DOUMUSNHAM
Story bits
We can’t change the species we’re born to. My misfortune was being born a Reaper. Because I love life. My soft heart makes me a deviant among my species. The big man himself gave me a choice: reap or die.
I never wanted to kill anyone. Because I love life. Even my own. There’s too much to experience to throw your life away. I could have accepted death, but I was afraid of who I might have been reborn as. Maybe I wouldn’t’ve love the universe any longer. Maybe I would’ve become a cold hearted murderer. I didn’t want to take that risk. I wanted to enjoy life as myself, as the person I am now.
I take no joy in reaping souls, even though I know they will be given another chance as someone else. So that day I accepted the Grim Reaper’s offer to stay alive by doing my job. And I vowed to always be kind to those I have to reap.
“I will kill them with kindness,” I vowed. And so, whenever I am given the next name, I ask the person whose soul I am to reap, how they would like to spend their last moments in this life so that they may go in peace.
- Shin
A dress
“Mother,” Yoshiko called to Kasumi.
Busy stitching the torn pocket of Lin’s dress back, she simply replied with a gentle hum.
“Why do my clothes look different from Annie and Lin’s?”
Kasumi smiled to herself but didn’t reply immediately. This could turn into a big subject that required time, and would definitely require careful wording.
“It looks like they are more comfortable to move in than what I wear, and they look like they are easier to put on,” Yoshiko added with a thoughtful look at the linen garment in Kasumi’s hands. “Can I have a dress too?”
Kasumi paused to look at him. Maybe it wasn’t such a difficult subject to approach after all in Yoshiko’s case… She smiled again as she always did, and looked into his pale grey eyes full of wonder and hope. “Do you want one?” she asked.
Yoshiko nodded quietly, suddenly feeling a little happier as he thought of how pretty he’d look in one of those long skirts Annie always wore. “Yes, please,” he confirmed.
“Then I shall make one for you too next time,” Kasumi replied.
Meeting Haru
A warm air filled with scents he had never experienced before greeted Yoshiko upon entering the dimly lit locale. A small bell chimed in the doorway as the door opened and closed upon his entry. A small sign on the door had said “welcome, we’re open”, and having learned the first word already, Yoshiko didn’t hesitate to look inside. He looked around, mesmerised by the room before him: it was narrow and went deep into the building; along one wall stood a couch as long as the wall itself, clad in a dark red fabric with what looked like soft seats; every here and there lay a few fluffy pillows upon it; and with even spaces between them stood little tables in front of the couch, every other one with a small candle lit on top of it. The stone walls with the light of the candles dancing across them somehow reminded Yoshiko of the kitchen back home and the early mornings he’d spent with Kasumi baking bread with the little flour they had afforded that month.
Behind a counter in the cosy room stood a female with short ashen hair who looked up when Yoshiko approached. There was something about her warm smile that reminded him of Kasumi, and after a moment, Yoshiko realised he was staring. The woman kept smiling despite it and said something in what Yoshiko assumed was English. Yoshiko must have looked as confused as he felt, because the woman then looked at the few people occupying the couch, wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron, and leaned over the table top.
“Myimriamb nab xcap’ad?” she asked quietly in fluent lower Helvetian. Fresh off the ship?
“Yes,” Yoshiko replied. “May I ask how you knew?”
“Your clothes look like they belong to Centuries long gone.” The woman glanced down Yoshiko’s tall form dressed in only a simple cotton shirt and brown trousers, and gave him another smile. “My name is Haru. Welcome to Earth.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can help with? Anything you want? This is a café, and here we serve our customers with beverages - hot and cold - and lighter food, which I make myself. And…” she motioned for Yoshiko to come closer, then whispered. “…if you are in need of a little push to get you on your feet in this new world, I provide lodging and lessons in a few languages in exchange for your help to manage my café.”
Yoshiko had never thought himself lucky until now. His face shone up, and he thanked Haru again before telling her he truly appreciated the offer and would accept.
Arriving on Earth
“Tell me, Julie,” Yoshiko said as he looked around at all the creatures getting off the ship. “I assume Helvetian will not be an option for me…”
Julie shook her head when Yoshiko’s eyes momentarily rested on her.
“You will have to learn one of Earth’s numerous languages,” she answered. “It depends on the nationality you are given with your identification card, and what your name translates to up here.”
“They will translate my name?” Yoshiko was worried of losing the name which Kasumi had given him and which he had since then treasured.
Julie shrugged and started to rummage through the little pouch she carried on her waist. She pulled up an odd looking piece of hard material onto which was neatly written what Yoshiko assumed was her name and a series of numbers that looked like dates, along with a miniature portrait of her.
“It is called an ID,” Julie explained, handing it to Yoshiko. “It states your full name - in the language of whichever Earthian nationality is give to you - your birthday, how long the card is valid, and your nationality of course.”
Yoshiko looked closely at the card. It must have been a very skilled artist to have been able to make such a detailed yet small portrait of someone.
“See here,” Julie pointed at the top row of letters. “That is my translated name. Well, actually, it is my real name. My Helvetian name is my translated one.”
“Julie Fantasy,” Yoshiko read with a thick Helvetian accent.
“Better than nothing,” Julie chuckled at Yoshiko’s pronunciation. “We better get in line or we will never get out of here.” She pushed Yoshiko gently towards the forming line at the end of the dock.
“What do you think my translated name will be?” Yoshiko wondered, and Julie could hear the anxiousness in his voice.
“Let me see,” she said slowly, thinking it over. “How do you spell your name?”
“Yuxhecu.”
Julie went over the Helvetian letters in her head, translating them one by one.
“Yoshiko,” she said after a moment, and looked up at him. “It sounds Japanese.”
“Japanese?” Yoshiko had no idea what that meant.
“It is not the easiest language to learn, but I am sure you could do it. Do you have another name? Or is it simply Yuxhecu?”
“Yuxhecu Ice Wrisc,” Yoshiko replied.
“Aki… B- Black!”
“That sounds odd,” Yoshiko grimaced at the sound of his new name.
“Bilingual,” Julie corrected. “It means you could also be English with a surname like Black. Much easier. I would pick that if I were you.”
“Thank you for your advice.”
“ID?”
Yoshiko looked at the fat man sitting on the other side of the table.
“It is his first time on Earth,” Julie said from over Yoshiko’s shoulder and smiled when the customs officer glared at her.
The man sighed heavily before saying: “Name?”
Yoshiko said his full name and made sure to pronounce it properly so the man could spell it right and give him the easier nationality.
“Yoshiko Aki Black,” the customs officer said while scribbling it down on a sheet of paper. “Congratulations. You get to choose if you want to be Japanese, Finnish, or English.”
Finnish hadn’t been one of Julie’s suggestions, so Yoshiko quickly looked over at her questioningly. She mouthed the word “English” and nodded encouragingly.
“English, please,” Yoshiko replied and the man wrote it down.
“Okay, kid, here is the deal: you have sort of Asian looks, and an Asian first name…”
Yoshiko swallowed. Had he done something wrong?
“…so I will grant you a British nationality.” The customs officer continued scribbling down Yoshiko’s new information with a dull look on his face as he spoke. “But if someone were to ask, you are adopted.” The man gestured along the table as a sign for Yoshiko to move on to the next checkpoint. “Next!”
Julie gently motioned for Yoshiko to go as she stepped up to the fat man with her ID in hand.
Yoshiko was confused to what had just happened, but went along, hoping Julie would explain when they eventually got out of the line. The man hadn’t mentioned anything about English after he’d made his choice.
Julie was soon right back behind him and told Yoshiko that Britain was a good choice, and that their major language was English. Yoshiko vaguely wondered why the nation and their language had different names.
“That’s good,” Julie added with a smile. “I’m British too, so I’ll teach you as much as possible.”
With her reassurance Yoshiko felt a slight glimmer of hope for his new life on Earth.
The Disappearance of Mollie St. Claire
This is how Mollie St. Claire’s story begins: She was the only child of a merchant family in the lower parts of Hell’s 2nd Sector. She lived a life of love and relative comfort, looking forward to the day she would marry a handsome young man and starting a family of her own. But of course that wasn’t the case, because one day she vanished without a trace. Her family never knew what happened to her, but she showed up some time later on Earth. She’d been kidnapped by the leader of The Organisation; a man they simply called “The Boss”. Having heard from his henchmen that she wasn’t only beautiful but also not human, the man had decided to make Mollie his. He turned the innocent demon girl into a vampire, thus making her a hybrid they call Night-Shade for the single purpose of using her for reproduction so that he one day would have someone inherit his position.
Julie’s Past
There was no way she was going to marry that disgusting slime ball of a man just because her parents said so!
Julie looked at herself in the oval mirror of the antique vanity: she was dressed in an intricate white dress with endless layers of tulle and satin; a thin veil covered her from head to toe, draped over her like the beautifully mastercrafted marble sculptures she admired so much; and her red hair was made up in a way it had never been before with tiny, bejeweled hairpins that glittered in the morning sun whenever she moved. She hardly recognised her own reflection.
How had it gotten this far?
Julie recalled a recent argument she’d had with her parents about their tendency to take advantage of her. They never listened to what she wanted. They never had. On the outside Julie was a typical rich only child who had grown up with anything she could’ve ever dreamed of, but like so many other rich children it had, in fact, been a gilded cage.
No. This is worse than prison. She looked around the room. She was alone, but outside the door stood a man on guard duty, hired by her parents, and the one pretty window on the opposite side of the room didn’t open no matter how she tried. She looked out at the blooming garden below with a yearning in her chest and sighed heavily. She had to get away before she was escorted down the aisle.
Unless… she thought to herself. Her parents were too proud to cause a scene in public, especially in front of Mr. Slime ball and his family. But that’d make me the center of attention. Julie sat back down by the vanity. No! It’s my only chance. Damn the consequences.
Her previous attempts at escape had led to the house arrest she’d been in for the past five weeks and the hired guard watching her every move. Her parents must’ve thought her to be as prideful as them if they thought she wouldn’t run away the moment she was handed over at the altar.
“That’s my window,” she told herself.
Time and again I die and am reborn. Time and again you find me but each time during my last moments. Time and again we love one another. Time and again I only remember your face and the tears in them as we part once more. Yet time and again you promise, with a smile on your lips, that next time we will be together forever.
The red string of fate which binds us has been cut, mended and cut again. Over and over. So many knots have shortened fate’s string. I pray that soon, when the string is short enough, I’ll be able to reach out and take your hand in mine, and never let go, so that I can finally spend eternity at your side.
- Eve
Their First Encounter
“Reaper is such a negative word for someone so kind,” Eve sighed, looking up into his brown eyes. “You’re more like an angel. An angel of death, perhaps, but still… I feel safe in your care.” She smiled, a gentle display of her emotions albeit sad.
“You are quite special. Kind,” he replied with an equally sad smile on his lips. He looked down at his hands folded in his lap. “You make my job easier.”
She looked at him with her head tilted. “What do you mean?”
“I hate my job,” he shrugged, and sighed. “I don’t want to end lives.”
“So why don’t you quit?” she asked, but then added after a slight pause: “What is a reaper who is not a Reaper?”
He chuckled quietly. “There is no such thing. If I quit, I would become nothing. Literally. It’s why I still carry out my duty. But I try to do it with kindness toward the person whose soul I am to touch.”
She sat quietly beside him. She could tell there was more he wanted to say, but it looked like he was struggling to put it into words.
“There are rules,” he explained. “All Reapers do their job differently. But the basics are that we are given the name of the next soul, and a date on which we are to make ourselves known to them. After that, every Reaper handles it their way. We give the person up to twenty-four hours to settle their affairs so that they may go in peace to the afterlife. Some of us watch our person until we deem them ready, and then go for the touch. Others, ruthless ones, simply go in without explanation, not caring if the person has unfinished business. Some of us speculate that that’s how ghosts are born. Others, like me, are gentle. I introduce myself and tell my person what is about to happen. I explain the time limit and tell them that it is their chance to do something they’ve always wanted to do. But of course there are rules to that as well. You can’t ask for more time, you can’t ask for someone else to take your place.
I try to make my person feel at ease, to have them leave feeling satisfied. Some have a lot to leave behind - family, friends, and other things like that - and they usually linger for as long as possible.
But then there’s you…”
His eyes met hers, and this time his smile had no trace of sadness to it as he reached up to stroke her cheek.
“Me?” she asked, feeling warmth creep up her cheeks where he touched her.
“You’re ready to go, and only have one simple request,” he said, then dropped his hand back to his lap. “Many would fight to remain, but you’re at peace. You’re being so kind to me. And…” He took a deep breath. “No one has ever sat down to listen to my feelings… to my requests.”
Eve looked down between them. Her heart was beating faster at the recollection of her request.
“Can I ask you something?” She bit my lip.
“I will answer if I can.”
“You mentioned the afterlife. What happens when we die?”
“Yes, there is an afterlife.” He nodded. “And it is a life, just like this one. Your body dies, but your soul lingers on and is reborn in a new form. Maybe as a new species, as a new gender, in a new realm. But your soul will become part of another being soon after it departs this one.”
“What’s it like… to die?”
He sat quietly for a long time, and Eve felt anxiety begin to seep through her bones.
“I cannot say,” he replied a moment later. “I have never died. And if I had, I have no memory of it. No one but the Grim Reaper knows. But I have heard it said that it’s like falling asleep; drifting into unconsciousness.”
“But people die from all kinds of causes.”
“The cause is determined by the Reaper taking the soul. We can’t allow too many to die of natural causes. And some we have to take if we feel they are suffering too greatly - these are usually people involved in fatal accidents or who have terminal illnesses.”
She nodded in silence, letting his words sink in. “Then, how will I…”
“Like I said, you’re kind: I wouldn’t harm you no matter what. It will be painless. You won’t even notice.”
“Can- can you do it whenever you want?” she asked, the anxiety make making her voice quiver. “If I were to determine when I’m ready, I would never be. But I am. I just… I can’t…” She looked up to meet his eyes, and he looked back at her with determination.
“As you wish,” he said, and smiled once more.
She smiled back and drew a breath of relief. She closed my eyes for a moment. As she bent her head down, she felt him touch the top of her head. She looked back up to see him leaning back.
She wanted to ask him. Had he done it? But nothing passed her parted lips.
His smile grew warmer, and he leaned toward her again, this time pressing his lips gently to hers. Suddenly she felt calmness wash over her. Her eyelids now heavy, all she wanted to do was lay down to take a nap. His arms embraced her then, gentle and warm, and he lay her back against the couch as her eyes slid shut. She took another deep breath, and remembered only his soft hand on his cheek as she fell asleep.
The Artist’s Love: A Tale From Heaven
A female Angelic artist once sculpted a marble statue of a woman she had often seen in her dreams, but only there. She had often conversed with this woman, thought what about, she could never recall once she woke up. However, she did know that this woman had come to mean something to her, and so one day she had picked up her tools after purchasing the most perfect piece of marble, and began to sculpt the woman from her memories. There was nothing special about the statue’s looks; it was by no means a masterpiece and looked similar to many other artist’s works of marble. It was a creation made with love and fear. Love, because the artist wanted to make sure she captured the woman’s every quirk and flaw, those little things that made her who she was. And fear, because through the sculpting process, the artist came to fear never seeing the woman in her dreams again and forgetting what she looked like before finishing her image.
To the artist’s great relief the woman kept visiting her dreams as often as before while she still worked on the statue. And then came the day she was finished. The artist caressed the statue’s cheek and smiled at the warmth radiating from the white stone face. Now she could let go of her fear. Even if she no longer dreamed of this woman, whoever she was, she would eternally remain at her side in this form.
So came a time, shortly after the statue’s finalisation, when the artist could no longer remember when she had last seen the woman in her dreams. So she moved the statue into her home and placed her where she could always be seen. At first she felt a little silly speaking to the woman of stone, but quickly began opening up to her more and more, feeling like the mystery woman was at her side again. But sorrow filled the artist when the woman never responded, never moved. The artist still spent a lot of time at her side, but speaking less and less. She shut herself away from the world.
The Gods looked down on the artist and felt pity, but they could not control dreams. Then one of them suggested to the others to create a soul that mirrored the one the artist had envisioned and put it in the statue. The others agreed and so turned to the Grim Reaper, the only being able to create and destroy souls. It looked up on the artist from its dark abyss. No one knows why - though some think that maybe it felt empathy for a being lost in darkness - but it complied, and sent the soul of the mystery woman to Heaven.
When the next morning dawned, the artist looked up at the unmoving statue she had created and wept. A small crack had formed on the statue’s lips. She stroked it with her thumb, and without thinking leaned in to kiss the scarred stone. At that, the white stone lips parted and inhaled for the first time before pressing back against the warm mouth of her creator. Her hair fell onto her shoulders in thick ringlets and her clothes softened to real fabric, while the artist, shocked by the sudden warmth wrapping her in its gentle embrace, froze where she stood.
The statue looked at her silently, abashed by her sudden outburst of passion. She bowed her head in apology but the artist pulled her back into her embrace. She thanked the Gods a million times as she felt her love bloom anew in her chest.
And so the woman the artist had once dreamed of stood there by her side, breathing, moving, alive. And she knew that she would have her happily ever after, alive and awake in the light.