It was a strange sort of sensation. I mean, that's probably expected though right? Death doesn't exactly occur all too often; not often enough for you to get used to the sensation. It wasn't unpleasant…Sort of a tingling sensation through your entire nervous system starting with your toes for some reason… Okay, honestly, I'm lying. I'm not an expert on it or anything; I barely felt a thing. You want to know what happened to me? Do you really? Some idiotic simpleton who had only just started working at the theater that very moment was trying to move a piano from the back of the stage, where it had started out for some highly unknown reason, to the center isle where the crew would then be able to wheel it out of the theater. With a rope. As in through the air. Who thinks of that? And during a rehearsal. Honestly?

So that's what happened to me. A piano fell on me, and wipe that moronic grin off your face because it's really not that funny. But this is supposed to be a form of my retaining my sanity through this entire, psychotic process so I guess I should actually elaborate and start from the beginning… But I'm not going to start from the beginning. I'll start from that morning, possibly recap what happened through the years, and inform you what has led up to this very moment.

I woke up to a bright, shining new day. It was supposed to be good, but that's beside the point. I went through my morning routine of showering, getting dressed, and took the subway over to 42nd. I stopped at the bakery I always go to on the way to pick up my usual breakfast, and then walked the rest of the way to 51st.

I arrived at the Gershwin first, as per usual. I enjoy being punctual, and I enjoy having the time to myself inside of the theater. The older janitor there, Peter, always lets me in, and he's good company for a short while and we usually have light, cordial conversations, but he knows to leave me alone to prepare for the show after a short while.

I guess the first signal in my head should have been that Peter hadn't been there. It had been some new guy, a bit younger than Peter. The guy had said his name was Jack, but I wouldn't believe that was his real name for a second. Well, he followed me around, trying to strike up a conversation, for a good thirty minutes while I walked through the theater, actually attempting to get rid of him. Finally, I flat out told him I wanted to be alone so I could go get ready, and he looked at me with this strangely sober sort of look, and then he smiled sadly and patted me on the shoulder. But when he pulled his hand away he let his fingers trail along my skin where my jacket didn't quite meet the edge of my tank top strap. It still sends a shiver up my spine.

The rest of the day, up until the beginning of rehearsal, went regularly. I went to the changing rooms, but didn't do much else but brush my hair and hang up my jacket. By then a few other actors had arrived and together we began warming up.

Defying gravity was coming up and I stepped onto stage. I was just reaching my crescendo when I heard the snap… And then there was a second of blackness, and then I looked over and there was a totaled piano sitting all wrecked up next to me. With two feet and a hand sticking out of the rubble. My two feet and hand.

Everything was chaos from that moment on. Crew hands were running everywhere, actors were running everywhere, some of them screamed even, someone yelled for someone else to call an ambulance, and then that guy, Jack, was walking towards me, and it was weird because he was the only one that seemed to notice me standing there, everyone just ran past me as if I wasn't even there, even when I yelled that I was clearly perfectly fine.

Jack told me, very bluntly might I add, to shut up and that it was a futile effort. Looking in retrospect, he was quite a dick. I mean, I had just died. I should have been allowed to yell all I merry well pleased.

He told me we had to leave, and so we left, me somewhat in a daze, and him suggesting we head to this fabulous diner of 61st. I did, however, realize that as soon as we left the theater it was as if everyone could see me again. People stepped out of my way, however slightly people usually stepped out of the way in New York, and some of them even went as far as to say 'excuse me' when we bumped shoulders.

It was all really strange, to say the least. But when we got to that diner Jack explained simply that I was dead. Not exactly a shocker there. I mean sure, I didn't go to NYU, but I'm certainly not an idiot. He then explained that I wasn't fully dead. I was skimming on the outskirts of dead and alive, where I would remain for a time that he didn't exactly specify.

"You're a grim reaper." That's literally all he said. There was no dramatic build up or anything. He didn't sell it at all, just came right out and said it. He was quite a dud conversationalist, to tell you the truth.

So, he explained the rules to me, which I took careful note of, but I didn't exactly take any of it to heart. When you die and then someone appears and tells you you're now a grim reaper would you believe them? Would you take it at face value? I sure as hell didn't. I thought I was dreaming. So I remained in as high of a spirit as ever, and Jack and I quickly parted ways.

I've realized, a week later, that this is definitely no dream. Or, if it is, I must be in a coma or something.

But it's really not that bad. Honestly.

Not that I'm afraid of what I may come across in 'the afterlife', but it's kind of nice sticking around and helping others move on to their after lives. I'm helping people, which I never really thought about doing before, not in such a direct way at least. Not only that, I'm helping people when the doctors, nurses, firefighters, and police force all fail.

How many people can say that, right?

But it's different. I'm different. I'm not the same person any more. I can't tell anyone I knew who I am, and I can't be who I was. I don't even look like myself any more. Reapers, we're incognito, all the time.

Usually I wouldn't care so much, it's really just another role I have to play, only this time I can't take the makeup off afterwards.

But what will happen to Her? I can't tell her, I can't be there for her and tell her everything's alright. I can only stand by and watch as the tears roll down her face while the casket is lowered into the ground…

But maybe I can?

Just maybe…