The Final Cut

The Final Cut

As timing goes, it was characteristically poor.  I would go so far as to say downright bad.  I imagine that in his wicked line of work he probably delighted in choosing the most awkward moment to call in the final harvest. Final for me that is.

As reapers go I suppose he (or she, for the traditional cut of the overhanging hood and the shapeless black drape concealed any gender clues) at least had some style.  I couldn’t fault the gleaming polished steel that glinted ad sparkled in the dazzling aura that surrounded the deadly caller. Missing too was any form of communication.  Of course I’d heard of the Grim Reaper, but didn’t he happen to other people?  Why now?  Why Me?  Hadn’t I earned my earthly spurs and lived such a noble selfless, nae altruistic live that deserved to be shared for a few more years yet?

I felt as if time had stopped.  Th crowds around me stood statue-like in a frozen moment when time no longer applied.  As I opened my mouth my tongue fell silent, and all sound ceased along with the linear passage of time. Nor did the phantom speak or even gesture. It just stood in a menacing, motionless state; framed only by the gathering darkness that devoured all light around it, save that that gave it a sinister profile,

Despite that timeless void I instantly knew my time had run.  A bony hand held an empty glass. All the sand lay still in lower half and in the crystal-clear glass at the top a holographic, ghostly image of my face shimmered.  The face bore a thousand regrets; the eyes cast downwards refusing to meet my stare.

Why now? My working life had run it’s course and  and a pot of retirement gold gave me assurances and earthly comforts for years to come. All that sweat and toil for nowt.

No one saw heard the deadly swish nor the flash if the cutting blade.  My retirement party had been so jolly.  Now my mortal moments had been erased and I left as I came…with nowt.