The Collector of Souls

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story about Death himself. Follow Death as he travels the world to collect the only thing that can ever make him feel happiness. Discover the mystery of Death.

***For A7XRica's contest. I have the word happiness and the story's picture.

Submitted: December 21, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 21, 2011



The forest was calm, unusually calm. There were neither critters nor creatures scurrying around. The trees were still and the sun was setting just above the dark canopy, giving the clearing an eerie red glare. The tree’s thick roots resembled ropes, wrapped tightly to the forest floor. There were few flowers here, not many could survive with such little sunlight, so the forest floor was inhabited by little ferns, attempting to grow against the trees. The clearing was humid, but he did not smell the dew. He smelt the fear; the fear that was steadily growing closer. A smile almost played at his lips. The fear was so… fresh. Death felt himself grow stronger just from the smell of it.

The forest was no longer calm. It sensed his present. The plants swayed away from him, for to touch him was to die. He could feel the roots curl under the dirt, repulsed by his lack of life. A cold wind caused the leaves to rustle from above. Another noise was to be heard however, one that did not belong in the forest, but was the beautiful noise that Death had been waiting for. It was the sound of voices, human voices. A smile finally found its way onto Death’s face. It was time.

Three men came into the clearing. Two of them had a bulky build, both with jet black hair and ghostly pale skin. They were dragging a sickly thin man by the scruff of his shirt. The small man looked fragile, with his bony structure and large glasses. It was clear that this was his victim. He reeked of fear and death, a welcoming smell for Death. The small man’s teeth were chattering and his eyes were swelled and red from crying. Death thought if he could feel pity, it would be now.

The small man was thrown to the ground with a thud and Death glided closer to them. He could now feel the heat, the heat that radiated off of the soul. Death felt a small surge of happiness go through him. This is what he came for, what he craved. Death was so cold, from being surrounded by the dead all the time. The soul’s heat was the only thing that made him remotely warm, for a while at least.

The three men had begun arguing, Death had not even noticed. He truthfully didn’t care. Humans were so greedy; they took everything to their advantage. Their topics of conversation were mostly materialistic, about money, clothes or their love life. Death had no need for those. However, because he had nothing to do until the small man’s death, he sat back to listen to their pitiful argument.

“I told you, three weeks. You had three weeks to build it for me, and it’s not even half done,” growled the taller one of the bulky twins.

“You have to understand Mark; these things take time, money and parts. A few of those parts aren’t easy to come by, only bought illegally. What you want isn’t easy to get,” whimpered the small man. Death rolled his eyes and gave a sigh of annoyance. Humans and their greed would be the death of this man.

“You need parts and money? You should have found a way to get it then, within our deadline. I told you no exceptions.”

The twins glanced at each other and nodded. The taller one, Mark, said, “Get up. Now.”

The small man looked hopeful, “Are you giving me a second chance?”

The second twin looked at him with a malicious grin,” No exceptions.” Any color left in the small man’s face was now gone. He was a chalky white and his palms were dripping with sweat. Mark drew a gun from his pocket.

“Turn around. “

Death glided next to the small man. The heat radiating off of him was addicting. Death could feel himself connect with the man’s soul. He felt warm and happy again.

He could hear the man’s thoughts now, racing through Death’s head as if they were his own.

‘Will my family be hurt? This is all my fault, I’m so stupid.’


‘It is not their time,” Death responded.


‘God? Is that you?’


‘It is Death, not God.’


‘Death? Does that mean I’m going to hell?’


‘There is no hell. Only death.’


‘Does that mean there is no heaven?’


‘I would not know. I have never been there.’


‘What will become of me, Death?’


‘You will go on.’


‘Go on? But what does-‘

A shot rang out, echoing within the clearing. The small man fell to the forest floor, a bullet in the back of his head. Blood was spilling out quickly, but he was gone. The man’s soul clung to him and its last surge of warmth ran through him. Then, the warmth was gone. Cold and empty, but the soul was still there. The twins were currently picking up and evidence and leaving, but Death did not was to stay and watch. He had business elsewhere.

The scene in front of him changed. Death was in a white hallway. People were rushing about, some in tears of sadness, and others in tears of joy. Men and women alike were dressed in long white coats with pens in their pockets and stethoscopes around their necks. Death glided through the crowded hallway with ease. He was used to these scenes. He came across them often. No one paid the slightest attention to him as he made his way into room 129.

Immediately, Death could feel the heat radiating from inside the room. He moved inside the room to see an old man sitting in a chair pulled up against the hospital bed. A little old woman was lying in the bed, her eyes smiling, but her face tired and worn. The couple held hands and stared at each other, neither saying a word. The woman had curly white hair and pale, freckly skin. Her husband looked as if he had just gotten done crying and was forcing a smile. He was bald except for a small white patch behind each ear. Death assumed that this was the time of scene that humans found “romantic.”

Death stood by the bed opposite of the elderly man. He waited patiently, because he knew that this would not take long. Death came much fast when one was prepared to die. He preferred these deaths; they felt much more… complete.

Minutes passed, and then finally her breathing began to slow. The heat was thick within the air now, it was almost time.

“Sweetie, just remember… that I always have, and always will love you,” the woman said quietly.

“I love you too.” With that, the elderly man gave her hand a squeeze and she closed her eyes and took one last breath. The soul plunged into Death and the heat overwhelmed him. There was always more heat when someone died properly and ready. Death no longer felt cold or a longing inside of him. Death was warm. Death; was happy.

© Copyright 2018 dholte14. All rights reserved.

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