"Mary!"
I woke with Dad shaking my shoulder. Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair and tried to figure out what was going on.
"Come on, get up. Don't want to be late on your first day, do you?" Dad said then left, pulling my door shut behind him.
I looked at the clock. It was seven in the morning, and I felt like I'd just went to sleep. I rubbed at my eyes. My key lay beside me on the bed. I reached for it, but as my fingers brushed the cool metal, the voice from my dream whispered through my mind again.
"Mary,"
I shivered, jerking my hand back.
Staring at it, I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. I'm still asleep. I'm just still a
I sat on the couch, staring at the TV. I was finally alone. The ride home from the shop had been silent, and now the house was just as quiet. Elise and Dad had gone out to meet Liz and her kids for dinner. Elise had tried talking me into going out with them, but Dad convinced her to let me be.
I didn't know what to think of Dad anymore. He was acting so differently. He'd been very stand-offish when I was a kid. Really, I thought Grandpa was a better father figure than Dad. But the understanding in Dad's eyes tonight as he suggested that maybe I just needed some time to myself-
That just confused me.
I turned off the TV and went to fend for
I followed Dad up the spiral stairs, my mind still numb from all that had just happened. I glanced down at the key. A scythe. It'd been similar to Dad's in shape, but the design, the coloring - it was all different.
Dad had said that everyone's scythe was unique to the soul who own it and the soul it was made from. That the scythe was a proof of friendship. I didn't understand exactly what he meant, but I figured I'd have plenty of time to ask him about it later.
Dad stopped at the top of the stairs. "This is it." He turned the knob, pushing the door wide.
I looked past him into a small, shadowed entryway. The walls were lined with picture
"Mary?" Dad's voice woke me from my thoughts. I realized I'd just been staring at him.
"You're the grim reaper?" My voice shook a little.
Mr. Ward chuckled softly, taking a seat in his chair again. "Oh no, Ms. Brooks. Your father isn't the Grim Reaper-"
"There is only one Grim Reaper," Dad interrupted, shooting a glance at Mr. Ward. "He's the head or ruler of the Afterlife. My boss." Dad pulled the old wooden stool back over, and sat next to me. His scythe towered over both of us, even as it rested against his shoulder. "When my grandfather died," he continued. "I was bought here just like this. I hadn't been told what to expect and I bar
Dad pulled the car into a spot in front of an old building, and parked it. Old may have been too kind a description. The place looked deserted and on the verge of being condemned. The brick face was worn, cracked, and even crumbling in some places. A broken sign hung on the front of the building proclaiming 'Brooks' Antiques'. This couldn't be right. Grandpa took so much pride in everything he did. This whole situation just seemed wrong.
"This can't be his store," I said, turning to look at my dad. He wore a sad expression on his face. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes seemed to have deepened since the last time I'd been home. There
I gazed out of the limo's window, watching the trees and small buildings flow by. I loved this time of year in the mountains. The air had a slight chill to it, and the trees were bursting with golden and crimson leaves. Grandpa had loved it too. I'd been expecting him to call me, asking when we'd be going up to the lake house to fish, like we'd done every year since I could remember. But now-
He wouldn't be calling me anymore.
The limo crept along on the gravel drive and then stopped as close as possible to the grave site. The wind blew gently; a cold breeze hinting at the winter to come as the sun's heat began to build. A few leaves tumble
The lights go down and the band comes out,
Piercing screams, and the night forever rings.
Sing with the wings, and dance to the beat of the drum,
Saving grace, and holding close that need to run.
We meet in the darkened past,
To speak in hushed whispers of a thought to cast.
Pace the room, barred like a tiger,
To earn your stripes from a frightened fighter.
Keep me close in the ring of your arms,
Your breath in my hair, your warmth against my skin.
For this night, it'll never come again.
Step on glass. A black, broken mirror, cast
Our pain a side steps away; Soft whispers, hushed prayers blast.
Take a shuddering breath; Let the deep thoughts collide.
Lines that waver, colors that blurr; a life too bright to hide.
On this night that stands still in our world, we walk on.