Read The Fine Print II: When Death Becomes You

Bwalya was trying his absolute best to remain calm. He had always thought that all the special effects in the movies he watched and the video games he played would prepare him for just such an event. In the likelihood that just such an event ever occurred of course. But he was wrong. 'Dead wrong' he thought.
Death towered at about eight feet tall, looking down at Bwalya in his chair. Bwalya had to tear his gaze away from Death's face because his eyes (or whatever shadowy substitute it was that he had for eyes) seemed to be drawing out his very essence.
"Why are you here?" asked Bwalya, avoiding Death's void-like eyes.
"I am here because you agreed to carry out my duties during my sabbatical." Death replied.
"Haha, Death goes on holiday? ..... Wait, wait! Ati bwa!? I agreed to do what?!"
Bwalya knotted his eyebrows and began to piece it all together. The realisation hit him like a strong rancid smell, catching whiffs of it first and then finally getting struck by the stench of his error.
"The stale-potato-scented man; one of your guys right?"
Death nodded in agreement.
"And I just signed my soul to you by clicking 'I ACCEPT' in that program of yours, didn't I?"
"Nay, that is not so. If I was here to collect your soul, I would not need to use trickery," said Death. "The agreement you just accepted states that the agreer (that is you), will execute all of The Fourth Horseman's duties (that is I), for the duration that The Fourth Horseman is absent on his Millennial sabbatical. This entails collection of all departed souls and accompanying them to purgatory,awaiting Judgement day."
Bwalya could not believe what he was hearing.
"What?"
"The agreement you just accepted states that the agreer (that is you), will execute all of The Fourth Horseman's duties (that is I), for the dura --"
"Yes,yes I heard all that!" Bwalya interrupted, "So what you are saying is that I'm supposed to be the Grim Reaper while you go on vacation?"
Death nodded slowly. His desert-white bones squealing at their hinges as he did.
"And how long will I have to do this for? Because I have school and all."
"One hundred of your mortal years."
"And all this was stipulated in that 'software agreement'?"
Death nodded slowly again.
"I really should read those damn agreements!"

Death went on to explain to Bwalya that every one thousand years, he takes a leave of absence and finds a suitable replacement to carry out his duties. He stated that as the centuries went by, people had believed less and less in the supernatural and it had become more and more difficult to find substitutes for his macabre profession. He spoke about how in a time long before the Salem Witch hunts, a time when magic was a part of society, a time that had receded into the further reaches of universe's memories; when man had willingly agreed to do his part to maintain a balance. And now, in this day and age Death had resorted to using techno-sorcery to dupe man into agreeing to substitute him.
"There was a time when the name of The Fourth Horseman was revered and mortals trembled in terror at the mere mention of this creepy collector of souls! Why, they would try and win favour with me in hopes that I would perhaps grant them immortal life! Virgins would offer themselves to me in exchange for the freedom of their betrothed! What I would have done had I the flesh and the desires that came with it! Ha!" Death clasped his hands and made a rattling noise as he said that, "You could say they wished to 'Jump my bones' ha ha!"
"Though I have no impure and earthly desires, I still require time to retire to my own realm for a spell, to replenish my spirits---". Death's voice trailed off and became distant as Bwalya focussed his attention on The Reaper's mouth. It reminded him of the old skeleton in the science lab back in highschool. How it would just sit there during biology and seemingly stare at the class. 'Maybe this is all a prank,' he thought. 'Maybe Langi and some friends of his had stolen an old skeleton from the local highschool and used some C.G.I to pull off this over elaborate stunt. Yes, yes, that's what it is! The software they gave me to try out is something Langi has been working on! All that activity from the monitor of the computer-All just special effects! Yeah! That's what this is!'
But Bwalya knew perfectly well that that wasn't it. Because though Bwalya could hear Death's voice, he had observed that it did not come from a cheap and tiny speaker at the back of his neck. He had seen this in his efforts to understand how he could hear The Grim Reaper's voice though his teeth did not part to pronounce or give way to words. His face had a permanent grim grin painted across his stony face. Instead, Death's voice resonated from somewhere within Bwalya's mind. It was a bit of a strain on Bwalya's brain and made his head feel numb, like he had gone binging on bottles of strong spirits the night before and had a hangover. But these 'spirits' were not of the distilled variety. 'Special effects don't do that' he thought.
"---But people still respect the second horseman, WAR, don't they? Because war is a profitable business, isn't it? Not poor old Death, no. No money there! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, MORTAL!!!???" Death's eye sockets glared red with a fierce flame and his voice boomed so loud in Bwalya's head he attempted to block the sound by covering his ears.
"Yes, yes O' Deathly one! I tremble at your might!" said Bwalya, "But please, just say it, don't telepathically spray it."
"Sarcasm and witty remarks never got a body far."
"I'm sorry, it's a nervous reaction! I tend to do that. My bad."
"Come now! Time is a cruel mistress (who I think is currently on her premenstrual cycle!) We must hurry!"
"Haha! Time P.M.Ss?!"
"Yes," answered Death, "But I will not get into the technicalities of that now! We must go!"
"Where are we going," asked Bwalya.
"To your first day at the job," replied Death.
Death raised his scythe and struck across the air behind Bwalya, its long hooked blade giving off a glint as it came down. The blade was so sharp that it could slice through the fabric of the space-time continuum. A part of the reality in Bwalya's room tore like imitation silk and opened a portal where Death had struck the air. The room's space-time hung open in a long v-like shape, looking a little like a shirt unbuttoned down from the neck to the chest area. The Grim Reaper raised his arm in the direction of the portal in a gesture telling Bwalya to walk through it. Bwalya looked at The Reaper's face, making sure to avoid his hollow eyes. 'He's dead serious, isn't he?' he thought to himself, 'No pun intended!'
"I hope to DEATH, your office is not in hell!" said Bwalya, "Again, no pun intended!"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing..." Bwalya replied as he stepped into the portal

TO BE CONCLUDED...

The DEATHLY artwork by Lo.