Words All The Way Down

Inspired by the following prompt: [WP] when you died you didn’t expect what you saw, a little kid who claimed to be the grim reaper

Heat radiated off the large screen at the end of the room, made all the hotter by the intensity of the gazes fixed upon it. Occasionally, the sounds of the arguments that sprung up as people looked down at their tickets and then jostled people around them in an attempt to get a better position to see the screen could be heard. Otherwise, silence. The room felt all the more cavernous for the lack. With a bing, the screen updated, `1:15 COHORT 12 COURTROOM F`. The crowd exploded into action, moving like a tsunami, sweeping people towards Courtroom F whether they were in Cohort 12 or not. For a bunch of people probably going to Hell, they were in an inexplicable rush.

Abel was stood in front of Courtroom F, and when the screen changed, he braced himself to do whatever necessary not to get pushed in. The crowd rushed around poking him, bumping him, eroding a bit of his sanity. A muted thump, a puff of wind from the closing door, and a lack of people around him indicated that this cohort’s rush was over.

With all his newfound space, Abel was surprised to feel a tug at the hem of his shirt. Maybe it got caught on something during the previous rush. He looked down and nearly had his eye poked out by the pointy end of a scythe. A little boy wrapped in black robes stared up at him. With rosy cheeks and a big smile accented by dimples nearly as large, the only thing that hinted this boy was anything but the picture of health was the strange blue fire flickering behind his eyes.

Careful to avoid the scythe, Abel crouched down to eye level with the boy, “Do you need something little one?”

The little boy nodded enthusiastically and tugged at Abel’s sleeve before dashing off towards the other end of the waiting room, the toddle not quite gone from his steps. Through the crowd, all that could be seen was his bobbing scythe. Abel checked his ticket quickly and compared it to the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes was plenty of time to see what this child wanted, he figured. Abel caught up with the child in front of a door that had a brass plate that read STAFF. He held out his hand, “You should hold on while we’re walking. I don’t want you getting lost.” The boy grabbed on.

The pair walked through the door and made their way down a dim hallway, Abel’s footsteps a counter rhythm to the more complicated, fast-paced step, step, drag of his guide. The boy’s eyes were bright enough to push back the darkness just a little more than the faint overhead lights. There was an obsidian door, two from the end of the hall. Abel was shocked by how well the surface of the door reflected his face, even from several paces away. His analysis of the door was interrupted when the boy let go of his hand, ran up to the door, knocked on it, and quickly returned to pick up Abel’s hand again.

Behind the door, wooden chair legs scraped against stone floor followed by a muted hup. The door opened to reveal a gaunt man wearing a suit tailored to fit. When the man tilted his head to look at the boy, Abel was certain he caught a glimpse of his skeleton. Another source of faint illumination filled the hall. The man’s eyes held the same strange blue fire as the boy’s.

The man addressed the boy, now partially hidden behind Abel’s leg. “You brought another one?” he rasped. “Alright, come on in.”

The child bolted from behind Abel, brushed past the man, and made a beeline to a bean bag chair in the corner of the office. Half used crayons skittered across the floor in his wake. The boy took a moment to carefully prop up his scythe against the wall before doing his best belly flop onto chair.

“Please come in,” the man sighed and held out his hand. “The name’s John. I used to be Death. Now,” John looked over at the boy who had begun coloring in a horse, feet kicking in the air, “I’m Death’s Assistant.” The proffered hand felt cold as Abel grasped it for a brief shake.

John gently ushered Abel into the room and closed the door. He slid into the chair behind the only table in the room and gestured for Abel to take the chair opposite him. While Abel got himself situated, John typed away at the computer on his desk.

“You seem to have an appointment with Blind Justice to determine where you should be sent in the afterlife,” John said after reading the screen. Death suddenly appeared by his side holding up his coloring of a horse. John took a moment to give the drawing due consideration before tousling the boy’s hair. “Death thinks we should skip all that.”

Abel processed this and could only think of one question, “But why?”

“No matter what Justice would have decided, Death found something in you he wanted to save. So, we’ll just take care of you here.” John began typing away at his keyboard again. He looked up for a moment and waved at Death, who Abel turned around to see was waving back from his bean bag chair a huge Cheshire cat grin on his face.

“And why are YOU, specifically, helping me?”

The clicking of the keyboard stopped as John paused to respond. “I used to have the job of Death, but then I aged out.” A wry smile appeared on his face as he watched the boy color. “Death is innocent. And, once you start to develop notions around fair and unfair, right and wrong, you have to move on from the job.” He turned and pointed at Abel, “You’re here because that boy just felt like helping you, and I like helping him. That’s it.”

The only sound to be heard was the sound of plastic against stone as Death played with a horse and cowboy action figure that Abel saw him fish out from under the bean bag chair. John resumed typing. Abel took the time to just watch Death play with his action figures.

Soon after, John slapped the armrests of his chair, “Everything’s taken of.” He pointed, “When you’re ready, you can walk out that door and you’ll be taken care of.”

Abel contemplated his reflection in the door. He thought to himself, once I go through that door, that’s probably it. No more anything. Then he looked down at Death still playing with his action figure. Abel turned back to John, “Actually, do you mind if I take a moment to play with him before I leave?”

John smiled, “By all means.”

Abel crouched down to be at eye level with the boy again. Then, without noticing, he no longer needed to crouch to be at eye level. Abel reached out a pudgy hand and in a voice several octaves higher than it was a moment ago he said, “Hi, I’m Abel. Let’s play.” Death looked up from his toys and smiled, eyes flashing in excitement.

The boy grabbed Abel’s hand and led him around the chair to reveal a hidden cubby. Inside were super soakers, coloring books, some chalk, and several tiny cowboy figurines to go along with the horses. All toys from Abel’s childhood.

The two played for hours. They raced around the bean bag chair to see who was the fastest. They played at cowboys and herded their cattle in the wild west. They even played with the super soakers, some stray shots making their way in John’s direction. Finally, all tired out, the two slumped against the bean bag chair, and slowly dozed off.

Some time later, Abel noticed, in the vague sense of a child half-way between sleeping and waking, that he was being scooped up. It was a slow affair, as the person lifting him was doing their best not to wake him. Eventually, Abel was fully off the ground, his head resting on someone’s shoulder. Then, very slowly, Abel was carried through the door.