George plunged the knife deeper, creating tributaries of blood on his victim's shirt. "That aught to do it," he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his button down. Four victims were set out on the floor, wallowing in agony. George dragged the arms of his latest victim to loop around and touch his hips. He took the knife and slashed at the hem of the victim's pants. This would be it, finally he could be free from this eternal life.

​

George brushed back his hair with his knife wielding hand, dripping a single drop of blood onto his chin - delightful. Now he was in it, now he was dirty. The first victim finally let go and he heard the last exhale and gasp for life followed closely by what George knew DEATH hated the most. He waited, it took DEATH a few seconds to appear but multiple deaths in a room always drew it. George twisted his mouth into a wormy smile, there was the sound, the beautiful destructive sound that would leave evidence of the worst parts of the a death - the parts that people failed to talk about.

​

A black cloud spiraled forth from the cement column facing George. The robed entity slowly grew into itself pulling molecules from thin air. It's scythe tapped the ground. DEATH bent down to pull the soul from the forehead of the first vanquished mortal. "..." DEATH stopped, it's robed head turned up and locked eyes with George. "Again, really? Disgusting. Just plain disgusting you impotent mortal!" The robe fell off of DEATH's head and the skull with glaring red eyes had a look of exhaustion. "Why? Just to annoy me? To push me away? It's been what? A hundred years and you're still doing this childish gimmick? You know what, I'm just going to place you into a torture chamber. More humanity obviously isn't helping you grow up!"

​

George cackled. He doubled over with laughter. "Shit, I don't want that..." He held in laughs for only a few brief seconds. He exploded, tears rolling down his face as what he fashioned as comedy overtook him. "Funnier everytime, I swear."

​

"You're a five year old trapped in a four hundred year old's body. Come here you little - "

​

"Shit? Hahahahha!" George scampered around, careful to hop over the bodies. His foot slipped in the excrement the man had leaked out after he'd breathed his last breathe. All four victims had little piles of poo behind them and, from a bird's eye view, you could see George had been meticulous in arranging the bodies to spell out 'POOP'. It was the most juvenile serial killer DEATH had ever had to deal with and he had people that made love to skulls of their victims.

​

"This cannot...STAND!" DEATH shouted, slamming his scythe to the ground and teleporting into George's path.

​

"Of course not, they needed to eat more fiber!" At this last joke, DEATH whacked George across the temple and caught him. DEATH scraped the air opening a heinous green portal that erupted with moaning and shouting and the stench of brimstone and broccoli. He threw George into the portal. DEATH would not abide by this indignant childish gimmick any longer. Every twenty years George had done something similar but this was the most blatant disrespect to the dead DEATH had witnessed. The man deserved to have each skin cell pulled apart by the spirits of the dead for all eternity. 'POOP'? Seriously, it isn't even that funny.

​

DEATH returned to the job at hand and lifted the spirits from each body, sending them on their way to their afterlife of choice. He learned tidbits of their history as he held them for those precious few seconds. George's joke had gone a bit deeper. Each of them had been preparing for a colonoscopy today. DEATH sighed, rubbed his forehead and de-materialized. At least that was the last he would hear from George.

Death comes for us all, my children.

Death is not the end. It is only the beginning. In the cycle of life, we are born, then we die, and are born again, and again, and again, until we are finally worthy to enter the Heavens.

For this world is only temporary. A holding-place, a waiting area, a schoolyard for souls to learn and grow. With these bodies of flesh, we pray, we worship, so that we may atone, and thereby ascend.

So rejoice. Death comes for us all.

Except George.

See that old man, over there. The white-haired white-bearded man, by the river. Yes, him. Death doesn't like him. He will never gain enlightenment. He will never enjoy the grace of the gods.

Why? It is said that long ago, George challenged the gods. He had a wife, Sally was her name, who had entered the Heavens. Instead of rejoicing, George cursed the gods. Yes, shocking! It is said that he spat on the idols, he burned the scriptures, and all sorts of blasphemy. He turned away from the gods. And now he suffers in the flesh for all eternity.

George knows what he did. Now he must reap what he sowed. Do you know his age? He is ninety-seven, now, older than me, older than Father Hamish, older than anyone else. And he does not repent. He curses the gods every day. The gods hear him, and they curse him in return. He will never die. He will never ascend. He will never see Heaven. Death will never come, not for him.

So listen, my children. Listen well. You must pray, every day. You must repent, every night. You must listen to your elders, and listen to the priests. Never doubt the scriptures, and always worship the gods with all your heart.

When Death comes for those you love, be not afraid. Rejoice for them, for they have been called to the Heavens. The sooner that Death calls, the better, for it means they have repented for their sins.

And when Death comes for you, my children, we will rejoice for you in turn.

Whenever that may be.

"George Mikaelson," hissed Death while staring at the photograph of a middle-aged man on the table in front of him, "What the hell have you done this time?!" he yelled, his booming voice shaking and knocking down everything in his void.

Death sighed and rubbed his temple, hoping to gain inner peace before going to Earth. He knew he had to do it at some point, even though it would bring him great displeasure.

As he was contemplating his next move, something knocked him on the head. As he looked around, he noticed the void being chaotic due to his earlier outburst.

With another heavy sigh, Death waved a finger through the air calming the place down and putting everything in its place.

The distant sound of four tiny bones skipping across the floor made the creature smile. He looked to his right, where now was a small dog made of bones wearing a smaller version of Death's cloak. He had a collar with a golden tag that read "Bones".

The tiny creature held a ball in his mouth, but when Death tried to get it, he ran in the opposite direction.

"Once a dog, always a dog. Even in the afterlife," the creature chuckled, but his happiness didn't last long as the thoughts of the current events plagued him.

With a sour expression, he got up, adjusted his cloak, took his scythe, and headed down to Earth to see what his most hated person had done this time.

Death rarely had enemies, and George, well he wasn't his enemy. George was someone Death vowed to never take. He was something like a sour thumb with no self-control, infinite stupidity, and never-ending clumsiness.

...

Sixty years ago, George accidentally pushed a chicken into the toilet.

Don't ask how.

The poor animal died, of course, and George had the brilliant idea to escort it to the afterlife - to make him a funeral. Instead of doing it at home, he did it in the center of the town, embarrassing his entire family and becoming the town idiot.

Not that he already wasn't, but shush, don't tell him that.

He and his dad got into a fight, and an accident caused him to meet Death himself.

And there was where the trouble began.

George was cocky and pretentiously arrogant, but he was an imbecile. He tried arguing with Death and demanding his life back. He tried with threats, but they only made the creature laugh.

What can you do to Death? How can you harm a being that is not alive anyway?

George claimed his parents were sad about his demise and would fight Death for him, but the being was quick to show him otherwise.

Down on Earth, his parents were celebrating. They did not shed a single tear for him. The whole town had a three-week fest in honor of his departure.

And, believe me, there was a reason why.

George may have appeared as a moronic hot ballon air, but the actions he took and the lives he ruined were many. Not out of malice, not every time at least, but out of stupidity.

Not two weeks passed, and Death found George on his doorstep, bound and gagged with a note on his head, signed out by almost every spirit in the afterlife:

This being is insufferable. We have never seen such a creature in the history of our infinite universe. Take it as your apprentice, or destroy it.

Death decided to be generous and tried to teach him his work, but the man was impossible. He did everything wrong, some things on purpose. Death was a creature of endless patience, and George somehow managed to break his boundaries.

The last straw was when George broke Death's favorite vase and stole his dog to show it to mortals.

From that moment on, George was banned from the afterlife and Death's lair and sentenced to Earth for as long as it exists. But a few centuries later, the humans got tired and sent George to a lonely planet with no life and nothing to destroy.

Now, Death had to go and figure out what that imbecile has done in a place full of nothing.

....

The planet was deserted, and George was nowhere to be found. Death called for him, but nobody showed up.

Just as he was about to give up, somebody tackled him and tried to take his cloak.

"If I become you, nothing will stop me," yelled the attacker, who was no other but George himself.

Death quickly overpowered him and bound him to the ground. George yelled and trashed but to no avail. He could not escape such power.

"I have had enough of you. You give me no other choice," yelled Death, and with a hit of his scythe, he turned the man into dust.

He finally destroyed his soul, but a part of him died too. Death has always believed that George could have changed. He had so much time ahead of him, but he used it to cause chaos and stay the same.

And if you ever feel like George, not stupid, but rather stuck in the same patterns, try to find the problem and destroy it, change your ways.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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