The Reaping

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You wake up. You get out of bed. You brush your teeth. You make breakfast. You put out food and water for your pet cat, Cthulhu. You named it Cthulhu because of your apparent obsession with H. P. Lovecraft, which still doesn't explain why you named your cat after a fucking octopus monster. By the way, did you know that H. P. Lovecraft was a cat-lover? Isn't that interesting? You certainly seem to think so. You find it so interesting, in fact, that you almost forget how utterly boring and empty your pathetic excuse for a life is. Hey, speaking of your life, I don't think I've introduced myself yet! I am Death.

When you go outside to get your mail, you seem a bit surprised to see me, a scythe-wielding skeleton man in a black cloak, standing on your front porch.

"Who are you?" you ask.

"Don't you pay attention? I already covered this in the first paragraph. It's even bolded, for Christ's sake!"


"Never mind. I'm just here to escort you to 'The Other Side'."

"You want to help me cross the road?"

"No, I'm here to take your soul."

"Oh, well, that's ni- wait, what? My soul?"

"Yes, your soul."


"Because you're dead."


"You're dead."

"I'm not sure I understa-"

"You're dead. You died. You were killed dead by a deranged serial killer. Being killed generally results in death. Death generally results in not living anymore. You are no longer living, therefore you are dead. Am I making myself clear?"

"Who are you again?"


"Nice to meet you!"

"All right, enough of this. Let's-"


"What now?"

"How am I dead if I'm here talking to YOU?"

"Being dead is the only way you can talk to me, actually."

"Oh, okay!"

So you happily agree to come along with me into a dark alleyway, where I reveal that it was all a trick designed to lure you into my trap! Then I realize I forgot to actually set up the trap, so instead I brutally murder you and burn down your house.


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