The morning was cold and grey, with mist lining the air so much that you could hardly see five feet in front of yourself. Although it was rather early, it was obvious that the sun would not be shining today. I yawned, and repositioned myself in the tree over- looking the small, winding road that cut through the half asleep town. Only a few humans were out, starting their breakfasts and heading to their work. None of them noticed me kneeling above their heads on the branch of the pine as they drove by.

Of course, none of them could see me anyway, so it’s not like I was surprised. Only a few mortals were actually gifted with the ability of sight, and all the others only catch a glance as their life flashed before their eyes. That was how death worked, after all, and I am the personification of death. You don’t see me until it is over.

Snowflakes were beginning to drift down slowly, making me shiver slightly. It was almost time, time for the next death on earth, that is. And I would be here to create it, observe it, and in the final moment take the soul from the corpse and send it on its way, either to what the humans called heaven or hell.

Those names have changed many times over the years, starting with the Greeks and Romans with their levels of the Underworld, then the Norse Vikings with Helheim and gift of fighting on forever in Valhalla, and then on through the ages. Humans always have to have a reassurance that there is something more in the next life.

“What fools…” I whispered.

There is no Heaven. There is no Hell. There are merely two separate areas, one of which houses the souls who have preformed no wrongs where they may enjoy eternity watching over the beings alive, and the other in to which the condemned souls go to lie in unrest forever, or for the worst, be punished.

And what is more, there are hundreds of millions humans living this world, and only one of me. Some human souls may be stuck in limbo for weeks before I may reach them, others may reach a more untimely death for the matter that I so happen to be passing by. Every death is already planned, and has been crafted to the last detail by the fates, but if a mortal touches me, with even the slightest of hand or contact, then that being will die immediately, regardless of their fated demise. But they would still be sent to whatever side they deserve.

I was the judge. As each human dies, all of their life flies before them, a thing only they and I can see, and I must determine where they go. However for this particular death I already knew where each victim would be heading. There would be three victims, after all, as I knew all information regarding each mortal’s end the moment I laid eyes on them.

The culprit of this set of deaths was a man named Arthur Quinn, a thirty one year old High School English Teacher whose wife had just walked out on him for another man after their fourth anniversary yesterday. Later last night he had then, in a fit of grief, went to a bar and became rather intoxicated until the early hours of this morning when the bar owner kicked him out. The owner had not taken away his keys, and so now Mr. Quinn was driving to what his drunken mind perceived as home, though the truth of it was that he was driving 70 miles an hour on a 35 limit street in the wrong lane unknowingly towards the next victims.

Obviously this foretells disaster. However just because the accident that is soon to come will be his fault, does that make him a bad man? Will his family name be degraded just because he wanted to drink his sorrows away and lost his mental stability due to the effects of alcohol?

He lived a good, normal, productive life, and touched the lives of each graduating class each year at the school in which he taught. He never, per say, did any deed of evil, that would scar his soul forever. So therefore his soul would be sent to his interpretation of heaven.

I shifted again on the branches, and glanced back down over the near empty road, just in time to see a small black 2004 Lexus I.S come barreling down in the horizon in, of course the wrong lane. Meanwhile a slightly larger red 2008 Ford Mondeo was driving calmly at the right speed down the right lane, also unknowingly toward the other until both were to close to stop, and there was no chance to avoid it.

There was an awful sound of ripping metal and skidding rubber as the two cars collided, and I sighed, leaping smoothly down from the branch and towards the twisted wreckage. The first to die was, of course, Mr. Quinn who cracked his skull and fractured his spinal cord in multiple places on impact, as well as severely breaking many other bones and rupturing a few vital organs. His body was sprawled, twitching and bloody, across the remains of his steering wheel.

I leaned down through where the driver side door and window used to be and pressed my hand to his forehead, watching as he grew up, fell in love, was betrayed, and died this morning. His life ended then, and in his final second I saw the recognition in his eyes as he glanced at me before all the light disappeared from them. His soul left his body a moment later, gleaming softly white before I cut it with my scythe previously strapped to my side, and he faded in to the wind.

I continued on to the other car, where a little girl’s screaming voice could be heard.

“Mommy wake up!! Mommy please!!! Mommy I’m scared!!!”

I knelt down and looked in through the empty place where there was once a glass window shield and saw a woman’s body twisted and mangled across the front two seats, and behind her, a little girl, with shards of glass buried deep in to her lungs. The mother’s name was Sarah Rose. She was an average, stay-at-home mom who was simply taking her daughter to school.
The child’s name was Hadley Rose, who had just turned nine a few weeks ago, and would have been off to a normal day of fourth grade, which she will now never get to finish.

Her mother will be dead in a minute, peacefully and unconscious as her body bleeds out and her organs fail. I watched her mother’s life pass by, and cut her soul as well, the silver blade gleaming in the fire light, keeping a straight face as she glanced at me in fear, like she was pleading for her life.

But I knew it was not her life she wanted to save. It was her daughter’s. There would be so much wasted potential, with such a short life. The poor child would never see a future. I pulled off the side of the car where Hadley lay, still screaming for her Mother as blood tricked out of her mouth and drenched her chest. The moment I could reach her I knew she could see me.

She stopped screaming, and stared at me with tear-filled eyes. Her eyes were blue, like a pool of spring water, and I could not help but pity her ever so slightly.

“Are you an angel? Can you save Mommy?!” She asked.

I frowned slightly. While yes, I do have wings, and yes, I was made with a female body, with beautiful features, as death is a beautiful part of life, the child must realize that I have black wings, not white, and my eyes are as red as the blood pooling around her, as death is also filled with fear, and is evil. If she were to see me smile she would see glistening fangs. If she would look to my hand I held the black and silver scythe that had just ended her “mommy”.

I shook my head, and whispered softly “No Hadley. I am not an angel.” And I pressed my hand to her forehead and watched as her life flickered by, and ended, and with her final breath she whispered

“….save…..mommy….” and her soul rose above her, glistening silver, and she too was cut in to eternity.

Not a moment later the paramedics and Fire Truck arrived, blaring sirens across the streets, just seconds too slow to save the life of a girl pure and young who died alone with false hope from the Grim Reaper. They rushed about, as I remained unnoticed, yelling for the ambulance to hurry up, but they were all too late.

Maybe one day that would change, and finally, some one would escape The Grim. They would escape from me...