Thanatos

He crouched in his chair, holding his head in his hands. His breathing was ragged, as if something pained him and he wasn't quite sure what it was. The computer screens played shifting lights over his brown hair, greasy from several days without having been washed. Techno blared from the speakers. He sat back and gasped, grasping his chest, eyes wild, looking around for some hidden cure to his ailment.

I watched him, silently (as is my nature), from a couch not far from his desk. I bided my time, looking around, since all he ever did was gasp and groan painfully. There were many posters on the wall, various bands and bric-a-brac held in place with thumbtacks. He began to cry. I would have felt sorry for him, had I the capability to feel such an emotion. I checked my watch, matched it to a time and date on my clipboard, nodded to myself, and stood. He couldn't see me, but I think he was aware of some movement in the room. He grabbed fretfully at a stick propped up in the corner behind him. I shrugged to myself and moved to stand beside him. The computer was doing some kind of search. I shrugged again rested my hand on his shoulder. Most people scream or yell when I do that. He became suddenly calm. His head swiveled slowly and his dull eyes took me in. I think he had already been expecting me because he didn't really seem that surprised to see me. Which is unusual, but hey, you meet all kinds of people in this business. I gestured and he stood.

"Mr. Dryweed?" I asked.
He nodded glumly. He knew what had happened. Smart people tend to figure it out when they go all transparent and can't interact with anything anymore.
"Sir, I regret to inform you that you have just passed away."
He nodded again.
"If you will please follow me, we can fill out some paperwork and then send you on your way."
He didn't ask where, I don't think he much cared. We stepped through the wall of his room and, where there normally would have been a good deal of dirt, there was instead my office. I sat down behind my desk and gestured him to a chair in front of it. I pulled several sheets of paper out of a filing cabinet and laid them on the desk along with a pen.
"Please read these papers and sign on the dotted line."
He sluggishly obeyed. It's not often that people are so disappointed about dying. Well, sure, about other people dying, but not about their own deaths. I pulled up his record on the computer and perused it leisurely.
He finished and pushed the papers my way. I glanced at them, stapled them, and put them on a large stack labeled "Out".
"Okay, ready?" I asked.
He shrugged.

People sometimes get funny when they see me. Big black hood, skeletal hands, face. Scythe. I guess I can see how it could be scary. If you're still alive. Some people try to run away. As if that would do any good. I'm just the collector. When I come, it's already over. Other people try to hurt me. Whatever. I'm Death. You can't hurt me. I mean, what would be the point? So, you killed Death... no, it just doesn't happen.

Let me give a rundown of what happens when you die. First, you die. Second, I come for you. Then we go to my office and you sign some papers basically acknowledging that you're dead and you agree to abide by some basic rules. If you won't acknowledge that you're dead, then you get shipped off to a different department and I never see you again. Once you sign the paperwork, you're free to choose an afterlife. See, people think it's all about heaven and hell and faith and good deeds. Sure, heaven and hell are two of the popular options, but there are plenty of others. Indifference, for example: Nothing good or bad ever happens. A bit dull, I'll admit, but some people just can't stand the peaks or troughs of death so they choose the flat parts. For all eternity. Well, not necessarily all eternity. You're free to renegotiate your afterlife options after half an eternity. Anyway, after you choose your afterlife, there's a brief ceremony in which we dub you Officially Dead and you receive your deadcard. The deadcard is sort of like a credit card. You keep it in your wallet. It's used mainly for keeping track of people and making sure they don't cross the boundaries between afterlives. After the ceremony, you walk down a hallway, through a door, and into your chosen afterlife. And that's it. People always expect it to be a big deal. It's not. Thousands of people die every day. If we spent hours on every person the line to get processed would be eternally long. Not that it matters, since we've got all eternity, but administration likes to keep things efficient.

That's the other thing people are surprised about. They figure there's either nothing on the other end of the tunnel or there's some cosmic big guy. Well, the second part is true, to a point. His name is Fred. He's a nice guy. Likes french fries and video games. But he doesn't run the whole show. He just makes the big decisions. One reason people think there's nothing on the other end is because they think the universe is a shoddy place. They reason that if someone were in charge, the streets would be clean and it would be sunny on days with baseball games. But the thing that people don't think about is the fact that there is just an AWFUL lot to keep organized and in working order. And the administration really isn't that big. See, it's not like mortal administrations, which are roughly three times larger than necessary and grow exponentially in proportion the amount of work needing to be done. No one WANTS to do the administrating. So there are a very few people running things and they just can't be bothered to keep gutters clean and people satisfied. There are more important things to do.

Like give me my daily schedule, for instance. How do you think I know who to pick up, and when? Well, every morning Fred gives me a list of people who are scheduled to die that day. Some days are slower than others. There are actually two Deaths. But we wear the same getup and we're both basically nice people, so no one ever notices a difference. The other Death has the night shift. Because it just wouldn't be fair to have one guy patrolling the world over, 24 hours a day, picking up dead people.

A common misconception is that I'm a horrible, cold, unfeeling apparition. The last part is true, I guess. I AM an apparition. But I am neither horrible, cold, or unfeeling. For some reason people think I like picking up the dead. I mean, I like my job, don't get me wrong. But it's because you get to meet so many different, interesting people.

But that's basically it, I guess. That's what happens when you die. Well, when anyone dies, really.

This started out with my chest hurting. Then it turned into... I don't know what. I was inspired from a variety of sources, but all the content is original. It turned out to be very interesting for the first half but suddenly it turns dull and boring.