For centuries now, I’ve been living in the human world. A world I once belonged to myself. I can still vividly recall my death—a stupid and pretty painful end… but the choice was made. Let me tell you, consciously making the wrong decision isn’t the brightest idea. I used to think no one judges us, that our own guilt is more than enough to deal with, right?
Yeah, right! Spend some time on the other side and shatter those illusions. To my great dismay, in this new world, judges did show up for my lovely soul and handed down a verdict that, just my luck, couldn’t be appealed. Back then, I thought my lawyer must’ve been some incompetent hack who couldn’t earn their paycheck. But turns out, I didn’t even get a lawyer—or a chance to defend myself. I still don’t get why. Yet the arbiters of fate understood, because they knew what everyone’s future was supposed to be. They decided, no matter what, to teach me to love the life they chose for me, every single second, every cursed moment. Who are they? Gods? Angels? Demons? I have no clue. To a insignificant being like me, they didn’t bother explaining a thing. Willful sinners like myself aren’t supposed to ask questions.
So, I didn’t. Fear wasn’t just a rumor back then, nor was the truth about those who defy the rules and orders. The truth that punishment could be far worse and last much longer. And the place where you serve it? Way more terrifying.
In that moment, I thought I’d gotten off easy. But I’d come to regret thinking that. In fact, I still do.
As a foolish, head-over-heels teenager, I ignored the advice and went against fate, threatening to alter the future and mess up the Creator’s grand plan. All I did was fall in love.
There aren’t many like me. It takes serious willpower to choose your own path. But we don’t walk the earth for long before paying the price for our arrogance. Accidents happen… some don’t make it across the street, others get hit by a falling brick. Death solves problems fast. And for our disobedience, we answer by serving the Reaper of Souls himself.
In this world, everyone has their duties and their job. Mine? Deciding who dies today. People like me are called Death’s assistants. We’re her employees, if you will. Because the lady herself just doesn’t have enough hands for everyone. Death’s got her plate full as it is.
But enough whining. We’re not gods, not angels, not even judges, because every person chooses their own path. At least, that’s what everyone thinks. We only pick the day, the hour, the minute when the end comes. And worst of all—the way they die.
Fun job, don’t you think?
But believe me, I still got lucky.
In my case, there’s just one condition: one week, one person. Who it is or how it happens? Doesn’t matter. What matters is maintaining the balance. Overpopulation and the eventual destruction of the planet aren’t goals my employers are aiming for. Even more important—don’t cross paths with the Fates, and heaven forbid you accidentally take out someone important to them, changing history in the process!
But there are two major downsides to a gig like this. First, we experience the moment of death alongside the dying: their emotions, physical sensations, memories—all of it becomes ours, feels like our own for a fleeting moment. Second, the duration of the punishment. Mine? Six generations of human life. That’s how they keep track. Because when you choose the wrong path, you lose what lets you exist on Earth—your shell, or simply put, my body was already ruined. So, each of us gets a new one.
I didn’t exactly luck out here, because I died at sixteen. And now, every time, I take on a new body that’s just turned sixteen. So, it turns out I’m stuck slaving away as Death’s assistant for a full lifetime, over and over.
Of course, everyone’s done something bad, so, folks, turns out you’ve gotta pay for your pleasures. Looking at it this way, I got off easier—I was just a dumb, lovesick teen who didn’t have time to cause too much damage. So, along with my disobedience, my sins only stacked up to six generations. And trust me, that’s nothing, because I’ve met someone living their fifty-fourth life, and I was too scared to even ask how many more they had left.
Each of us is closely monitored, and the burden of watching over us falls to beings who pompously call themselves Overseers. They’re all different, but always invisible to human eyes. Sometimes I think they were once human too, and this “position” is either their punishment or their reward. But have I ever met a single smiling Overseer? Nope. Mine’s always been silent and grim, and right now, he’s clearly on strike, because for weeks I’ve been carrying out the “plan” on my own, completely unchecked. Lazy jerk!
People like us get the bodies of others who couldn’t make it in this world, who chose death. Each time I get a new shell, I feel the overwhelming curiosity of a kid unwrapping a gift.
My first life was a real surprise—I ended up as an Asian guy, though missing a toe on my left foot… Sure, living in a man’s body is a lot easier, but the first ten years, every morning was pure torture. Who knew male hormones could mess with you just as bad as female ones? That life was the longest.
The second was pretty short, and though the shell I got was really attractive, some drunk driver didn’t give a damn.
In my third life, I was an American, a total nerd with no social life, raised by a tyrannical father. Still, it had its perks—a perfect GPA that let me become a lawyer and get closer to the condemned. I’ll admit, taking lives isn’t easy, and if I have to do it, I only target bad people. That’s always been my rule. And as a lawyer, I could know for sure who deserved my attention the most.
In my fourth life, I woke up as a Mexican orphan with no means to survive, which made things pretty tough… though not for long.
In my fifth, I was the HIV-positive daughter of a junkie and an alcoholic. But that taught me being an orphan isn’t so bad after all.
My sixth and final life, I awaited with all the dread I could muster, because the pattern was clear: each time, things got worse and worse. But maybe the stars decided to cut me a break, because the body turned out to be attractive, whole, healthy, with decent genes and parents. And most importantly, oh my God, I was a woman with a full set of fingers!
Somehow making it to adulthood, I took the familiar route and left home in a direction unknown to the family. It hurt to see the tearful eyes of this girl’s parents, to read the confusion and horror on their faces, but I had no right to do otherwise. None of us Death’s assistants could afford the luxury of having a family or being in a relationship. Our memories never fade, and getting attached to anyone is painful and dangerous. We all hated life, no matter the world around us. We forced all feelings to die in their infancy, avoided them, and grew callous. That’s why we handled our duties so well and pulled off all the dirty work with such success.
I spent a long time mapping out my route and planning my future, moved to another city, found a place to live, and everything would’ve been fine if some clumsy idiot in a fancy car hadn’t hit me. I thought with horror that fate had turned its back on me again, and in this life, a wheelchair would be my new best friend. Pain and anger boiled in my soul, and I’d already decided to take the life of that cross-eyed jerk, but then he called out to God…