job. Perhaps in Soul Society he wouldn't have such a fucked up life. Or maybe it would be filled with pain and hardship as well. But whatever--that was never why I became a Shinigami.
"Are yo..you an angel?"
I thought about it for a moment and knelt, bringing myself to his level. "Yeah...I guess I am."
At that he hugged me. This was hardly protocol but I returned the gesture anyhow. Never get involved with your charges they tell you in the academy; it will only bring difficulty and heartbreak. Regardless, I knelt there embracing him for what seemed like an eternity comforting this little lost soul; it was only the better part of an hour.
"Hey kid," I spoke softly "What's your name?"
He answered me matter-of-factly "Patrick."
I stood, lifting him off the ground with one arm. "Well Patrick, I think it's time for you to go to Heaven. Do you think it's time?"
The boy nodded, threatening to crack a smile. I drew my Zanpakutou with my free hand and raised the hilt towards him. Patrick began to look nervous. "Don't worry" I reassured him. Before he could protest I tapped his forehead with the hilt of the soul cutter.
Another one of God's butterflies fluttered to Heaven.
A sedan rumbled through me. I silently promised myself a six pack of beer.