Death Co: 7 (We Have Rules)

7. We Have Rules

     Getting fired in my line of work is not an easy thing. There are only a few ways for it to happen, and the consequences serve as a decent deterrent. The first is to fraternize with the living. Lots of folks get to working for a few years and find that they want to check up on their loved ones. Besides being terrifying for the living, it’s a nightmare for HR. The living gaining concrete knowledge of the afterlife has never lead to good things for mankind (remember the crusades? Well millions of requisition agents do…). When someone gets it in their head that they need to go down and see their loved ones, punishment is swift and brutal.

     Most of the transgressions end in the agent in question being sent on an express train to hell (We’ve actually got a train). Where the variability lies is in where the agents are sent to. Much like in Dante’s Inferno (another instance of the afterlife being revealed a little too early), Hell is divided into circles. Unlike the fable, there are far more than nine, as the degrees of sin come in a multitude of grey shades. Let’s just say they range from waiting in line at the DMV to being ripped apart incessantly by hungry leopards that may or may not be clad in hellfire.

     The second rule, don’t be late. Agents are given very little free time, but when we are allowed to leave, we are expected back on time. We are allowed to do whatever our perverted mind desires on the planet below, so long as we don’t reveal ourselves. It’s a little bit of heavenly oversight, but no one has created a compelling argument for it to be fixed.

     The third and final rule carries with it the heaviest of punishments. Below the final circle of Hell lies a place that no one ever returns from. There are no demons, no torments, only the man himself, and whatever he chooses to do with you. Consequently, this is the rule that’s going to get me into trouble. It’s simple really: Don’t cheat Death. That means not allowing angels or demons to put people on the fast-track for their eternal rest/torment, not taking someone before their time to get to break quicker, and not giving second chances.

     Violations of this rule are a true rarity. Centuries pass without them. Nostradamus was the last time, and some say that you can still hear the screams of the requisition agent at night. Personally, I think it’s the screams of the infirmary, or the petition line, but you know how rumors can be.

     He wasn’t supposed to be a problem for me. All of the sins had been washed away, or at least hidden beneath the rot and decay of my death. The world had its poetic justice, the lawyer who allowed the worst kind of criminals to run free was dead. Well, the boy had other ideas I suppose.

     There are times in the office where we’re given a heads up: Mass catastrophes, plagues, epidemics, suicides, to name a few. For the most part they’re events that can be predicted when there’s omnipotent power sending orders. Every requisition agent has a list of deaths that will occur each day. Not all deaths are scheduled, but it helps to have some routine.

     I had just gotten off break, when the list came in. As usual I looked it over, nothing too serious: Earthquake in a third world country, and a handful of suicides. The sheet includes names, cause of death, and if available, a reason as well. Usually it makes for quite the read. Not that day. One name on that list stopped me cold (colder than death, which is tough): ‘Stephen Colman’.  

     Ordinarily suicides don’t bother me, they’re a morose bunch, but easy enough to deal with. The reasoning column is usually depressing, but entertaining in its own way, and would have likely stayed that way, if I hadn’t read my own name. Tucked away within the thousands of names on the sheet was my own.

     Reason for Death: Father  wrongly acquitted of Murder charges. Blames [Insert Name] for it. Can’t live with the unjust nature of the world. I’ve never much liked my name, and I don’t intend to disclose it here. Nonetheless, it stood out to me, and I felt something. It might have been guilt, but it felt like indigestion. I knew that was impossible as my organs no longer functioned, but it alleviated a bit of the worry building within. Unfortunately for me, that feeling didn’t go away. It lingered. It festered within me, until I was sure of what it was.

     Only in limbo, saved forever from the eternal torments of morality could I manage to find a conscience. Apparently somewhere in my suffocated brain matter there was room for change. I have never been great at adapting to new situations, and this was no exception. Sometimes the only thing to do with changes is to take radical action. In that moment Limbo was no longer good enough. I knew what I deserved, it was only a matter of figuring out how to get there…