She’s screaming,
Yelling,
Wailing,
in Despair.
She curses my name.
Blames me for her pain.
But it’s not my fault.
I didn’t drive drunk.
I didn’t run over her son as he walked by.

The person who did that is somewhere else.
He’s holed up inside a whiskey bottle,
drowning out what he did with Alcohol.
He’s coping the only way he can;
By downing another Drink,
and another, and another.
Drink after drink after drink.
Burning his throat as it races down.
It’s his fifth glass already, but his throat is still dry.
Parched.
An echo of the pain he feels inside.

He’s done so many wrong things in his life.
He’s been greedy.
He’s lied.
He’s cheated on his wife.
He’s gotten into a fight with a guy who just looked at his wife wrong.
He’s cussed out preachers countless times.
The list of sins and mistakes is endless.

But he doesn’t deserve this.
That’s what he tells himself.
And he doesn’t.
If only someone would care.
But no one does.
His daughter is too busy,
His son too angry.

So many mistakes and not one thing to show for it.
All he has is a dusty old medal he earned for killing innocents in Vietnam.
It’s funny how war changes a man.
Turns him inside out and upside down so many times,
He doesn’t even know what he is any more,
Let alone who.


He’ll join me soon.
His body can only hold out so long.
His soul is dead too.
It’s been dead for ten years.

I’ll take good care of him.
Just like I’ll take care of the teenage boy he killed.
I take care of them all.
No matter who they are or what they’ve done.
Once they cross the void,
They’re all lost souls.
They’re all the same.

I pity them, I really do.
All the pain and suffering they go through.
All the hardships they endure.
And for what?
Love?
Greed?
Protection?
Most of them don’t even know.
Hell, I don’t know most of the time.

I just do my job.
I care for the souls of the guilty,
The innocent,
The convicted felons,
The mistaken identities,
The ones that die before they live,
The ones that murder without a care.
I take care of them all.

Because when you get down to it,
They’re all the same.
They all become lost once they cross over.
They all enter my care.
Some weep and wail.
Some scream and curse.
Some just stand there, not even knowing what happened.
Some are silent, old enough to know they had it coming.
Some are too young to understand.
Too young to realize.

Many are angry that I treat them all the same.
With the love and devotion some got too much of,
And others not enough.
After all, it’s my job.
To care for the souls of the dead.
For that is what I am.
DEATH
Cold and lifeless.
Yet with a Heart big enough to fit every living and dead soul in it,
with a HEART big enough to care for EVERYONE.
Because we’re all the same.
And that is never realized soon enough.
That’s why I exist.
To make sure it is,
Even if it’s after you die.