I'm finally sick of hearing the boy's tired grunting. I've messed with enough of the people here, so I pull the book away from the door handle and step back. The boy slowly turns the doorknob and I wait until he's all the way through the lavish living room and pushes past the double doors to the stairwell. It's a painstaking wait, but it isn't his fault he's so slow. I start to follow him downstairs, walking at a snail's pace while he bolts down the spiral staircase at full speed. He's going to be late. I don't know what they do to those who don't arrive in time for their precious reaping, but it's got to be better than half an hour of legalese and tyrannical propaganda. If you ask me, I'm doing these wretched beings a favour. It's surprising how annoyed they get over child's play, and how fragile their system is. One little prank is enough to topple it over the edge. I just need to be patient for a few more days. Then the real fun can begin. In the meanwhile, it's perfectly entertaining to screw with their heads.