Read The Fine Print III

NOTE: I strongly suggest you read the first installment (click here) and the second installment (click here).
Also,HUGE thanks to Lo for all the art work he's done for this blog. Dude never ceases to amaze me! You can check out more of his art on his blog (click here). He did some great stuff for #inktober and the art in this post is one of his entries.
Now, without further delay,THE CONCLUSION OF READ THE FINE PRINT!...

When Bwalya emerged from the other end of the portal that Death had opened, he was relieved to see that he was not in the eerie wastelands of hell he had imagined. He had always thought hell was overrun with hideous, multi-headed, horned creatures that got their kicks from torturing poor souls and setting them on fire. He wasn't in hell, no, he was still on earth (‘but hell is ON Earth, isn't it? Or is that IN Earth?’),but something wasn't quite right. There was something off about his angle of perception. ‘This must be some kind of flipped out dimension. One of those where everything is upside down and there are spiraling and intertwining staircases everywhere.’ Bwalya looked around to observe this strange new part of the Earth, half expecting to see a labyrinth from a late 80s Tim Burton style movie. ‘Maybe BeetleJuice and Edward Scissorhands ARE real and they work with The Grim Reaper,’ he thought. But His eyes wandered further and saw some tall trees at a distance and he realised he was somewhere outdoors. What struck him as odd was that the trees’ leaves were at his shoulder level. That either meant he had mystically grown taller after stepping through that portal or he was- --

“Double-U Tee Eff!!” Bwalya shouted as he swooned on the ball off his heel and fell backwards. The vertigo had made him lose his balance and fall into Death’s cold and bony arms. He found himself looking into a skull embedded deep inside the blackness of a hooded cloak. That constant Grin on Death’s skinless face dashed any feelings of comfort or safety Bwalya may have had and had him on his feet again. The traffic below them zoomed past at high speed and had Bwalya’s stomach performing gymnastics. The two of them were above the Great East Road and hovering above a foot-bridge. A massive crowd had gathered around the foot-bridge and people had come from far and wide to observe some spectacle. Bwalya realised though, that these people were oblivious to their presence; that he and Death were not the spectacle.

“Your first task lies below us,” said Death. “Here you will begin to exercise the duties of The Fourth Horseman and continue to do so until I return.”

“You ARE staying to show me how it’s done, aren't you?”

“No!” replied Death as he pulled out an hour glass from his black cloak. “I am late enough for my sabbatical as it is. This is a fairly easy and oftentimes mundane task. All that you need do is wait for your quarry’s soul to sever its bodily tie, and then tuck it away into your eternal robes.”

“Eternal robes?” asked Bwalya.

Death tipped his bony scythe in Bwalya’s direction and its magical energies draped him in an overflowing deathly cloak similar to The Reaper’s own. Bwalya looked at this new mystic fabric in utter fascination. He then stretched his arm down to his waist, grabbed some of it and brought it around to cover his mouth with the inside of his elbow, his eyes peering above his forearm. He looked like a vampire shielding himself from the burning sun.

“I am DEATH!” he exclaimed, “Fear me!”.

“I must go now,” said The Grim Reaper, “You must tend to my duties immediately. Here, use the scythe to bend the fabric of space and time so that you may get to your quarries in an instant.

“Rest and relaxation here I come!”

And with that, Death cut open a portal using only his skin deficient finger and faded through it. Bwalya paused for a moment in an effort to wrap his mind around the surreal events of the last half hour or so. He thought about whether he could just cut himself open a portal and escape to somewhere Death would never reach him. But he quickly dismissed these thoughts of fleeing, realising that if Death could open portals using just his finger, he could do a lot more with his fist.

“Well, here goes!”

Bwalya descended toward the foot-bridge drawn by an inexplicable force, he knew that was where the soon to be departed soul was to be found. The crowd that had gathered around the foot-bridge had been pulled by a young man threatening to jump and kill himself. Bwalya reached and then hovered in front of the man. This suicidal person had his arms stretched out behind him holding on to a rail as his upper body leaned outward looking down at the speeding traffic. Bwalya cleared his throat.

“BEHOLD MORTAL! I am Death! I cometh to collect your soul... eth!”

“Jeez!” The young man exclaimed as he almost lost his grip. He steadied himself and looked at Bwalya in amazement. Bwalya had spread his arms out, spreading his magical cloak with them, as if to allow this fragile man to bask in his glory before he left the land of the living.

“Are you the Grim Reaper?” he asked.

Bwalya nodded slowly for effect. “And you are, Michael Munana! I know this because I know many things!”

“Yes O’ mighty Death! Knower of many things! Take me away! Save me from this misery!” exclaimed Michael.

“Errm,...well, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you must actually, you know, errm...die first.”

“Then I will leap! Leap into the afterlife and shed this mortal coil as Death himself embraces me!”

“No man, there will be no embracing here! Besides, I don’t think that fall will kill you. It’s not high enough” said Bwalya.

“Then you suggest I must climb higher?! Yes! That’s it! Climb higher towards the heavens, so that I may be closer to Paradise!”

“....Don’t you go to hell if you commit suicide though?”

Michael’s heavy thoughts manifested themselves in the knotting of his eyebrows. Bwalya observed his dismay and felt some sympathy crawling up from his belly.

“Why are you doing this though? Why jump off this bridge?”

“Because,” said Michael, “To live, is to suffer. And to survive, that is to find meaning in the suffering. I have found no meaning, I cannot survive... therefore I only suffer.”

“C’mon man, it can’t be that bad,” said Bwalya, “A wise man once told me, ‘A poor man grieved bitterly that he had no shoes; until he met a man who had no feet.’ No matter how bad you think you have it, someone probably has it worse.”

“No one’s existence is more miserable than mine.”

“Well mine will be. I’ve been duped into being Death’s replacement for the next one hundred years, how’s that for suffering?”

“Wow,” said Michael, “Is that penance for sins from your past life?”

“No. Long story. But my advice to you is to always read the fine print.”

“There will be no reading where I am going,” murmured Michael.

More of that sympathy crawled up from within Bwalya. Though he himself had been damned to almost an eternity of tedious soul collecting; he couldn’t help but feel for this poor misguided guy that had lost all zeal for life.

“C’mon man, you don’t need to do this. And like I said, you won’t die, worst case scenario you’ll hurt yourself really bad. Maybe if you land on your hea--...Look, you don’t need to do this.”

“YES I DO!” burst Michael. His shouting sent a murmur through the impromptu audience. Someone remarked that Michael was mad and was speaking to himself. “I need to do this because maybe then people will pay attention! Maybe then they will miss me!”

Bwalya looked at the crowd and noticed they were getting anxious; they wanted to see something happen. This gave Bwalya an idea.

“What, are you kidding? People do pay attention to you!”

“How do you know this?”

“I am Death, knower of many things, remember? Just look around you. All these people are here just for you! And even though most of them may be strangers, they still made the effort to leave whatever they were doing and came to see you. Technically, they do care.”

Michael knotted his eyebrows again. He looked around, possibly for the first time, at the people that had gathered there. Children had climbed and latched onto electric poles to get a better view of him. Vendors had halted sales of their various goods to observe what would become of his wretched soul. All this, was for him. He was finally given the attention he yearned so much. He was finally noticed....Finally.

 “Thank you,” he whispered to Bwalya. Bwalya smiled and felt that sympathy he had turn into a sense of achievement. Michael then leaned back and began to climb back over the railing of the foot-bridge. The smile painted on his face was quickly erased by a reality shattering slap that came from one of the members of his audience. The crowd descended upon him in typical angry mob fashion. Bwalya winced as they dispensed more reality shattering slaps and blows on Michael.

Even though they had beaten him unconscious and almost half to death; their crude message had literally hit home and Michael had new found appreciation for life.

Bwalya’s sense of achievement had almost faded, but he still felt good about himself. He smiled to himself as he brought up the scythe and swung it down to open a portal to his next job. His smile would have turned into roaring laughter had he not felt that Death was angry when he met him on the other end of his portal. Though Death’s face had no expression, his wrath permeated his every bony orifice and Bwalya had to hold his laughter. Death’s skeletal toes were safely secured in the thongs of colourful flip-flops. He wore khaki shorts that exposed his ashy white knee-caps and were covered at the buckle by a Hawaiian shirt decorated with palm trees. Its buttons were undone up to his sternum and a big floppy sun-hat covered his bold skull. He looked like someone had pulled a prank on the human skeleton in a highschool biology lab. Bwalya was dying inside.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” bellowed The Grim Reaper.

“Uum, well... he wasn’t going to die from the fall anyway so I--“

“YOU FOOL!! He wasn’t your quarry, the crowd was! After he hit the tar, a number of cars would have swerved at high speed to avoid him and and crashed into the foot-bridge and exploded or caused damage to it! The collateral damage would have been extensive! You just cost me countless souls!”

“I’m sorry! I had no idea... I’ll make up for it! I promise.”

“No! You know nothing of the balance that must be maintained!” replied Death, “Your contract is hereby terminated! I relieve you of the duties of The Fourth Horseman.”

Bwalya was shocked, “Just like that? I can go back?”

“Yes. You may return to your mortal life. But mark my words; we have not seen the last of each other.”

Bwalya suddenly found himself in his bedroom sitting in the chair of his computer desk. He looked round to see if this too was another warped dimension. He touched the air where The Grim Reaper had opened a portal and squint his eyes to see if there was any trace of it. When he was sure he was home, he yanked his computer from its desk and took it outside where he smashed it to bits.

  *****                 

Langi and his friend sat on the low table in front of the T.V playing a violent video game. Bwalya sat on the couch a few feet away from them leafing through a magazine. He didn't like Langi’s friend very much, he was a sore loser and kept complaining when he or Langi beat him at the game.

“Let’s try a different game,” said Langi’s friend, “This one is sooo boring!”

Bwalya looked over the edge of his magazine and paid little mind when they removed the disk from Langi’s Playstation and inserted a new one. ‘Nothing will please this guy, he’s just a weak gamer.’ He continued to read an article on Chicken Shawarmas and their part in a global domination scheme some crazy guy had written.

“Aw man! Software upgrade agreements! Don’t read that!” complained Langi’s friend, “Just click on ‘I ACCEPT’!”

The television screen went blank and the Playstation console began to tremble and rattle as it started to scream open a portal.

Bwalya calmly got up, rolled his magazine and put it in his back pocket; and then casually walked home, whistling as he did so.

THE END

“BEHOLD MORTAL! I am Death! I cometh to collect your soul... eth!”-Artwork by Lo

Follow me on twitter @Benny_blow

Follow Lo on twitter @inkerblood

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.

Read The fine print

"So, let me get this straight-This is free?"
"Yes, free."
"And if it busts my computer, you'll give me a brand new one?"
"Yes, brand new."
Bwalya narrowed his eyes and looked intently at the man behind the counter. The man looked like he hadn't had a meal in longer than anyone cared to remember. His cheek bones were very pronounced and his eyes  looked two sizes smaller than their sockets. Not to mention the fact that he smelt like he bathed in stale potatoes. His smell quietly stuffed the nostrils like two dirty stubby fingers.
"And you said Langi is sick?" Bwalya asked.
"Sick." the man confirmed.
Bwalya shrugged his shoulders and then leafed out a few notes from his wallet. He paid for his new anti-virus and watched as the strange man placed it in a carrier bag, along with the black box containing the free software the man had given him. Bwalya thanked the strange man and made his way to the exit. Before he walked out, he turned his head toward the counter; his bones creaking like a battered door as he did. The stale-potato-scented man was staring blankly at him, his eyes cradled in dark ringed skin and looking almost lifeless. 'This guy looks like a zombie wearing a bad human costume.' Bwalya shuddered and quickly left the computer store.

Langi had worked in the computer store for the last three years, and as far as Bwalya knew or could remember, he had never fallen ill, not so much as the sniffles. He'd always boasted that scientists would someday do a study on his awesome immune system. 'Why, this is the stuff that superheroes are mad of man!' he bragged. 'I guess even wannabe superheroes can catch a bug' thought Bwalya.

Eerie as the man filling in for Langi was, he'd offered Bwalya a really sweet deal. The black box contained some software under development, the man had explained. He did so in a series of gestures and non-I.T related lingo. 'Another strange thing for a guy working in an I.T related shop'. He'd told Bwalya that it was a customisable operating system; that all he had to do was test drive it and give them a review. If it damaged or altered his computer in any way, the shop would gladly replace it.

Art by The Mighty Lo.

The box had no labels, no logos or any form of writing on any of its faces. Bwalya inspected it carefully as he backed up the information on his computer onto an external hard drive. 'Wouldn't want to lose all those "music videos" I've collected', he thought. When the back-up was done, he opened the black box and examined the disk it contained. It was just as black and label-less as its box. He inserted the black disk into the computer and somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped that it would get damaged. He related it to how some people would put their dogs down when they were in the twilight of their dog years. His P.C had been failing him recently, it had really began to show its age. The video playback had become sluggish and its monitor looked like an old analogue TV. A new machine would be such a blessing.

A small window popped up on the screen as soon as the disk spun a few times and loaded. It was nothing amazing, no special graphics or flash player. The window only had one sentence in it. It read;

‘THANK YOU FOR AGREEING TO TEST OUR PRODUCT. BEFORE YOU INSTALL THIS SOFTWARE, PLEASE READ OUR TERMS AND CONDITIONS.’

Bwalya clicked on the link to the terms and conditions and naturally did what most people do. Who really had time to read that legal jargon? 'This product can not be distributed, altered or sold without prior consent from the proprietor of the property forthwith, forth withholding all held in accordance with legislation and terms of agreeance of service....'...'Or something along those lines' Bwalya thought. He scrolled down through the body of words, unconsciously reading bits that his eye caught. He finally reached the bottom of the page and clicked on the 'I ACCEPT' tab.

The computer screen suddenly went black, except for a small white dot in its centre. He stared at his screen waiting for something to happen. 'Maybe this is all part of the installation'. After a while, he noticed that the small white dot had been growing very slowly. The computer began to 'beep' and 'boop' and then it shrieked, the shriek sounding more organic and lifelike than digital. The white dot grew larger and brighter before it started to exude a thick liquid-like smoke. The machine trembled like it was holding back some colossal energy. Bwalya's jaw dropped in utter amazement, his senses struggling hard to comprehend what was happening. The liquid-like smoke formed something similar to a small cesspool and it bubbled continuously on the floor. He leapt from his chair and reached behind his computer to pull out its plug. But disconnecting the power did not stop whatever had manifested itself through the computer screen.
The liquid smoke dripped and vaporized into what seemed to be its last bits in streaks at the base of Bwalya's monitor. Bwalya watched wide eyed and muscles tensed; ready to bolt for the door. If he had not taken a piss earlier, he would have probably wet himself when the black substance on his floor rose to form a body. Something sinister was coming to life right before his eyes, like a tar black mannequin or a charred Pinocchio becoming a 'real boy'. Two shoulders jutted out from either side of the body and extended into arms, one with a skeletal hand holding a long scythe. The black liquid smoke formed a hooded cloak to drape the terrifying figure. Its head slowly looked up from its chest to face Bwalya, revealing a ghost-white skinless skull. The skeletal man seemed to have a permanent grin on its face because he had no skin to cover his crooked teeth. His voice sounded like he was gargling crushed glass when he spoke.
"Bwalya Fungamwango, I am the fourth horseman; the severer of ties between life and what lies beyond. Some have referred to me through the ages as The Grim Reaper, though, my true name is, DEATH. But do not be alarmed, I have not come to claim your soul."
Bwalya remained silent for a moment. He had to choose his next words wisely, because they could have literally meant life or death. And then he said,
"You guys owe me a new computer.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Follow me on Twitter

Follow Lo on Twitter

Sneak Peek.

This is probably bad practice,but I'm going to do it anyway! I'm going to give you guys a sneak peek at something I'm working on. This is just an excerpt. It may come out next year, or it may never come out at all. Just depends on how diligently I work on it. I wont give away too much detail, but know that I have something spectacular on my hands...


"I'M HERE FOR HIM," said Death.

"Ah, him? You can have him! He was beginning to get on my nerves. Shame he had to go out like that," said Jadeboy.

"Sooo...eerie black cloak and hoody thing, absolutely no flesh and a boney face--literally... But the bone encrusted scythe was a dead give away-no pun intended. I'm guessing you are Death."

"YOU ARE CORRECT."

When he spoke, Death's mouth did not move. Not because of  his evident lack of lips or skin deficiency, but the sound of his voice was similar to music in a good pair of earphones. The type that cause people to turn their heads thinking the sound effects in the music are coming from somewhere over their shoulders because the surround sound is so amazing. His voice resonated directly inside their heads.

"WHAT I FAIL TO COMPREHEND IS HOW YOU ARE ABLE TO SEE ME. CLEARLY YOU ARE NOT GODS. PERHAPS YOU ARE WIZARDS?"

"Though we were stunned in the first instance, we are no longer in that dumbfounded state of mind,'' said Genteel sarcastically.

''You are enjoying this , aren't you? asked Jadeboy. Genteel smiled.

"Yes. Yes I am."

"We are used to this sorta thing Mr.Death. We usually smoke weed until fucked up shit happens. Literally. Usually its unintentional though. These phenomena just seem to follow us."

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOUR MARIJUANA HAS WEAKENED THE VEIL THAT SEPARATES OUR REALMS?"

They all looked at each other, "So it would seem," said Jadeboy.

"IN ALL MY UNLIFE AND INEXISTENCE, I HAVE ONLY HEARD MYTHS OF SUCH HERBS. IT WAS THOUGHT THEY WERE NO LONGER CULTIVATED."

"What can I say?-I have a great supplier. He did say it was one of a kind."

Lo was trying to feel the supernaturally black fabric that was Death's cloak  He grabbed a handful of  it like a curious baby and it tore off like thick smoke that had been fanned away. When he opened his palm to see his handful, it just evaporated. Death took no notice of this.

"This shit right here?! This shit right here?! Right here this shit--?! Dagger exclaimed,"--This shit called DEAF! Literally!"

"I MUST EXPERIENCE THIS MYTHICAL PLANT."

"Sure," said Jadeboy, "But what about our dearly departed Don over here?"

"OH, MY APOLOGIES."

Death lifted his scythe with both his skeletal hands and brought it down across Don Carlos' chest in one precise swoop. There was no blood gushing and pouring out, only Don Carlos'soul emerged from his body. It glowed a faint white, almost like white noise on an old analogue T.V. The ghost looked at them as they all stared at him in awe. Carlos looked across all their faces and came to his own earthly cadaver, still in its stiffened position."

"Aw man! Don't tell me I'm dead!!"

Death opened his cloak revealing a deep,black abyss that absorbed Don Carlos' soul.Genteel's eyes opened wide in amazement,''Oh snap! So where did he go? Was that like gateway to hell? Or did he go to heaven? Is that like instant transmission or will he be lost to us until God comes?''

''DID YOU NOT SAY YOU ARE USED TO THIS 'SORTA THING'?''

''I know, but dude, Death, you gotta tell me!''

''VERY WELL. BUT ONLY AFTER I PARTAKE IN YOUR RITUALISTIC SMOKING.''

''Sure!'' Genteel said.

''WAIT!'' exclaimed Jadeboy,''I must seek counsel with my friends first. Huddle up!''

They all jumped up and huddled in a circle. Death watched them like a skeleton in a science lab.

''Have you guys thought about the possible consequences of letting Death get stoned with us?''

''I agree,'' said Dagger,''He just might geek and die like Carlos did. What would happen then? If Death died?''

''Death cant die you idiot!'' said Lo.

''I agree,'' said Genteel.

''Yeah, but twenty minutes ago we weren't on a first name basis with him!''

''But think about it, since when do we ever think things through? We usually just go with the vibe,'' replied Lo.

Their thought process was sluggish seeing as they had smoked quite a bit that day, but that all changed in an instant when five ninjas somersaulted through the windows and the boys' adrenaline went crashing through the roof. Four ninjas stood firmly with their sharp katanas at the throats of each of the young men. The fifth shinobi stepped forward into the small circle of captive boys and cut-throat ninjas--his eyes the only visible feature behind his ninja mask. The shinobi began to speak
.
''My dear friend Jadeboy, so sorry to rudely interrupt your little tea party, but I simply found it of the utmost importance that I speak with you.''

''Yeah well I think it would be a lot easier to speak if you called off your foot soldiers Master Shredder,'' said Jadeboy.

''I am not Shredder!'' the master ninja protested. He wore a metallic mouth piece over his mask and three spikes were attached to it; one in the center of his forehead and the other two on either side of his head. It all formed a sort of crown-like headgear.

''I would prefer it if you refrained from calling me that! Now, we have reason to believe that you have something very special in your possession.''

The other four ninjas maintained their form, blades still at the throats of Jadeboy and his friends. Their muscles tense and unmoving. Not one of the ninjas could see Death standing in front of the couch. His black,smokey cloak evaporating and re-forming where his feet would be. He observed what happened there silently. Jadeboy had both his arms up in submission, careful not to touch the sharp blade with his gullet. He swallowed.

''Hey man, I told you, I don't have anything for you. Now I have to replace my windows. Do you have any idea how much those cost? Those must be the fourth set this month.'' Jadeboy said.

''Hah! You lie! I can smell it! Its pungent odor permeates this very room! And look,that roach is still smoking!....What is that other smell!? Have one of you soiled yourselves!?''

''Ahh, dude,I think Don Carlos just shat himself! Looks like we forgot about that! I'm not carrying his body!'' said Lo.

''But why do you have a dead body here?" asked the master shinobi.

''Its a long story man,'' Dagger said,''You wouldn't believe me if I told you.''

''Uuumm, mister Grim Reaper? Could you please assist us with this situation?'' asked Jadeboy.

''How can I assist you when I am here to make demands?'' shouted the shinobi, ''It is I that requires assistance!''

''Not you mister Ninja Gaiden!'' retorted Jadeboy.

''Enough with the name calling! I could have my shinobi slit your windpipes at the snap of a finger! Now, give me the marijuana I came here for!'' snapped the ninja leader.

''Listen, Death, if you take care of these guys for us, you could have a couple of hits of our bong,''  Jadeboy said.

''COUPLE OF HITS?''

''Yes, you can smoke some of our 'mythical herbs'''

''You are testing my patience!'' exclaimed the ninja, ''I do not wish to have 'a couple of HITS'! I wish to go away and partake of it at my own convenience! Give us your marijuana and we will depart!''

''OH, YOU WILL BE DEPARTING,'' Death said as he raised his scythe and swiped it through all of the ninjas necks in one fell swoop. The boys all ducked. Yet again there was no blood as the ghosts snaked into the atmosphere, leaving their former shells and were sucked into Death's cloak. The bodies of all five ninjas dropped to the ground simultaneously like victims of a gas chamber.

''Ya see?! We bring death to your whole crew if you mess with us bitch! Literally!'' exclaimed Dagger with relief.

''So that's one, two, three....six bodies in my backyard cemetery! Shame they aren't paying customers, I would have made quite a bit of money,'' said Jadeboy.

''Now I have to start making arrangements with Don (our Don) so we can bury these corpses.''

''Yo Death, that was awesome man! Did you see how he just slashed at them guys' necks!?'' Genteel was evidently excited, ''O.K I know for sure those guys are going to hell! Or is it limbo? How do you determine who goes where?'' he asked.

''THAT IS NOT MY DECISION TO MAKE''

''Who decides then, God?'' asked Genteel.

''I HAVE TO BE ON MY WAY SOON. CAN WE PROCEED WITH THOSE 'HITS' SO I COULD CARRY ON WITH MY DUTIES?''

Dagger knotted his eyebrows, ''I'm curious though,should we roll you a joint or would you rather hit the bong? 'coz dude, you have no lips....''

''I THINK A ROLLED CIGARETTE WOULD WORK BETTER,'' replied Death.