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Megalomatank030 t1_j0y68ct wrote

(I'd like to preface with... I don't do this very often and I don't see myself as talented or anything. This prompt just seems... too fun to pass up on.)

I plummet into the ice-cold water with a bored scream. Very original... having died a solid twelve or so times, I yawn, as being tossed off a ship has became my reality about half of these times. I am always damned to return here. A relentless reset back to zero. Efforts worth nought, I always return to the nautical nails in my coffin. If only the coin would favor him instead.

The water around me slowly drains of all opacity before I drain of all senses. I wake up once again... a lounge, elevator music playing in the back. I'm sitting in a brown, wooden chair with red cushions. Silhouettes similar to myself nervously sit in similar seats and couches, seemingly perplexed and panicked. Perhaps I should assist them... or perhaps not. They will find their way. I remain sitting, calmer than the rest. There is one abnormality in room who seems to be calmer than all other, aside from myself. We make no attempt to communicate.

Above, the speakers in the roof crackle, reminiscent of a toy on low battery. "𓆍⠢Ξ⇓, proceed to Mr. Reapers room." A silhouette shoots up, looking at the roof, desperately looking around, before darting towards a large door that reads "EXIT" holding big, red letters above.

Immediately before the silhouette reaches the door, it slams open, a plethora of large, long hands clutching the silhouette. They thrust it into the air after securing each appendage, clutching with a might that is visible even via black and white. The hands carry the silhouette to Mr. Reaper's room until the appointment is finished. Poor fellow. Similar first time.

Eventually, as the mechanical hands finally decide it to be my turn, the speaker crackles my own name. "Φ𓅐⠾𓇛⠵, proceed to Mr. Reaper's room."

I return to a room only slightly nostalgic and all-too-familiar. It has cheesy paintings and pictures plastered around the wall, similar to my old dentist office. There's a skeleton Mona Lisa, and immediately to its left is a sign reading "Watch your bone with me, mister!"

As I sit in front of the skeleton, Mr. Reaper's expression is only twice as upset as last time. He readjusts his glasses with a sigh. "Φ𓅐⠾𓇛⠵, is this not the thirteenth time you have returned to this room? I must express, I am getting tired of ferrying your ass across fate. Every time, you tackle me with some outrageous ask. 'Oh, yeah, Grimmy. Take me here, take me there.' How about you take a hike!? Being your little... multidimensional uber." He lets out a drawn-out sigh. Poor fella is overworked, and he isn't even paid.

"Maybe if you learn to flip a coin..."

"Maybe if you shut your mortal-ass up and let me do my job..." Grimmy mumbles, pulling out a small coin collection from under his desk. "A job you don't get paid fo-" "Which will it be this time? Y'know, we got the Roman coins back from the crisis of the third... we got some more ancient American ones... some Mediterranean Republic ones..." He chuckles. "Heh, that one didn't last long, thanks Balkans."

"I'll just go... how about this. YOU flip whatever coin YOU would like, and YOU call heads or tails," I say, cocky, with a smirk. Messing with this guy is one of my favorite things about death.

"American penny. 2000s. Heads."

The bony thumb flicks the coin, a small click noise ringing through the air. Will I dance with death for my final time, or will I live?

It lands in his palm. We both take a deep breath in anticipation. He slowly opens it up, revealing a nice, wonderful, circular... well, penny.

Him and I, in unison, holler...



bibblode t1_j0z6bv1 wrote

Oh man the mid 2000s American pennies always land on tails for some odd reason.