The Promise Keeper
I’m all alone, tired of trudging on earth restlessly. I’ve not had a vacation ever since...well, I stopped counting my time off a long time ago. Let’s just say that I have too many accumulated days I can use for eternity. Imagine the splendid time I’d have in the Bahamas or Tahiti.
I haven’t aged a day but my feet are soaring in pain and burning like they’re on fire.
I’m heartless. My senses are numb. I have no empathy in my bones. There’s no grey line in my vocabulary; it’s only black and white. Pure and simple. I know how pathetic that might sound, not having a beating heart between my rib cages. It’s depressing being the one with a cold heart when life is made of rainbow colors.
I guess life is for living. I have no experience with it. All I have heard that the color of life makes you feel exuberant and give you wings to fly into the endless sky, and makes you immortal even if you die. Such feelings are what makes humans different from the rest and humanity worth dying for.
My job is the dirtiest and scariest of all. I am a bounty hunter. I deliver people to their masters when their final due dates arrive unexpectedly because they owe debts to their lenders. It’s clearly stipulated in the fine prints they sign the day they are born that all debts must be paid in full. No exceptions to the rules.
When the alarm clock is sounded, I have to be there to drag them by the collar and dump them into the darkest pits regardless of their willingness. I don’t really care what happens to them after my job is done as long as I do mine perfectly. On-time, of course!
My name is death. I am the night keeper. Most people know me as the Angel of Death. I hate being called by that name if I can totally be honest.
Everyone is terrified of me whenever the lights go out, or the thunderstorm roars or something terrible happens in their lives as if their fate is forever sealed with mine; even though nothing is far from the truth.
I loathe my nickname because it has a negative connotation and scares people away. They can’t fully look into my empty eyes. Whenever someone starts talking about me, most of them turn pale, shaking in fear like they saw a bone-chilling ghost, who’s choking the life out of them by their necks. I think that’s why I’m all alone until this day or forever.
I know they have good reasons for being petrified of me, for when I bring my wrath, I am so ruthless and merciless, even if humans clinch to hopes that never save them. I am like a hit-man for hire. I don’t discriminate or ask questions. I just answer whenever the call comes at any time.
Once the wire is hot, I drop everything I’m doing and go to work right away. No job is too big or small. My delivery service is exceptional because I deliver on time without an exception or excuse.
But I get upset when people blame me though.
When fate closes their doors, I’m who they see first. They’ve never stopped to think that I don’t have much of a choice like them or have full control over their final destinations. What they don’t realize is that I’m just doing my job in this never-ending carnage of soul collection business. All I do is pick up and deliver. For once, however, I wish if I could be a messenger of good news.
But, “no news is ever good,” as one wise person once said.
The other day, for example, I was on the brink of a nap and almost fell asleep when my employer called me to pick up a few people. It was in a broad light in one neighborhood, rain of darkness poured down and killed a ton of people. I didn’t ask or whine why for the interruption of my loneliness drifting but had to complete the task asked of me instead.
The calls never stop coming. Although I’m so exhausted beyond control and have tried not to exacerbate people’s lives, I have no choice in matters but answer the calls on time. It’s on my business logo. “On-Time Delivery. Anytime without Exceptions!”