Musical Chairs
My name is Georgia Lass. I'm twenty years old, and ever since I was killed about two years ago by a piece of space-age debris, I've learned a lot about life.
Life is a game of musical chairs, with the loser having to stay behind and clean up the mess. As you might guess, I was the one left standing.
Sometimes the job of cosmic maid isn't so bad. Other times it sucks. Like now.
Chapter One:
"Damnit, where the fuck is he?" muttered George as she stamped her feet angrily. Thirty minutes ago, she had been enjoying a rather nice dream, one in which she was still alive and helping out at Reggie's birthday party.
And then her phone had rung, destroying that dream. At first, she'd thought it was Mason, because who else would call her at such an hour? To her surprise, it was Rube.
"Peanut, I hate to interrupt your sleep like this, but..."
"But what?" she snapped.
"I have a reap for you."
"Like hell you do," snarled George, her anger rising. "For one, it's three in the morning. Secondly, I have to be at Happy Time at six o'clock. Thirdly, why the fuck didn't you give a post-it for this one out at yesterday's meeting?"
"Clerical Error, Peanut. I only found out about it five minutes ago, when they slipped a package under my door."
Goddamn it, thought George. Why couldn't her death have been a clerical error, to be cancelled at the last minute?
"Look, I know you don't want to do this, but you're the closest one. Daisy's on temporary assignment to Plague Division dealing with an airplane crash up at Seattle-Tacoma, Roxy's an hour away from the ETD site, and let's not mention Mason. You're only fifteen minutes away from the ETD site, and it's in thirty minutes."
"Goddamnit, Rube..."
"Look George, I know I can't do anything about this one, but I can take your appointments for today and possibly tomorrow."
"Fine."
"Okay, your mark is L. Malinowski, corner of Fenton Avenue and Fifth Street. ETD 3:35 AM."
"L. Malinowski, Fenton Avenue and Fifth Street, 3:35?" repeated George as she wrote it down on a scrap of paper nearby.
"Right. Better hurry up. Death waits for no one."
Except me, thought George as she dragged herself out of the covers and dressed for the reap.