Wings
Joshua would like to say the first thing he saw in this new life was a pair of black leathery wings. He'd always loved a more dramatic story. Instead, the first thing that entered his newly restored field of vision was a pair of shiny black pumps. His eyes traveled up the legs and yes, wings to meet the cold face of the stern blonde reaper woman who stood over him. Other winged men and women watched the scene from a distance.
She was talking to him, perhaps shouting something now, but no words came out of her mouth. There was no way he could hear her over this cacophony of music. He wanted to convey this to her, perhaps dryly observe the irony that he had lost his hearing as he had regained his sight. But that commentary wasn't quite so accurate, because it wasn't that he couldn't hear. Oh, he could hear so many sounds, the blaring of this distasteful music of thousands of kinds of lunacy. He could barely pick out one melody from another, although one song would grow faintly stronger whenever a particular person approached him.
Though he recognized no faces, the way the confusion of the reapers melted into what appeared to be taunts and catcalls was quite familiar to the boy. He wanted to respond, but it seemed he wasn't able to form words. He was dimly aware of someone screaming over the din of the music, and eventually occurred to him that the screamer was himself. But he couldn't stop.
This seemed to go on for a few days. Reapers would continuously approach him, and he tried to communicate as well, but neither party was successful.
He felt himself fading. He didn't know how to be a reaper, and he did not know what he was supposed to do. But apparently, he was doing something wrong, because his fingertips had dissolved into static. He could not hear the static sound, but there was no mistaking the sight that usually accompanied erasure that was slowly spreading across his new reaper body.
He was being erased.
The one who approached him the most was the tall reaper with the charcoal-colored hair. This one had an almost comforting tone to his barbaric rap music, yet Joshua had no idea who this reaper was. He wondered vaguely if this reaper may be Sho, but he couldn't focus on the situation long enough to figure such an issue out.
That is, until this dark-haired reaper carried him away through the sewers, out past Hachiko, and into the streets of Shibuya. As they ran, Joshua noticed they were walking through people. And he was being quickly overwhelmed by the shriller tunes stabbing him as he walked through them. Walking… Through…
He awoke to the familiar scent of freshly-brewed Wild Kat coffee. He was seated in his favorite café, his legs sticking uncomfortably to the plastic as they always did on a hot day. Mr. H was before him. Joshua wanted to jump for joy, but apparently would have to settle for screaming instead, because every step Mr. H took made one particular strain of music louder and louder. His music was unlike any of the others- as if daggers were piercing his head as this music strained to make itself heard among its inferiors. And Mr. H had wings, white fluffy angel wings straight out of a children's picture Bible. Joshua screamed again and flailed about, catching sight of his palm that had disappeared into static.
Mr. H affixed a pin to his shirt. The wings disappeared, and the screaming stopped.