“She watched as the dancing lights of madness
swirled and flickered in his eyes like the fires of hell,
and she knew that there would never be anything
that could quench those fires except death.
Vanessa knew that Jango had become his own Grim Reaper.”
― Cedric Nye

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Death was a young boy.
 
He looked like he was in his late twenties. He had a really white skin that sometimes if one looked closely, he’d appeared skinless. He’d appear to be just made of bones. His hair was black and it was really shiny it seemed to glow under the sun. His nose was tall and his lips were a pale color of red. He wore a black and tattered V-neck shirt that was too big against his bone-thin body.  
 
Looking at his arms or stomach or legs always made him cringe. He couldn’t stand himself anymore.
 
When he looked in the mirror he saw nothing. There were just space. He wished he’d see what he looked like even just for once, even just for a minute. It made him sad that he couldn’t remember what he looked like anymore. He could have been really handsome during his time.
 
He had a pair of loose pants that wasn’t really a pair anymore because it didn’t have it’s right leg. His Adidas, which were once a pair of bright white, red and green was now just off-white and faded grey and red. Even the skin of it was peeling off in many places. The soles were the worst – they would likely peel off the body of the shoes immediately once he started running.
 
He envied the students who walked ahead of him. They looked so happy and contented with their lives. He wondered if he had been contented with his when he was still alive.
 
As he walked behind he sang on top of his lungs a song he learned just yesterday. For the first time he was glad because nobody could hear him. But then he also felt disappointed that nobody did. He thought he had a nice singing voice.
 
It has all ended, it has all stopped
Finally, light is coming down
 
He didn’t know when he started feeling bad about himself. He had been a grim reaper for centuries, taking lives as if it was just as easy as changing clothes (not that he still changed clothes after becoming a reaper.) It had been his job ever since he could remember. He didn’t mind at all because it wasn’t really him who was killing these people. So what did change?
 
Why was he feeling different?
 
He stared at the backs of the boys who walked noisily to their bus stop. He wished he could have someone he can talk to everyday, too, but the other grim reapers were cranky. They always complained about him being the youngest and most handsome of them. And well, they only ever cared about the pretty female reapers, honestly speaking. 
 
He suddenly didn’t feel happy with his life anymore. He wasn’t contented.
 
He grunted. Happy was such a lively word. And life? Huh. How could he be talking about life when he’s actually dead? If there was one thing he learned in his whole life as a grim reaper, happiness and death didn’t go well together. Especially if you’re a reaper.
 
He shouldn’t be feeling things anymore.
 
He started whistling instead, shrugging off the thoughts that had formed inside his head. He eyed this particular boy. He searched his brains that were full of notes. This boy’s name was Lee Sungjong. He was tall, slim, had fair complexion. He dyed his hair reddish brown just yesterday. He was pretty enough to become a model. His skin seemed smooth to the touch. If Death could only feel it with his hands…
 
He slapped himself.
 
The stormy rain and wind
Has finally stopped but –
 
The smallest of them, Minhyuk, pressed his cheek against Sungjong’s right arm to peek at his cellphone. “Sungjongie~” he sing-sang. “You’re reading a horoscope again!” he said in a fake surprised tone.
 
The others laughed. Sungjong didn’t.
 
Sungjong always read horoscopes. Death knew it. He was a fan of horoscopes and zodiac signs and reading the future. His mom had the ability to read the future using tarot cards, one thing he never learned of.
 
“Why so serious?” Minhyuk asked.
 
“Hmm,” Sungjong murmured.
 
He knew, Death thought. He had read it in the horoscope. Had believed it.
 
Getting no proper answer from the boy, Minhyuk turned to the other tall boy beside him, who in turn draped an arm around Minhyuk’s shoulders. Death listened to them as they started chattering about nonsense stuff like stomach aches during Geometry class, or peeking through the windows to get a view of girls changing to their school clothes after swimming classes. Sungjong excused himself, stepping behind to make a phone call.
 
Sometimes Death thinks life is a big irony. Everything was in black and white. He looked up at the sky and he saw only white sky and grey clouds. He looked around and everybody else was in different shades of black and grey. People who were dying were always engulfed in a flame of various colors. They all have their own hues and temperatures; unique colors Death didn't even know the names of.
 
Just like Sungjong’s.
 
Death had never seen such shades of colors so warm and bright as this boy’s. Sungjong was engulfed in huge fla