The biker reaper

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: February 15, 2020

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Submitted: February 15, 2020

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The Grim reaper walked into the club with his boy. They both wore denim trousers and leather jackets. The smell of unburned fuel gave the air a distinct taste of roughness. Engines revved. A man with a red mustache stood fickling with his bike. On him hung a much too wide black jacket full of metal spikes. Sneaking towards him came a younger man, he was even that, with coal black hair.

"Hey kid! Stop hanging there and give me one of those fucking wrenches!" The older one shouted.

The younger one ran, light on his feet. 

The Grim reaper shook his head. "They are much softer on the other side."

"What do you mean master?" The younger reaper looked up at his father's face.

"That 'kid' will meet a trailer tonight. He is coming with us home." The Grim reaper stared out into the air, battling his tears. Young souls were hard to carry.

"You mean he..." The young reaper trailed off seeing his father's face. 

"Yes." The Grim reaper swallowed. "But that's not the hard part."

"What is?" 

"Look at the one who just shouted at the kid." The Grim reaper pointed at the man with the mustache. "The kid means the world to him, but he is so afraid of showing it. He seems so enthusiastic about his bike now, but tomorrow he will not be able to look at it."

"Why do these things happen?" The young reaper asked. 

The reaper shook his head. "I don't know. I am just here to do my job." The Reaper turned. "There he goes. One hour." The Grim reaper tried to hold a cold, matter-of-fact tone.

"Don't be late, kid!" The man shouted out the door. "I ain't re-heating the dinner, ya know!"

“We should go.” The Grim reaper patted his son.


© Copyright 2020 S. Rasmussen. All rights reserved.

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