This is from a recent Writer’s Digest Flash Fiction prompt, “Grim Reaper.” Tossing up here because why not.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good, G.R. How about yourself?”
“If I’m being honest? Not so good.”
“Aw, man. I’m sorry to hear that. Did something happen?”
“It’s just…you know, everything.”
“I hear you. If it helps, it’s going gangbusters on our end.”
“Yeah…that’s kind of why I’m calling. Can you guys maybe cool it a bit?”
“What do mean? I thought you liked to keep busy.”
“I do. It’s just…it’s kind of a lot right now.”
“Ha! What’s the matter old man, you can’t keep up?”
“This isn’t funny, asshole. Do you have any idea what it’s like for me? It’s not like the old days. There are billions of humans now, and they’re literally all over the goddamn planet. At least you guys have horses. I have to walk.”
“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. I know Pestilence got a little carried away, but you’ve been keeping up. And the humans have science now. It’s not like back in the day when he killed half of an entire continent.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I still haven’t gotten the smell out of my cowl from that month in Paris. Listen, all I’m saying is, I need a breather, okay? Can you maybe pump the brakes, just so I can have time to get a fresh pair of sandals, and maybe sharpen my scythe?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though. I overheard him giggling about something called ‘Upchuck Upsilon’ last week.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. He’s calling that his ‘summer blockbuster.’ War has a bet with him that humanity won’t let it get to that, but Pestilence is pretty confident.”
“*sigh* I can’t say that I blame him. Tell War I wouldn’t take that bet.”
“Hey, maybe you can tell him yourself. I hear he’s heading to Ukraine soon.”
“…”
“Hello? You there?”
“I hate you guys.”