# Mr. Death [Language] 1.8k words



## Ptolemy (May 7, 2017)

Yea, it's still in very rough stages, but I just want to know if the overall message is conveyed correctly, basically it starts off with humor and eventually shifts into a more serious tone. Any comments or critiques are appreciated. 
Language Warning, 
and it's roughly 1,800 words. 

Mr. Death​
Great. Another Jesus nut. 

The figures of the nativity gave me a look as I walked up to the front door. A ‘this bitch better be going to heaven’ kinda look. I stepped across the ‘Jesus is my savior’ mat. _More like ‘was’ _I laughed. I did the courteous thing and rang the doorbell. I sighed at the second rate, knock off church music and let myself in. 

I thought at first that I had just walked into Jesus’s house. I mean, It looked just like his, that self centered prick. The cross littered the walls, along with bible quotes ordained in hallways. A lit statue of baby J greeted me as I walked through the foyer. I gave it an uneasy glare and abstained from hanging my garb on the cross coat rack. No need to be polite when I plan to only be here for five minutes. The place was (to be honest) awe inspiring. The fact that some people pay so much for this stuff. It boggles me. _This lady’s gonna flip like a sadist when they find out they qualified for heaven, _I thought, _oh my god! Jesus is real? _I hope she just faints on the spot, it’s easier when they faint. 

The old hag was slouched in her chair, dead to world, a garble of saliva in her mouth could be heard. I looked around for the ‘Jesus is #1’ coffee mug. Shucks, she only had her ‘World’s #1 Grandma’ mug out. Well, no mind, time to get this started. I did some basic stretches, leaned my scythe on the wall, careful to hook it behind the Jesus mural, and pulled up my hand. The standard ‘death advancement speech’ was printed on my palm, like they think I’m going to memorize this crap. 

I cleared my throat and looked closely at my hand, “Hello there...” The woman barely reacted to my words, she simply half choked on her own spit. _“Son of a…” _I mumbled  under my breath. I cleared my throat once more and cupped my hands, “Ahem… Hey? Lady? Lady! I said H-E-L-L-O T-H-E-R-E!” The hellish shrill that erupted from my mouth rattled her from the chair. The old lady adjusted her hearing aids and glasses and looked at me in fear. 

“Burglar! Jonathan? There is a man in the house! Jonathan! Take what you want you bastard.” She screamed. It was futile of course, she had no idea. 

“Listen, cut the cockney, your ‘Johnny-two-bit nurse’ can’t hear you. I’m not here for him anyway. He’s got… like twenty years left. Car accident. Very bad. Like an eight outta ten. He flies through a windshield and lands in a ditch, then the car comes and.... But that ain’t nonna ya business.”

She was in shock at my presence. I know, I look great. It was typical though, nothing out of the ordinary. Really, it was the old people who took it the worst, shock, pleading, crying, all forty two stages of denial, the whole ten miles. Logic would think that they would embrace it, happy about their accomplishments, their achievements, the lives they’ve lived. But nope, they still want to continue their bucket lists, or whatever they live for. It was crazy fucks that offed themselves that pissed me off the most though,_ so _much to live for, the potential, and they just give up. I had one kid couple years ago, first round pick of the Nationals, downed a bottle of pills and washed em down with a full bottle of shit brandy. Told me he did it ‘for fun’. Most of the time, the suicide types were giddy to see me, like little children they would scream in shrill joy. They embraced it, they were happy about their accomplishments, their achievements, their lives even. It made me sick. Hopefully, this was like most of the others, quick phase of denial and onto afterlife.

“So, now that will be _no_ interruptions, I can continue with my spiel. Ahem. ‘Hello there! You are in the process of dying. I know right? _Crrrazy_... I have been sent by the holy lords themselves to personally escort you, yes you Insert Name Here--’ oh. uh-uh… um. One second,” I pulled a catalog book out of my back and flipped a couple pages. It was all show, the name always popped up on page three, “Yes! There we are. Alright, glad to see you’re still poised with shock. Okay, I got this. ‘Escort you, yes you, Barbra…’ Jesus are you polish? Okay, this is going great. ‘I am here to personally escort you, yes you, Barbara Czurhuhbleh… to a land of yonder, the land of firmament, or the land of the infernal. The after life! Blah blah blah… logistics, no backsies, no refunds… no inflight movie… uh… that’s bout it. Alright, so repent and follow me on the journey to the next stage of your life.’” I waved at the door and thought why the hell they make me say ‘no backsies’. 

The woman took a minute to process the ‘advancement to death speech.’ She put a finger to her shaking jowls and adjusted in the chair,

“You’re Mr. Death then?” She asked in an psuedo-british accent.

This lady isn’t serious right? “What gave it away, huh? The black cloak? The scythe? Or was it perchance the half-assed cryptic speech of you dying? I thought I was doing a really good job at hiding it.”

“I don’t like that tone.”

“Listen, Gram-Gram, I’m a fucking manifestation of Death. I can have whatever tone I want.”

“First of all sonny, It’s Babs, and I think I deserve some respect from the man who is ushering me to heaven.”

Gotta love when they assume. Of course, Babs here did qualify for heaven, other than a string of rampant tax fraud in the 70s she was cleaner than my sense of wit. Grandmother, 5 kids, one dead (suicide; such a shame), 12 grandkids, and 5 great-grand kiddies. Quite the family tree, hubbie died a couple years ago in a store robbery. I don’t remember taking Babs’ spouse to the other side, but I assume he went out like a hero. 

I sighed and took a breath. The big man upstairs still didn’t like it when the customers came back pissed, “Barba--Babs. I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. Yes. I am Death, aka the Grim Reaper, or Inferno Incarnate, if you would just follow me, it would save both you and me a lot of time.” I gave a little chuckle, Babs wasn’t impressed. Her jowls expanded into a frown, and her baggy eyes lowered themselves into her floppy cheeks. 

“Why do you do this?” She asked. 

“What? What kind of question is that?”

“Do you get paid for this?”

“Uh, no?”

“Is my dog in heaven?”

“Are you stalling?”

“Is room and board covered in heaven?

 “I feel like you’re stalling.”

“Will there be accommodating beverages on the trip?”

“Enough!” I screamed, I was done with this bullshit, “Stalling is getting you nowhere! God damn! There is no way to avoid the inevitable. You are going to die and you’re going to pass over. That’s final.”

“You never answered my question Mr. Death: ‘Why do you do this?’” She coughed a bit, she was starting to fade. 

“It’s a part of life. Someone’s gotta do it.”

“But, Mr. Death. Why you?”

“Listen. You’re the _seven _thousand. _Three _hundred. And _seventy-fourth_ Grandmother I’ve seen today and it ain’t even eleven in the morning. You think I haven’t heard that question before? It changes nothing. I’m Death, and this is my shit life, you’re going to die and I’m the one who sends you off into Heaven or Hell. People think it’s their family, their friends, their loved ones who will be there for them in their final moments. Nope! It’s me. Surprise! I, the one you are taught to fear and avoid, is the last thing you see before you pass the plane. How much enjoyment do you think I get from a life built around people pleading and crying at me to just let them go? You think anyone prepares for death? Really? They always go out angry, and pained and… and...”

“What do you know of life outside of death?” She asked, pulling on her oxygen tube. It was running out. 

“Oh, I know Life, and he’s an asshole,” I said throwing my hands in the air, “He’s the one who get’s all the praise. While, I’m stuck as being represented as the asshole, as the dick who tears apart families, as the prick who crushes hopes and dreams. People scream at me. I had a fucker pull a gun on me today. Have you ever heard of a man trying to kill death? Have you ever heard of a man having a gun being pulled on him for doing his job? That wasn’t even the most painful part. People wish for me, Babs. They wish for me, they dream of me, they _yearn _for me. There are people out there who want me to knock on their door and claim them. They beam, they are happier than they had ever been in their lives when they see me. I am inevitable, but for some reason people ask for me. It’s horrifying.”

“I see…” She said

“No. You don’t see Babs,” by this point I was standing in the middle of the room, “You think I like it? Ushering people to Heaven or Hell? I don’t even have the luxury of death. Ha, I’m eternal baby! Immortal! I cannot even have the sweet release you people get to experience. Every time I drag a junkie out of a bathtub, or scrape some fuck who couldn’t take his wife nagging him for thirty goddamn minutes off the sidewalk I feel just as much pain as they did. It’s not like I’m an emotionless bastard. They wasted their precious lives. Wasted them. At least you had the luxury of living yours. Me? Never even had the choice.”

I was planted in the center in the shrine to Jesus. I felt like a preacher. I was right though, I’m vilified for the actions of people, and they blame me? I’m the one blamed for the death of a man who simply timed out. I’m blamed for the botched surgery. It’s always me. Always… me.

Babs stood up and looked at me, she wasn’t pained, she seemed happy, a sort of gratified. I saw that she had finally passed on.

“I’m ready.” She said. I tilted my head, she couldn’t see my eyes, but I was shooting a short gaze at her. 

“You sure?” I asked. I pondered the thought of giving her an extra day or two, as a thank you. 

“Are you going to feel any pain from this Mr. Death?” 

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

“I want to be with Herbie then.”

I motioned to the door, careful to pick the scythe from the wall. She sobered over to the door and looked through it. The door opened with blinding white light and consumed us.

And I felt no pain.


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## who me? (May 7, 2017)

well........

Jesus nut is offensive to many people and not especially funny.

skimmed the rest.  a bit hard to follow.


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## Ptolemy (May 7, 2017)

who me? said:


> well........
> 
> Jesus nut is offensive to many people and not especially funny.
> 
> skimmed the rest.  a bit hard to follow.



It's meant to show distaste for his job. Considering he's Death and all. 
What's hard to follow about it if I may ask


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## who me? (May 7, 2017)

Ptolemy said:


> It's meant to show distaste for his job. Considering he's Death and all.
> What's hard to follow about it if I may ask


=====================

cant point to specifics

just was for me 
perhaps because i was skimming fast not trying to read it carefully


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## Raleigh Daniels Jr (May 7, 2017)




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## bdcharles (May 8, 2017)

Hi P

I quite enjoyed the general tone - very Monty Python, very Pratchett, with a fairly friendly if hard-done-by Death having an old chinwag with Babs. It seems that as Babs gets more accepting of her death, she grows in confidence and he diminishes, becomes more pitiable. However I confess that that is about as much "message" as I inferred, and I didn't entirely "get" the very last part. Who is Herbie, and why is it an issue that Death might feel some pain? Am I missing something, or does that need to be made - not exactly clearer, but - more accessibly-structured?

Re: all other comments - as you say, it's a first draft so I imagine my input and yours would probably dovetail.


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## Ptolemy (May 8, 2017)

bdcharles said:


> Hi P
> 
> I quite enjoyed the general tone - very Monty Python, very Pratchett, with a fairly friendly if hard-done-by Death having an old chinwag with Babs. It seems that as Babs gets more accepting of her death, she grows in confidence and he diminishes, becomes more pitiable. However I confess that that is about as much "message" as I inferred, and I didn't entirely "get" the very last part. Who is Herbie, and why is it an issue that Death might feel some pain? Am I missing something, or does that need to be made - not exactly clearer, but - more accessibly-structured?
> 
> Re: all other comments - as you say, it's a first draft so I imagine my input and yours would probably dovetail.



Herbie is the woman's husband, it's just a throwaway line really. Death mentions that he died a couple years prior and couldn't remember how exactly he went out. 

And the point I was going for was that "Mr. Death reviles Life because he cannot live in it. He's an immortal being's who purpose is to help people who are not even grateful of his work. They always resist, they always cry, plead, gripe and annoy him. He believes they should just live their life's naturally and accept him with open arms. However, no one does, and it pains him that no one truly appreciates the work he does, being the undertaker and all. However though, it goes both ways, the one's who do accept death with open arms are those who kill themselves, and he hates that people are so vain to waste something as precious as life, (since he can never have it) so both sides cause him pain, both in annoyance (with those who deny) and waste (those who kill themselves) The reason why he feels no pain with Babs is because she was the first person to ever "truly" accept Death to his standards. 

Basically, it was an attempt at trying to humanize death, who is always shown in most mediums as a man who is simply a heartless, gutless man who is always portrayed as evil. I just tried to make him more "believable" Like would we really believe that Death would be happy listening to people after death for thousand of years? Wouldn't he eventually just get tired of being portrayed as the bad guy?


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## Theglasshouse (May 8, 2017)

Maybe if you tone it down a bit, but the piece has potential. I wasn't offended.The humanization of death was something I didn't consider in the story. However, I will mention up front that it is a good story for me.

Comedy sometimes can be dehumanizing and might not be the what the audience wants in religion I thought well it lured me in, because I knew something bad is lurking after the lady reacting the way she did. And it was well described. 

If you work through it, I bet people will enjoy the story more. Shock and interest were the moods and hook for me.

And I thought honestly it was a good read. There can be a different way of writing it. Here below is one example. According to some story, theorists ethics is important in fiction. Ironically I own a book by Orson Scott card in ethics and fiction. And the second book on ethics but for movies.

This can be longer if you explore the ethics of death and reincarnation somewhat which you sort of did. You sort of did that already. You sort of crafted a story where the two met in battle. Both are ethical values in a way. That provided the conflict for the story. 
For example:
Reincarnation in the light of ethics. ONE often hears from opponents of the idea of reincarnation that that idea does serious harm to ethical life.

Lots of ideas and conflicts in fiction are ethical, I see a bigger plot here.


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## MadMickyG (May 8, 2017)

I liked it. Being a fan of Death as character, I found this a good read.

Perhaps, you could adjust Jesus nut to Jesus fanatic, or Jesus zealot. Or along those lines. Less offensive IMO, but still signify the overdosing of passion for the Christ. (See what I did there )

The point you try to make is a good one, but doesn't quit come through I think. 

I also think your Death and mine should get together and party!!


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## Penless (May 26, 2017)

I freely confess to not being the most dutiful reader on the forums. 

I like compression to come easily. 
I hate having to interrupt the flow to reread a sentence.
I hate having to backtrack to look up words when context doesn't make their meaning clear. 

Writing for me should be clear, cohesive, and concise. 
Humour should be witty, intelligent, and natural. 

Your title and premise intrigued me. 
The opening sentence characterized the narrator and had me wanting to know more.

All good so far. 

Then this freak jumped out at me: 'The figures of the nativity gave me a look as I walked up to the front door. A ‘this bitch better be going to heaven’ kinda look. I stepped across the ‘Jesus is my savior’ mat. _More like ‘was’ _I laughed'
I reread it once. 
reread it twice. Made some assumptions about what a 'figure of Nativity' was. 
cut out the 'jesus is my savior mat' and tried to parse which word the 'was' was meant to replace in the previous sentence. 

'Ok' I took a deep breath and waited for my mind adjust to your writing style.
You almost lost me with that jumble - I wasn't feeling the scene; I felt it was too complicated a grammar too early on, coupled with many unfamiliar references. 

Once we'd jumped that hurdle, It went pretty smoothly, but it was a close call. 

I think... the biggest problem I had with the work overall was that the humour didn't take a break. If everything tries to be funny, that becomes the norm, and it becomes tedious. There needs to be space between jokes, and different types of humour. 
I felt the humor was too hyped; it's how I might write on 1-hour of sleep and 15 cups of coffee. 
Some parts were a bit contrived, like when he messes up his salesman spiel. Not my cup of tea. 

Also, the dialog was a bit too jumpy for my one-track mind to take in easily. It jumped back and forward between his talking with the grandma and internal monolog a bit too quickly. 
I felt like it was forcing me to read it very quickly too. Not sure why. I prefer to read at a leisurely pace, but this piece wanted my eyes to do gymnastics to keep up.

I think you made many assumptions about who your audience would be. Not necessarily a bad thing, it just means that some of us won't 'get' it. I think Americans who are used to the style of fast-paced writing and forced humour may really enjoy the work.

I certainly think that for me, a longer piece maintaining that pace throughout would be unbearably confusing and tiring to follow.


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## sas (Feb 20, 2018)

Enjoyed the read.


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