Reaper and the Owls

Reaper and the Owls

Jumping from shadow to shadow, a lone dark figure makes its way across the field to a nearby barn. Inside the structure darkness pervades, allowing the Grim Reaper a place of refuge. Two thousand years of skulking in the shadows, taking souls and ending lives has become a burden he can no longer carry. The barn is filled with equipment. Tractors, saws, and axes. Implements of a B grade horror film waiting to be filmed. The Reaper stares at the farm implements and ponders to the darkness.

“Why can’t I just end the suffering of the wicked? Why must I end the lives of the innocent?”

The moonlight, shining through the cracks in the barn does not answer. The only sound in the night air are crickets and the rustling of a pair of barn owls, sitting high in the rafters. The harbinger of death stared at the owls. Often these birds were companions to his nightly dramas. Soft, white feathers with darks eyes, trimmed in brown. Their presence was somehow comforting. If these creatures could stand in his presence without fear, then maybe there was hope for him yet.

“I hear thee, little birds. I welcome your camaraderie, for I am without anyone to counsel. Fate has chosen my lonely state and I find myself searching for companionship.”

Two sets of eyes blink with thoughtfulness. Heads rotate back and forth as if to encourage the specter to continue his speech.

Spreading his arms, he begins, “I am a victim of circumstance, my friends. I backed the wrong horse, renounced my God, and betrayed my father. How was I to know I’d be on the losing team? Was lucifer not my brother? Should I have not believed in the light bringer? Is my crime for loving him too much or loving my father too little?”

The angel of death walked the barn floor like a defense attorney, speaking to the small jury of owls, pleading his case. As his passion increased in his words, his hands became more animated, slashing at the air with emotional effect.

“Where are the pardons for years of loyalty? Where are the prizes for being a son? I was an angel of the highest order, following my fathers plan, making him proud. Am I to accept that one mistake dooms me forever? I tripped on the threshold of arrogance and now my father closes the door forever?”

The scythe slices the air in a quick, silent burst- penetrating the nearest barn post and rattling the owls.

“I do not regret taking the souls of the insane, my friends, nor do I weep for the evil men who deserve a death sentence in hell. But to take an innocent child, who has done nothing but lived a child’s existence…I weep for them. I cry for the tomorrows that will never come. My anger burns for the disease, the drunk driver, or the evil person who dared defiled an innocent child and waits for me to end their suffering.”

Standing in the middle of the barn, the Grim Reaper hangs his head low, touching his skeletal chin to his black robed chest. He would cry, if he still had eyes to weep. He would swallow his grief if his throat still possessed muscle. But a grim reaper was no more than a spectral skeleton of fear. Remorse and empathy were for other beings. They were above such fallacies.

Staring at the structures roof and meeting the barn owls eyes, the reaper said, “Thank you my friends for your ear and counsel. I do what I do for the preservation of the species. I serve a purpose and that should be enough. Please know that I admire your ability to listen. Your support is enough for me to carry on.”

And with that being said, the Reaper departed. The two barn owls stared at the darkness and wondered what they had just witnessed. Death was always a shock when it came for you.