Death is made to not be merciful. Death has dark hands that wanders the Earth, and when it’s fingers brush a sense of weakness, it will whip out, and clench it till the last breath.

I am only one of the many servants of Death. I have seen humans be mutilated with a knife, blown to bits, or simply be the unfortunate person in the way of a car. And I’m the one who brings the messy endings to the other side.

I’ve always been used to seeing blood. I’ve worked under my master for centuries, and gore has long since lost it’s sparkle.

But until December 25, 2019, I’ve never even seen the other sparkle Death makes.


Allen and I were sitting near the window, visiting one of the human world’s cafe during our resting time. I had returned from a hostage situation. Ten hostages, three kidnappers, one very trigger-happy leader. A Christmas bank robbery, you might guess? Nah. Just a couple of bored ghettos who were lucky enough to their hands on a gun.

“So, how many deaths have you seen so far today?” I ask nonchalantly.

“Too many.” Allen shivered.

I roll my eyes. Allen had just joined our “organization” of serving Death. Maybe what, 5 years of experience now? Sometimes I wonder why he was chosen for this. He obviously did not have the cold personality a Death Servant needed to do the job right.

Allen caught my gesture and scowled. “Hey, transporting those who died from illness, is way harder than transporting those who just drop dead from a dumb gun.”

“A dumb gun?!” I snap. “Those things are vicious machines made in the depths of Hell! If the first bullet isn’t to the head, then it’s coals slipping down humans’ veins and swimming in a red sea.”

To my satisfaction, Allen trembles slightly and looks away. I lean back in the chair with a smirk plastered on my face, letting the silence stretch as I watch snow crystals float down to the ground outside.

Suddenly, Allen sits up and stares at me with a strange look in his jade-green eyes. “Alright then, Carrie. Here’s an idea. You come with me when I go to take a death away, and I go with you when you go to take a death away. We keep switching, and however starts crying first, has to say the Forbidden Name.”

“The Forbidden Name?” I murmur. There was one thing that Death made sure every Servant knew. If Death caught anyone ever speaking the Forbidden Name, they would be ripped to pieces, have their organs cut out, made in a stew, and be forced to drink it. While still conscious.

Oh yeah, and then they’d be fired.

It’s a pretty high risk.

But then I realize, I’m going against Allen, for crying out loud. The Servant who shakes when he sees a drop of blood. The boy who goes to humans’ funerals after taking the deceased one to the other side.

I’d have him drowning in his own tears before he could say the Name.

Snickering inside, I slap my hand into his, and shake. “You are so on.”


After a quick tournament of the intense game, Rock-Paper-Scissors, it was agreed I would take Allen first.
“So, impress me Carrie.” Allen teased. Oh I will, Allen. Don’t you worry about me, just make sure you have your emergency Kleenex.

I closed my eyes, and searched my sixth sense for the most painful, agonizing near death experience going on right now.

There was a psycho shooting bullets into unpleasant spots on guy’s body for killing his sister. (I think I remember the girl… Hmm…)

I clamp a hand on Allen’s shoulder, and we teleport into the warehouse. As the show begins, I keep one eye on Allen, to make sure he doesn’t wipe away any forming tears.

Pitch blackness fogged the place, the only light coming from a single bulb hanging over the murderer being murdered. There was a wet smell of mildew in the air, and an even sweeter smell of good ol’ blood and sweat.

The man was tied to a chair; He was rather good looking cause of his blond hair and blue eyes. Except it was ruined cause of blood seeping from his bruised nose, projectile-drilled shoulders, kneecaps, and foot. Huh. Looks like this guy won’t ever be playing “Heads Shoulders Knees and Toes,” ever again.

“Look man, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the crimson covered man screamed.

The gloved hand holding a gun led to a 6 foot giant with vengeful iron gray pupils, dressed all in black, including a ski mask.

“It-It won’t happen again, I swear!” the victim cried.

“D*mn right, it won’t.” The giant stated icily. “I’ll make sure of that.”

And with that, the last bullet was shot. As the dead man’s soul began to escape it’s body, I quickly glance over to Allen again. To my surprise, he has drawn himself into an emotionless frosty face, with no reaction to anything. It was like he had just built a wall between him and his feelings, and good Scott, does it looks creepy on the outside.

I raise an eyebrow, and go back to the wispy soul rising. I help him up and smile.

“Who are you? Where-?” He catches sight of the giant who just killed him, and I see a hot flame burning inside his transparent soul. “Why that little-!”

He runs over to the gun that the Giant had left lying on the ground, only… his hand went right through it. “What the-?!”

“Don’t bother, Mister…” Magically, his name comes into my mind. “Alex Daniels. You’re dead.”


After delivering the soul to the Judges, (it helped that he was so shell-shocked about being dead he did whatever we asked…) we return to Earth.

“Alright Carrie, my turn.” Allen grins mischievously.

“You got lucky this time. But I’ll get ya.” I vow.

Allen ignores me, and shuts his eyes. Ten second later, he grabs my shoulder, and we teleport.

I quickly take in the situation. Hospital room. IV connecting to patient’s wrist. Get-Well cards on the side table. Boxes under the bed. Paper cranes, mini wreaths and bells hanging from the ceiling.

And the patient’s alone. It’s so pathetic, I don’t even bother to steel my nerves for anything. Which proved later to be a mistake.

But still, I keep silent. Five boring minutes later, a tall shaggy-haired teenager with a dark blue hoodie the color of his worried eyes tip toed into the room. The patient, a pale, weary, balding Asian girl, maybe 15 years old, turns to the visitor.

“Thomas?” she croaks.

The boy, Thomas, sits on a stool next to the bed. “Hey, Kate.”

“Wha-What are you doing here?”

Thomas pulls a half-finished paper crane out of his pocket. I hear a mental bell go ‘Ding’.

“There’s this myth that if a sick person folds one thousand cranes-”

“-the gods will heal them.” I finish for Allen, my memories triggering something weird and unfamiliar. “I know.”

Thomas guides Kate’s fingers to the edges to fold next, and helps her fold it. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re going to get better. You’re going to punch leukemia in the face, and come back home.”

A quite squeak comes out of her mouth, possibly a laugh. “Thomas… I can feel them.”

The room falls into an icy quiet. “W-w-who…?”

“The angels, Thomas. They’re here. They’re waiting.”

I feel my throat clog up, like a bottle stopper was just stuffed down my air pipe, and barely swallow. Angels… We’re not angels. Angels make people happy. We make people miserable by ripping their loved ones away from them.

Thomas does not reply to Kate, and silently continues making the last fold on the crane. Finally, the wings are bent down, and Thomas writes “1000th” on the right wing with a black marker.

He sits the origami craft on Kate’s lap, and gazes at the girl. “Do you feel any better?”

Kate’s eyes begin to close, and although this is not my station type of deaths, I feel her life draining away. “Yes, Tom. Thank you… th-thank you…”

Silence. “You’re welcome.” Thomas whispers. “And Merry Christmas.”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m seeing them in a watery blur, and a betraying drop slides down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away with my sleeve, praying Colin did not see.

A few moments later, while Thomas is quietly weeping, Kate’s soul rises out of the body. She gapes at her pale translucent skin as she sits up, separating from her limp body, but makes no comment.

“Miss Katie Vay?” Allen smiles grimly. “Would you like to say a few last words to Thomas before going?”
She nods, whispers something into Thomas’ ear, and softly kisses his shaggy brown head. She slips out from under the covers and glides over to us, calm, but sadness in her eyes.

'So many years of experience… Yet I have never noticed true sadness before?' I wonder as we escort Katie to the Judges.


After Allen and I touched Earth ground again, the boy smirked at me. “I saw that.”

A grimace is molded. “Please… do I have to do it?”

The fellow Death Servant chuckles. “It’s alright, Carrie. I just wanted to reopen the emotion you’ve forgotten about in life.”

I grin. "Thank you for your wisdom, you old monk."