“This shit’s dope, man! Don’t take it all at once”

That’s what the guy had said when he handed me the “merchandise”. But as I sat on my couch, in my shorts in front of the TV, I barely felt a thing. I turned the volume up. The sounds of me chewing popcorn was not helping me listen to the hero’s cool speech.

I waited. Nothing.
I took some more.

More time passed. Still nothing. The shady fucker had ripped me off.

“If I find him again, I swear…,” I thought. “Oh, who are you kidding? You won’t do anything even if he was laughing at your face. You’re a wimp! That’s why he had you easy…he probably had one look at you and made you…”

Uggghhh…there go my $200.

But I guess there’s no use bitching about it now. I’ve bitched my entire life away. That’s the only thing I’m good at. My deadbeat 9-5 isn’t helping me any, but a man’s gotta pay his bills. And this shitty house is shitty because…well, I don’t do a fucking thing about it.

I took one more. Then went to the window. The front yard had overgrown to the point it looked like a thorn county. I think I’d hired a gardener, but I don’t remember. He was going to have his work cut out for him, though…

Back to the TV, it is…

I was beginning to feel drowsy. But was the TV getting louder? The doorbell rang.
Who could it be at 5 pm on a Saturday? I, sure as hell had no plans.

I opened the door to see a hooded figure in black, almost a foot taller than me – standing before me. With the sun against my face, this figure looked even more menacing. Was I seeing things or did he have red eyes?

“I can’t do this anymore…it’s up to you now,” he said, handing me a scythe. Wait what?

“Hey, what do you…? He was already walking away. I looked at the scythe and when I looked back, he was gone.

I had to admit the scythe looked cool, albeit rusty. I tried swinging it around, it glided in my hands. I was a master!

Wait…a master of the scythe…who holds a scythe? The reaper…Wait, a reaper? What did he want me to do? Why did the mystery man hand me a scythe?

The TV was getting louder still – someone in it was laughing menacingly. “This is what you were made to do” a raspy voice said on the TV. Or was it in my head?

Standing there trying to make sense of the past few minutes and simultaneously reevaluating my life’s purpose, I glanced out the window. An old woman was frantically trying to hold on to her purse form a large dude trying to snatch it. And was that a knife in his hand?

I immediately knew what to do. I gripped the scythe tightly, strode to the street where it was happening. By the time the robber noticed me, it was too late. With a swift lift, I brought it down on him as his eyes widened. And it was over. I wiped the blood off my brow.

The lady shrieked.
“Y…you…you k-kill-killed h-him…he’s dead. Oh my god; call the police!” she was saying.

With an air of valor, I looked at her. She was frozen and I towered over her. She was so puny, so weak, and helpless. If I wanted, I could finish her then and there.

“Be grateful, his time had come,” I replied with an air arrogance.

Finally finding the earth beneath her feet, she shakily stood up and scurried away. I stood there, with blood all over me and the scythe. I knew why I was given the scythe – I was the chosen one. The Scythe had chosen me; the Grim Reaper had chosen me to take his place.

Ohhh…how I reveled at the idea. Me…the Grim Reaper…the death incarnate! But not just reaping souls, I’d be the one to send them to damnation! No more the ordinary Jim – my life had a purpose now. What I needed was authenticity.

I went back inside – I’d need to look the part. Time to get to work – I dipped the scythe in acid; stonewashed it, installed some rubber grips on the handle. It was now the weapon worthy of a mass culling.

The news showed the dead body of a man and a woman too shocked to utter a word. The dead body was holding a knife – a robbery gone bad; that’s all they got.

I didn’t bother to show up to work the next day? Why should I? I had a bigger purpose – to cleanse the world. I managed to get hold of a black curtain sitting among my box of junk. With grandma’s sewing machine, and some YouTube tutorials – voila! My black robe – I donned on my uniform, yielded the scythe, and set to work.

My neighborhood wasn’t exactly known for its amity – these junkies, drug dealers, muggers, thieves, gangbangers…every kind of lowlife scum could be found here. And all would fall…

I managed to cut down 4 of them before I saw the light of day.

Sleep eluded me. But when you have a grand purpose such as this, how could I sleep? I couldn’t even remember how many days it had been – the thrill of the chase, the rush, the smell of fear…I now lived for it.

And with the law none the wiser, I knew that I WAS the Grim Reaper! Who would stop the death incarnate? Knowing I was unstoppable, I stepped out in the daylight.

And there it was. These low-life cops were waiting when this ‘death’ would show.  
Just as I’d found an asshole parked at a Handicap spot at a mall, I was surrounded.

“Drop your weapons!”

I ignored it. Who asks the Grim Reaper to stand down? These lesser mortals were as insolent as ignorant. I ignored them – giving them a chance to walk away. Yet these lesser-souls persisted “Put your weapon down and hands in the air”

Almost funny. If I didn’t have a “Grim” in my name, I’d have laughed. I charged at them, but as if a God had struck me with a bolt of lightning, my body spasmed, and I fell.  They came closer and I went under.

When I came to, the air was different. My head was throbbing as if it’d explode any second. My legs were like noodles and there was a washing machine inside my stomach.

Huuurrghh!

Vomit. I felt like I was hit with a ton of bricks. But wait…where was I? I bobbed my head to take a look. It was a closed room with bulbs all over. I was on a raised hospital bed – my limbs strapped to it.

Someone entered the room, screaming, “You killed 8 people, you deranged, sick fuck!”

Wait, what?
I was trying to put 2 and 2 together while this guy was screaming until he was red. Then, he left me to my misery.

Sometime later, a few cops came pointing guns. One of them unstrapped me, while the rest kept pointing their guns at me – as if I was a criminal. They took me to another room, and handcuffed me to the table. The screamer from before came back but this time, with a different demeanor – an eerie calmness to him.

“Jim Pearsons”, he was saying. “Have been under quite the influence now, haven’t we? Are you still high? We found traces of hallucinogens in your blood. How much do you remember?”

“Well…I…uh…” I was trying hard.

“No use hiding, it. We already got your dealer – trying to slip some LSD to our undercover cops, and he recognized you as one of his ‘clients’. He claimed you purchased the “dopest shit” – it checks out; some of the strongest stuff we’ve tested. How much of it did you take?”

It was coming back to me. I do remember buying some “dope stuff.” Fuck.

He suddenly burst out again.

“Well, asshole, I’ll paint the picture for you. This dealer slipped you some – that was 2 days ago! Your gardener was the last person to see you that day. He claims he gave up on your overgrown lawn and handed you the scythe – that very scythe you used to kill 8 people, you sick fuck! We have a witness too – an old woman – this witness says you killed her son searching for the paper-cutter in her purse for her! You see where this is going?”

Oh my god. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! My eyes widened in horror.

“Yes, you remember now, don’t you? The LSD did a number on you, psycho. But you know what I think? You probably always were a sick fuck – it just needed an out, didn’t it?
Multiple manslaughter, terrorizing the community and drugs…you’ll die for this, I’ll make sure of that – if you don’t get the noose or the chair, you’ll rot until you die like a dog. Anything to say?”

I still couldn’t recall everything – just bits and pieces. But if he says I did all that, there was no getting out of this. Well, Jimbo – that was one way go out with a bang. But hey, I’d rest in peace knowing I didn’t waste that $200 of mine. I guess that shit was really was dope.