Chapter 1 - Yet Another Last Minute Reaping

''You missed one. Again.'' Death said casually.
''What?'' I blinked.
I couldn't have missed one. I'd successfully reaped all twenty nine souls on my list.
''Armen Tasmal.'' He handed me a piece of parchment.
''He's got three hours left, so that gives me enough time to put my feet up and have a rest.'' I sighed as I finished reading it.
''Um, no. I have some people comming over to inspect the business, and since you're one of my highest ranking reapers, I want you on the job.'' He chirped.
''Wait... You mean there's an Ofsted report done on the afterlife too?'' I chuckled.
''Kind of...'' He said slowly and bleakly.
I could tell he was looking forward to this whole experience as much as a pheasant looked forward to the start of the shooting season, which wasn't alot.
''Oh, and beware of Armen. He'll try and get any female into bed with him. Or anywhere else for that matter...''
He waved boney fingers as a word was about to slip from my mouth and sent me to my last minute destination in a flurry of black flames.

I reappeared in the middle of a park. Everyone around me was looking at me strangely.
Wait... Looking at me...? That's not right. If I can be seen, it's usually just by one or two people who then quickly get bumped off with the nearest object to hand, if not by my scythe. Or, in a more recent case, they get sectioned for 'talking to themselves' and then violently explode in their padded cell...
I looked about myself at my surroundings and came to a swift conclusion that this was a human environment. A group of young men were sat on a bench, grinning and pointing at me, murmering and laughing, obviously thinking that they were being inconspicuouse. I instantly recognised the one in the horribly tight blue jeans, white tee-shirt and Burberry hat with it's peak pointing toward the sky as Armen Tasmal. One could say that he was a follower of a quickly dying fashion. I myself, along with many others, referre to this breed as 'Chav'. Or in this case, the plural: Chavs.

He swaggered over to me, his friends following him like a small herd of Burberry patterned sheep with gold chains around their necks thick enough to anchor a large ship and with enough rings and bracelets to possibly sink the ship, hanging off them.
'' 'ey sweetheart! Bit early fer 'allo'ween, innit?'' Armen said, looking amused as he eyed up my robes, hour glasses, keys and skeletal scythe.
Him and his childish mates had me backed up against a tree.
I'm guessing this is some kind of test to see how long I can cope being around a group of morons who think they're '' 'ard as nails'' because they go about with knives and in some cases, guns, picking on people weaker than them. Pricks....

I just stared blankly at him.
''Is that the best you can come up with?'' I eventually said, emotionless.
His brows furrowed, obviously deep in thought. Or as deep as he could get anyway.
'' 'ere, what's all dees keys for?'' One of his mates said, fingering one of my large keys hanging from my fraying belt.
''If you carry on, you'll find out. And it won't be very a pleasant experience.'' I grunted.
There was a difinitive childish ''Oooh'' from the group.
''Before you continue your lame attempts at insulting me, Armen, Lemme tell you this: You have three hours left to do a good, selfless deed. Otherwise, I'll be personally introducing you to a friend of mine, who will take great pleasure in annoying the shoot out of you.'' I fixed my cold, dead gaze on him, smiling twistedly as he shivered in the warm afternoon sun, secretly thinking ''Oh god that sounded unbelievabley lame...''

He looked me up and down again before smiling slightly and sidling up to my left, placing his hand on my right hip, pulling my hood back a bit.
''Oh don't worry. I can do good.'' He murmered cheekily, so that his friends could hear.
I kicked his feet out from under him and they all roared with laughter as he landed firmly on the ground, his eyes wide, gaping like a stranded Guppy.
I smiled down at him sweetly, boot on his chest and the blade of my sycthe to his groin, pinning him to the floor.

''One,'' I chirped pleasantly as if nothing had happened. '' don't call me sweetheart, darling, sweetie, hottie, love or anything like that. Two. Any physical contact will either result having your arms torn from their sockets or immediate death.'' That part was true. Well, only if he tried grabbing my hands... ''Three, If you don't manage to something nice, I will quite happily escort you to the worst place in existence.'' Oh man, that was lame. ''Think your small brain can handle all that?''
His eyes glazed over again as he processed all that I'd just said.

''I know!!'' Armen said, pulling himself to his feet. '''To the off licence!'' He shouted, striking a heroic pose. Or what he assumed to be a heroic pose. To me it looked like he was doing a bad impression of a constipated Meerkat.
Before I could say anything, his mates cheered in unison and they all took off at a swaggering march towards the high street. I pulled my robe off - yes I wear something underneath. A pair of black jeans and a black shirt. Naturally. - and tried to blend in with my surroundings. (Well, I have been dead for more than thirty years...)

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