glumshoe: “Wait,” said the young man,
Mar. 4th, 2019 06:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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glumshoe:
“Wait,” said the young man, “If you’re Death, then… who is that?”
Death stifled a snicker, and the tiny figure in the black robe bowed low, mouse-sized skeletal hand still clutching its miniature scythe. “My name is La Petite Mort!” it squeaked from under its hood. “The Little Death!”
The young man blinked and looked between the two Grim Reapers, pulling the bedsheet tighter around him. “Why are you both here? Surely there’s been some mistake! I mean, it’s not like I can die twice… right?”
Death and La Petite Mort exchanged a look. The larger figure coughed politely, but when it spoke; there was an edge of amusement to its strange voice. “Well, it’s, ah… it’s really sort of a metaphor… a poetic euphemism…”
The young man scowled and folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, come on! ‘Euphemism’? Just tell me if I’m dying or not!” he demanded crossly.
“Oh, you’re dying alright.” Death rolled up its sleeve and consulted the rather gaudy watch it wore on its bony wrist. “Any minute now.”
“You should really hurry it up!” chirped La Petite Mort. “Just go back to what you were doing and we’ll take care of the rest!”
“Yes,” agreed Death. “Don’t let us interrupt.” Both skull faces turned to the young man expectantly. “We’re on very a tight schedule, you see. We don’t usually get double-bookings like this.”
For what seemed like the first time in several years, the young man found himself unable to return to his previous task.
(Your picture was not posted)
glumshoe:
“Wait,” said the young man, “If you’re Death, then… who is that?”
Death stifled a snicker, and the tiny figure in the black robe bowed low, mouse-sized skeletal hand still clutching its miniature scythe. “My name is La Petite Mort!” it squeaked from under its hood. “The Little Death!”
The young man blinked and looked between the two Grim Reapers, pulling the bedsheet tighter around him. “Why are you both here? Surely there’s been some mistake! I mean, it’s not like I can die twice… right?”
Death and La Petite Mort exchanged a look. The larger figure coughed politely, but when it spoke; there was an edge of amusement to its strange voice. “Well, it’s, ah… it’s really sort of a metaphor… a poetic euphemism…”
The young man scowled and folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, come on! ‘Euphemism’? Just tell me if I’m dying or not!” he demanded crossly.
“Oh, you’re dying alright.” Death rolled up its sleeve and consulted the rather gaudy watch it wore on its bony wrist. “Any minute now.”
“You should really hurry it up!” chirped La Petite Mort. “Just go back to what you were doing and we’ll take care of the rest!”
“Yes,” agreed Death. “Don’t let us interrupt.” Both skull faces turned to the young man expectantly. “We’re on very a tight schedule, you see. We don’t usually get double-bookings like this.”
For what seemed like the first time in several years, the young man found himself unable to return to his previous task.
(Your picture was not posted)
