It started out like any other morning in Anaheim, California. The sun was bright in the wide, blue sky. I woke up, ate breakfast, got ready for the day. I floated through my day on auto pilot, falling into my regular, but familiar, routine. My apartment was small, but comfortable. It contained three rooms total. The bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen. It wasn't much, but it was home. I went about my daily routine of cleaning up the place after the night previous. I had a tendency to get messier as the day went on. I had just finished cleaning when my cell phone rang in the bedroom. I flopped down on my bed, lifting the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I asked. "Ivan!" came a voice I hadn't heard for a long two weeks. I sat up in my bed, grinning immediately. "Angie! You're back! How was Colorado?" I asked animatedly. The voice in the phone laughed. "Just the way I left it!" she answered without hesitation. "My mother's doing a lot better, so I decided it was time I came home." I smiled. "I missed you." I said in a lower voice. The grin on my face melting into a sheepish smile. Suddenly, I heard a car pass on the phone. "Are you outside?" I asked. "Not for long." she said. "You might want to answer your front door." I was about to ask what she meant, when I heard a knock at the door. I eagerly got up and opened the door to see the most wonderful sight in the world. There we stood, my girlfriend and I, both holding our cell phones to our ears, and smiling like idiots. I hung up my phone and lifted Angie into a hug, pulling her into my little house. Angie laughed. "It's good to see you too, Ivan!" she said. Then she opened her bag. "Oh! And before I forget, this is for you." She pulled out a long, orange and green scarf, and threw it over my head, wrapping it a couple times around my neck. "The colors are weird, I know, but they were the only ones my mother had." she explained. I looked at it with a smile. "I didn't know you could knit!" I said. "My mother taught me how." Angie responded happily. "So I thought I'd use my newfound skills to make something for my favorite person." I beamed. "Do you work today?" Angie asked. I shook my head. "Not today. But tomorrow I will." I answered. "Then let's do something tonight!" she suggested. I nodded. "A new fancy restaurant opened up while you were away." I offered happily. "Let me take you there!" Angie smiled and nodded. "Sounds fabulous!" she answered. "Eight tonight?" I asked. "Eight. Got it." she repeated. "Anyways, I just stopped by to say hello, but I have some errands to run. See you tonight, Ivan!" I opened the door for her and waved as she left. I sighed contentedly as I closed the door. "That's the girl I'm going to marry someday." I said to myself. But brooding on the subject of marriage would have to wait. I just invited Angie to a fancy restaurant, and my only collared shirt was a rumpled mess at the bottom of my closet. I had some ironing to do! My mother had taught me how to use an iron at one point in my life. She kept assuring me that it wasn't complicated. I beg to differ. With the ironing board resting atop those flimsy metal legs, I shouldn't have been surprised at the outcome of my attempt that day. Not to mention the iron itself was a weapon of mass destruction in the wrong hands. I plugged it in and let it rest on that "surfboard on stilts" as I left to locate the collared shirt in question. Upon finding it, I flattened it out as best I could on the ironing board and ran the iron over it. Nothing changed. It was then that I realized that the iron wasn't even hot. Had I skipped a step? Was there an on/off switch I didn't see? I blame what happened next entirely on whatever idiot invented the iron and ironing board. It was a lousy concept anyways, expecting people to be able to balance a heavy, pointed object on top of a precarious board, perched above nothing more than a metal "X". I knelt down to see if the iron was plugged in right, and in the process, my head collided, only slightly, with the metal stand. I heard the iron tip over the edge of the board, and that was the last thing I remember. I opened my eyes. The first thing I did was give a sharp yelp. I jumped up and patted myself down. Head, arms, legs, everything was there. I lifted a hand to feel the back of my head. Perfectly fine. I was just about to ask what just happened out loud, when I looked down at the floor. I gasped in horror. I was looking down at... myself. Only I was lying on the ground, an iron resting on what was left of my head. "What a lame way to die." came a voice from behind me. I turned around slowly. There, standing in the middle of my bedroom, was a figure shrouded in a black cloak. His face was concealed by the giant hood. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I noticed what he was holding. A giant scythe. His hand was nothing but bone. My whole body filled with dread. It was him. The Grim Reaper. He shrugged and looked at the scene. "The man who died ironing his shirt. Congratulations. This is one of the most pathetic things I've ever seen." he said in a low voice. As shocked as I was, I still understood when I was being insulted. "Well," I stammered, trying to overcome my shock and come up with a smart remark. "You're... a stereotype!" I finally uttered. The Grim Reaper stood there for a moment. “I'm a what?" he asked. “That's right!" I spat, building up fake confidence. "You're exactly what I imagined you would look like! There's no surprise to you! You could at least have, like, a mustache or something! That's unexpected for the Grim Reaper! But no! You look like that!" “Are you trying to insult me? Like that?" he asked loudly. I suddenly realized it might not be such a good idea to argue with the one who was going to take my soul. Suddenly, the Grim Reaper let out a bellowing laugh. It didn't sound unpleasant, either. It sounded like he was genuinely laughing. "Ah, it's been a good long while since I've laughed like that, boy. Thank you." he said after a while. I stood silent. Not sure if I should say you're welcome or not. Then a thought came to mind. "But, what's with this?" I asked, gesturing to the me that was staining my carpet. "Am I having an out of body experience or something?" "No, I'm afraid not." the Grim Reaper said, in a friendlier tone than when he first came. "I'm sorry to tell you, but you've died. And I must take you with me." The dread returned. “There's gotta be some mistake! I can't be dead! I had such a good life going! An iron killed me? That's just stupid!" I said, my voice gradually getting higher and higher. "I agree, but there's nothing I could've done to stop you. I'm simply doing my job. What's done is done." the Grim Reaper said solemnly. "Well, you don't have to take my soul, do you? What if you just turn around and walk away?" I asked. "Then your soul will eventually return to your body, like magnets, and you will return to life, unscathed. But that's not the way things work around here. I'm not going to get myself fired because somebody got hit in the head with an iron. "What if I do something for you in return? I don't have much, but is there something I could give you?" I persisted. I wasn't going to give up without a fight. The Grim Reaper thought for a moment. "Well, there is one thing, but I seriously doubt you would do it." he said. "Try me." I said in a low voice. The Grim Reaper sighed and took a seat at the edge of my bed. "This job is awful. It really is. People are always hating you for taking their loved ones away, or they're afraid of you for their impending death, I just don't get the appreciation my hard work deserves!" the Grim Reaper said. “Go on." I said warily. "I want a vacation. I propose that you will take on my responsibilities three times, one a day, and then I will give you back your soul." He said. I thought. "Doesn't more than just one person die a day, though?" I asked. The Grim Reaper smiled. "You say that like you think I'm the only Reaper out there." He lifted his head, and I could see his skeleton face for the first time. His black holes of eyes, his forever-smiling teeth, his jagged facial features. But I wasn't afraid anymore. Death could be dealt with. I smiled. "Done." I held out my hand to shake his. He reached out, but I quickly pulled my hand back. "Hold on." I said, realizing something was missing. I stepped over to my dead body, trying not to look at it, but at the colored scarf. "Angie, I'm going to have to postpone our date. I'm sorry." I whispered. I reached down to pick up the scarf, but my hand went through it. This disappointed me. “It's just a scarf..." the Grim Reaper said with a questioning tone in his voice. "What's so special about it?" I just turned around and looked at him. The look on my face must've told him how I felt about his comment because he stood. He picked up the scarf himself and gave it to me. "Being me has a few privileges. Call me Grim." he said. then he held out his hand again, and clasped my hand with his bony fingers. Suddenly, he pulled me forward, and everything went black. "Where are we?" I asked, looking out at the sea of busy people on the streets. Tall buildings towered over Grim and I, as we stood on a curb, watching. "Los Angeles." He answered in a dull voice. I blinked. "Are you serious? I've always wanted to travel here!" I looked around, taking in the big city feel that lingered with the name. "You must get to travel to all sorts of cool places!" Grim gave me a long look. For a skull head, he had a very expressive face. "Sightseeing is not part of my job description, Reaper. I get to come to all of these places to watch people die, then listen to them beg for mercy as I take away their souls." he said. His voice wasn't angry, more like wearied. I thought for a while. All those people probably wanted to live as much as I did. Why did I get the chance, of all people? "I know what you're thinking." Grim said. "It's as plain as day on your face. You are a rare exception. Once a year, Fate, my employer, allows me a chance for a vacation. No longer than three days, and only allowed to more trustworthy people. I can't hand this scythe over to just anyone." he explained. "So I'm one of those trustworthy people?" I asked, slightly flattered. Grim didn't answer, but just nodded slightly. "You're a man of your word. Willing to keep your part of the bargain, and carry out your duties." He said finally. Speaking of duties, look over to your right." I didn't like the way he said that last sentence. I turned my head, just as the intersection light turned green. The cars started to move, and a man reading a newspaper stepped off the curb. I reached out to him instinctively, dread rising quickly inside me. "Wait! Don't walk just yet!" I called out. The man didn't hear me. Just seconds later, I heard tires squealing against the pavement. I turned my head away. I couldn't look. I heard a loud thump, and the scene froze. The cars stopped, people stopped walking and turned to see what happened. A crowd was beginning to form around the unlucky taxi. I shuddered. "There was nothing we could have done, Little Reaper." Grim said. "Nobody here can hear or see us, except for him, now. Come on, I'll show you how it's done." He started forward and strolled right through the crowd, floating through the people as though they didn't even exist. Some people shuddered as he passed through them. I made a face, then I followed him to the scene. "Dude, are you okay?" Someone said. "Somebody call an ambulance!" A woman cried. The buzz of the crowd swelled. I could barely hear them. I stared numbly down at the man on the ground. His breathing was short and pained. He opened his eyes slightly, and saw the two of us standing over him. He looked at the Grim for a long while. "Well, you're the last person I thought I'd meet on my way to work today." He muttered. He chuckled half-heartedly. Grim laughed a little along with him. He knelt down next to the man's head. "What's your name?" He asked. This surprised me. Grim was acting so nice. Not anything like before, when he was commenting on the stupidity of my death. He was actually being kind. "Thomas." The man answered slowly. Grim nodded. "Does it hurt much?" He asked. "I'm starting to lose feeling... Am I really gonna die right now? I've got a family back home, and..." Thomas winced. Grim placed a bony hand on Thomas's shoulder. “Well, Thomas." he said. "Your family is going to be just fine. And there's a little girl I know that's been looking forward to seeing you again!" Thomas's eyes lit up. "Anna! My little princess!" he breathed. I swallowed hard, trying hard not to get too invested in this sad situation. "Shall we go, then?" Grim asked. Thomas nodded. I handed Grim the scythe, and he took it, quickly running it through Thomas. Not even a scratch was left from it, and a translucent version of Thomas emerged. "All right. Take me to Anna." he said. Grim nodded, and he handed me back the scythe, also handing me a piece of parchment. "Here's the Deathlist, Reaper." he instructed. "The words on it change every time you have a new appointment. If you need me, just ask." I nodded, lifting my hand to Thomas in goodbye. Someone knelt down next to Thomas's body. "He's dead." came a voice as I quickly turned away. I thought desperately of home. How did Grim transport us here? I wanted to leave. Suddenly, words appeared on the piece of parchment in my hand. I held it out to read it. The writing was so fancy it was difficult to read, but I eventually deciphered it. Next Appointment: 236 Elderwood St. Livingston Manor, Anaheim, California. "Anaheim?" I repeated out loud. "That's where I'm from!" The prospect of going home excited me. I gripped the parchment and the scythe, focusing on the words. Suddenly, I vanished. The sun was lowering in the sky. I guessed it was about seven o' clock. I was standing in front of a beautiful mansion. I recognized it after staring at it for a while. It belonged to Madame Livingston. I let myself in, not even needing to use the door. The front hall was beautifully decorated. It looked old, but well-kept. Suddenly, I heard a small voice call out. "Sven? Sven, could you bring me some tea?" I turned and walked in the direction of this voice. I entered a beautiful living room with tapestries, shelves and shelves of books, and a giant fireplace. An old woman sat on an armchair with a quilt draped over her legs. She looked up at me, a look of surprise on her face. Then she smiled faintly with understanding. "Well, you're not Sven." she said with a withered voice. I shook my head solemnly. "No, Ma'am." I answered. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." The woman chuckled and shook her head slowly. "At this point, young man, dying is not bad news." I blinked. Then, a butler walked into the room. He held a tray with a small tea set on it. He walked right past me and gave the old woman some tea. "Here you are, Madame." Then he straightened and turned to leave. "Sven!" she called after him. Sven turned back around. "You have been so good to me all these years. Thank you." she said. Sven bowed low with a smile and left the room. I sat down in a chair, leaning forward onto the scythe. Madame Livingston smiled at me. "I must admit you look quite different than I imagined." she said. I smiled at this comment, my thoughts wandering to this morning. She leaned back in her chair and smiled. "It will be nice to finally see James again. It's been so long." her voice grew distant as she turned her head to a large picture hanging on a wall. It was a picture of a man. She looked at it longingly. I sighed. How long had she lived in this mansion all by herself? I stood up, picking up my scythe. "Mrs. Livingston? May I have the honor of reuniting you with your husband?" I asked with a bow. The old woman smiled, a real smile this time. "You may." she answered with a nod of her head. I lifted the scythe, and ran her soul through. She rested her head back in the chair, like she fell asleep, but she stopped breathing. It sent a chill down my spine. Then her soul emerged. She looked younger and happier. "Thank you, young man. You've set me free." I waved goodbye and watched her float away. I turned to leave as well. I didn't want to be around when Sven discovered his employer's body. I went home. I longed for my bed, and the chance to forget everything that was going on, at least for a while. I walked down my street and screeched to a stop. There were police cars surrounding my apartment building. Red and blue lights were flashing. Had something happened while I was out? I scanned the area and noticed one of the cars nearby was Angie's. My stomach dropped. I ran into the building, running right through random people on my way to the center of the commotion. I soon found myself in my own apartment. I could hear Angie crying. I ran to her. "Angie! What's wrong?" I asked. I reached out to put my arms around her, but I went right through her. I blinked. Behind her, my body was still in my bedroom, lying on the ground. There was caution tape everywhere. Two paramedics were preparing to move my body onto a stretcher. I could hear Angie sobbing. "He's not wearing his scarf anymore." she said tearfully. "I wonder what must've happened to him." "Don't worry, Angie! I said, even though I knew she couldn't hear me. "I'm going to fix this. I'll be back soon. I love you." That night was rocky. It took them forever to get out of my house. The police had to do their investigations before anyone was allowed to clean up the mess. They had to make sure I wasn't murdered. Someone finally convinced Angie to go home. I hoped she'd be alright. I flopped down on my bed, not even bothering to take off my scarf. I heaved a sigh and closed my eyes. "Two more days. Just two more days." I groaned. The next morning, I was woken by a deep voice. “Rise and shine, Reaper!" I opened my eyes to see Grim looming over me, a dark look on his jagged face. I jumped with a yelp. “Good, you're awake. I thought you might sleep all day. I had to come back from my vacation to tell you you're late." He grimaced. I leaped up, grabbing up the scythe and parchment. "I'm on my way." I said. Grim nodded to me once, and I vanished. "A hospital!" I moaned. "Of all the places to be on this planet, I had to be here!" I stood in front of the building reluctantly. Dreading what I might have to do in there. I thought of Angie. I gripped the scythe and walked inside. Following the directions on my parchment, I found the room I needed. I stepped quietly inside. There, lying on a bed, was a little boy. He opened his eyes and turned his head to me. I quickly lowered the blade of my scythe. The kid looked sort of familiar. Had I seen him somewhere before? "Who are you?" he asked quietly. I smiled a little, drawing nearer to the bed. “My name is Ivan. What's yours?" “Landon." he answered. My heart twisted. "Landon Daynes?" I asked numbly. The boy nodded. I screwed my eyes shut and turned away, tears welling up in my eyes. I was going to have to kill my own cousin. The door opened, and a woman rushed into the room, a panicked look on her face. I didn't have to turn around to know it was my aunt Jenna. "Oh, my sweet boy! They called and told me everything! I'm here, honey. I'm here." she said with a quivering voice. She stroked her son's hair. He looked too tired to react much. He simply took his mother's hand. I couldn't take it. I put my hand over my mouth and sat down hard in a chair in the hallway. Tears streamed down my face. How could I do this? I had only met my cousin Landon once when he was a baby. From then on, I had heard about him from my parents. "Ivan, your cousin Landon has leukemia. Keep him in your prayers." They told me. I felt sorry for him, but didn't think much of it then. Now I was here, and the task at hand was more than I could bear. "Are you considering giving up your end of the deal, Reaper?" A voice asked. I lifted my head. There Grim stood. He looked down at me, an expression on his face I couldn't read. Was it pity? Or something else? "I don't know." I finally muttered with a choked voice. I held my head in my hands. "I'm starting to understand why you don't like this job so much. My aunt would hate me if she knew." "Do you want your life back, or not? Think of your Angela!" Grim urged. "And I only get a break like this once a year! I want to get my full vacation!" "I know! I know! Shut up!" I stood, brushing the tears from my face. A doctor walked into Landon's room. I hesitated, then I followed him in. "Here, Mrs. Daynes. Why don't I take you somewhere and we can talk about some options?" the doctor offered. Aunt Jenna looked up at the doctor, then back at Landon. "I'll be right back, sweetie. Okay?" she said. Landon nodded. The two left, leaving Landon and I alone in the room. Landon looked up at me. "Hi again. I thought you left." he greeted me. I tried my hardest to smile for him. "Listen, Landon. You've spent a long time here, not getting any better. Why don't... why don't you and I go someplace you won't have to be sick ever again?" I asked him. Landon closed his eyes. "The doctor told me I was going to die, eventually." he mumbled. I fought back tears. He was so brave. He opened his eyes and looked at me intently. "I'm not going to go with you unless you promise me something first." he insisted. "Anything." I answered, at a loss. "I want my mom in here with me." he said. I nodded. "Of course." I said. "We'll wait for your mom." Landon reached out for my hand, but his little grasp went straight through me. "I'm sorry." I whispered. Landon's mom came back into the room. Landon tensed for a moment. Then he relaxed. “Mom?" he said quietly. Aunt Jenna knelt next to him and took his hand. "What is it, sweetie?" she asked. "I love you." he said. I lifted the scythe slowly. It felt like a thousand pounds. "Close your eyes, Landon." I whispered. Landon obeyed. I lifted the scythe above my head, tears trickling down my cheeks. Then I let the scythe fall. I didn't linger long after that. I couldn't bear to see my aunt in such a state. I showed Landon the way to go, and said goodbye. I left the hospital as quickly as possible. I made it out of the parking lot before I broke down on the curb next to the street. I cried for a long time. I threw the scythe and the parchment to one side. The sight of them made me sick at heart. At one point, I felt a bony hand on my shoulder. I shrunk away from it. "I’m sorry about this.” Grim said. From the tone in his voice, I could tell he meant it. I said nothing, but nodded my thanks and left to go home. I didn't find much rest there either, however. I paced the floor, wishing I could take that iron and throw it out the window. I resorted to curling up in my bed. I slept restlessly, dreaming of scythes and irons. I was a mess. How could I face one more day? "Just one more!" I shouted at my ceiling. "Just one more, then it's done!" After that, I must've fallen asleep, because I was being woken up the next morning by Grim again. "Last day, Reaper. Grab your scythe and let's go." "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?" I grumbled. I was getting tired of seeing him so often, reminding me of my grim task. But instead of the snide remark I was expecting, Grim said nothing. I looked up at him. The look on his face showed pity. "I like you, Little Reaper." he said solemnly. "I've never actually stayed around while my stand-in did my work for me, but you're different." This was unexpected. I blinked. "Different how?" I asked. "We'll, you managed to make me laugh, for starters. That's not an easy task. But to see you there talking about stereotypes after you just suffered a fatal ironing accident, I couldn't help myself." he explained, a little humor growing in his voice. I sighed. "Well, I'm glad my death could bring you enjoyment." I muttered, getting off my bed and picking up the scythe. Grim stopped me. "Oh, please don't take offense." he said. "I just meant you're unique. You're the only one who is willing to take on the third day as well!" he added. This surprised me. "The only one? You mean, other people generally give up by this point?" I asked. Grim nodded quietly. "You see, since I am the Grim Reaper for this area, people often times run into people they know, as you did yesterday." I began to understand. "But that's already happened to me, now. What are the chances I'll have to kill two of my loved ones?" I asked. Grim stood silently, clutching the parchment in his bony hands. I grew very serious. "Grim...?" I started warily. "I've never been able to complete all three days of my allotted vacation time before!" Grim said, almost apologetically. "And you've done such a fabulous job up to now! Wouldn't you like to finish and get your life back?" "Let me see that parchment!" I demanded. Grim thrust it into my chest and turned away. "Here! Take it!" he barked. I looked down at the paper and gasped loudly. I knew this address all too well, almost as well as my own. It was Angie's address. To be continued...