Hello! How are you?
It's my first time working as a Reaper here at DEATH DEPARTMENT. And my first assignment is to pick up a soul of a puppy.
I'm Reaper #310 or R310 for short. I don't know why were named like that, maybe it's because there's no need for flashy long names, like it's insignificant to us. But I prefer to be called REI, cause R310, REI. Anyways, as I was saying, It's my first time on the job. But unlike other Reapers, I still don't have a scythe. My assignment is basically just to pick up a soul. Nothing more, nothing less.
I'm wearing an all black suit with a necktie.
Apparently, Reaper #20 has already extracted the soul of the puppy and it's now my turn. With a flick of a finger, there I was at the scene.
R20 stood silently, a dark figure against the ethereal glow of the puppy's soul, a shimmering orb of light playing like a mischievous sprite on the polished obsidian floor. The air itself felt charged, thick with unspoken rules and the weight of countless lives passed.
"Good morning, Miss R20," I offered, my voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. Her nod, devoid of warmth but somehow… approving, sent a jolt of nervous energy through me. A silent acknowledgment. A mark of acceptance. Then, poof. Vanished. Just like that.
The puppy's body? Gone. No trace. Only the luminous soul remained, a tiny, playful thing that bounded towards me, its ethereal paws seeming to tread on invisible stairs.
Come to think of it...I do not see the body of the puppy anywhere near to where we are.
I knelt, my heart clenching. "Hello there, little one," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. The warmth of its energy was almost imperceptible, consumed by a chilling coldness. My job, my grim task, was to sift through its memories, to locate and gently erase the saddest, the most painful fragments before guiding it to the gate. A necessary ritual, a judgment of worthiness. Failure meant the black gate, a fate I wouldn't wish on even the smallest soul, especially not this one.
I reached out, my fingers trembling. The smooth texture of its ethereal fur felt strangely real beneath my touch as I delved into the depths of its memories, a delicate dance of empathy and extraction. The initial images were a burst of vibrant color – a sun-drenched yard, the playful tumble of siblings, the comforting presence of a loving hand. A life brimming with innocent joy. Then, the images shifted, the colors darkening, the joy replaced by a chilling, sickening dread. The transition was instantaneous, brutal; a stark, sudden shift from light to shadow.
A sob escaped my lips as I witnessed the brutal shift in its memories: the loving hand twisting into a cruel blow; the playful tumbles becoming frantic escapes from a raised fist; the sun-drenched yard transforming into a dark, cramped cage; the comforting presence replaced by a cold, indifferent silence. The memory of a loving home was shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of abuse and neglect. The escape, a desperate, frantic scramble through a hole in the fence, was a blur of fear and uncertainty, a desperate attempt to outrun the darkness.
The outside world offered no solace. A harsh, unforgiving landscape of cold streets and indifferent faces. The relentless hunger, the biting wind, the chilling loneliness… each memory was a fresh wound, a searing brand on its innocent soul. The desperate search for food, the chilling fear of every passing shadow, the crushing weight of isolation. It was a relentless assault on its small, fragile spirit, a stark contrast to the happy memories that had once filled its world. And in a dark, cold, and wet alley where there's no lights nor warthm, the sight of what the puppy is seeing became blurry until it totally blackened. "Oh, little one," I breathed, my voice choked with emotion, "how easily innocence is stolen…"
Tears streamed down my face. I shouldn't cry on my first day. Reapers should be emotionless. The thought was a sharp, cold counterpoint to the ache in my chest. Many more encounters will happen, this is just the start. I can do it. I wiped my eyes, steeling myself. I carefully, painstakingly, erased the images of cruelty and the harsh realities of its short life, replacing the harshness with the gentle warmth of a sunbeam, the soft patter of rain, the comforting presence of a loving hand. I painted images of a warm, safe haven, of gentle pats and loving caresses, of a life filled with joy and comfort—a life it deserved, but never truly had. The ease with which such innocence could be shattered, stolen in the blink of an eye, left a heavy weight in my soul. The puppy's light pulsed weakly at first, then strengthened, growing brighter with each memory I healed. Finally, it shone with a gentle, unwavering luminescence, a tiny beacon of hope in the vast darkness. Ready. But the experience left an ache in my soul, a heavy reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of the world.
I exited this newly created space of memories, the fragile, innocent soul now looking at me with a gentle, trusting light. A worthy soul.
"Let's go, cute puppy," I said softly, carefully inviting it to rest on my gently crossed hands. The puppy's light, initially weak, grew brighter, a tiny beacon of hope. Ready? I thought to myself and breathe...
"Ready."
"Even the smallest light can cast the longest shadow."
The words resonated deeply. It wasn't just about the light of the puppy's soul, now cleansed and ready for its journey. It was about the darkness that had consumed its life, the cruelty that had left its mark, a shadow that stretched far beyond its brief existence. That shadow, that darkness, was a reminder of the profound impact of even the smallest act of cruelty, a darkness that continues to linger, a testament to the enduring power of suffering. The weight of that shadow is what truly lingers, long after the light has moved on.