“They abhor cliches but secretly crave it, don’t they?” 75 groaned, aghast, as he took another swig of whiskey from his seemingly bottomless wine glass.
82 and 94 exchanged subtle smirks, wordlessly agreeing how this wasn’t at all unsurprising to come from 75.
“They delude themselves that wrath makes them sexy, 75. Government agendas haven’t tortured you enough yet?” 79 teasingly trailed his fingers underneath 75’s chin then around his neck, ending it with a mischievous choking attempt.
“Senate and congress aren’t fancy courthouses such as your parlors and whorehouse clubs, 79! Or whatever the hell your pretentious name is this week, damn it,” 75 muttered then briskly shoved 79’s wrist away.
“Hugo! I chose to be a Hugo this week! Persephone is seductive but it has way too many syllables for my liking. And wearing a tight, furry, damn it, fine – pretentious! corset is just mad despicable in the tropical weather of this country! 82, you’ve been frustratingly busy this year, haven’t you? Our manipulation and interference privileges are limited, in case you’ve forgotten, dear.” This just earned a huge cackle from 82 who opted not to defend himself, quite admittedly guilty for the number of meteorological headlines he’d been tasked to collect due to the destined phenomenal heat uproar across the globe.
94 stood up from his seat and stretched both his arms upwards, letting the cool breeze of the Metro Manila midnight seep through the skin of his limbs, albeit supernatural. His three friends had always been perceptive of how downcast he’d been feeling since last year. Frankly, for several years now. Had he ever felt like an outcast because of the assignment types being designated for him? Unquestionably, yes. It gets so, so easy to feel intimidated when his peers had always been getting significant ones and he seemed to only be getting shallow crumbs. Age never became a factor for their kind, but 94 still felt warmly consoled by the perk which came along with somehow being the youngest in this circle, nevertheless.
This discussion of cliches was no doubt their way of reaching out to him and letting him feel that there’d still been a lot of underrated things rich in analysis paved by the events of this decade of his service. Being a literary reaper was a thankless job; they’ve always known this. Did it matter that there were only a hundred of them handpicked by God, tale as old as time? Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, well…it was a running joke within them, but sometimes it gets so damn difficult to put it into words.
“What a decade!” 82 exclaimed, as if on cue, lifting his mug of ice-cold peppermint tea, inviting everyone to settle in a sentimental vibe of recollection. Not just inevitable but necessary. Assignments of literary reapers have expiration dates; this was just one of the many things humanities had never known about them. Every decade an end a beginning. Cliches indeed somehow painted ‘reapers’ as just ghoulish agents harboring cartwheels of corpse caravans, convenient for the Earth’s Halloween costume themes. There were reapers of many kinds, and the hundred chosen literary reapers haven’t gotten much fame and prestige despite the high profile matters they handle. Should they apologize that what they reap weren’t human corpses but documentations?
94 took another glimpse at the stunning panoramic view from the roof deck of this topnotch extravagant hotel. Every December 31st, the four of them gather here to peruse how gratifying or harrowing the year had been.
“Humans never realize how lucky they are that they can just submit resignation letters when they hate their jobs,” 75 ranted, making the three of them giggle. It was indeed rich to come from 75 who handled reaping political revelations in journalism. 75 had been so cynical because of the countless issues of plunder and corruption exploits he had to drag into exposure. A reapers’ task is to assist in establishing or crushing the purpose of the documents in order for them to align with the main archive of what God has in His scroll. If there were so many things misunderstood about them reapers, it won’t ever compare to the massive counts of erroneous takes against God’s ways. But yelling about how the protocol wasn’t as disciplinarian focused as it had been stereotyped by many had been exhausting. So many of them have tried to speak to defend God and how He has a never-ending blank sheet of grace and forgiveness, but the world has just dismissed and diminished those literary reapers as preachy and cheesy and boring. Reapers had to inhale the reality that though it was appreciated, they weren’t burdened to be ministers after all.
“What are your dream assignments for this upcoming new decade?” 79 hollered, unfailingly driving away the gloom with his flawless vibrance. It was a talent they’ve all been envious of but not bold enough to emulate.
“Perhaps destructions of some toxic technological presentations?” 82 straightforwardly declared, grinning – indeed a testament that the optimism could be contagious. “Some modern inventions are brilliant, but some are just, well…detrimental, honestly. I hope humans can see it crystal clear – not everything that make it easy for them is automatically healthy for them,” he vaguely explained. 82 handling ecological and environmental issue reports this past decade had somehow shaped him to be cautious and calculating, also traits that his peers were striving to learn and polish.
“But what’s negative for you might be nutritious for some, ever thought of that, honey?” 79 swooned as he draped his left arm across 82’s shoulder, cloaking his mild critique with affectionate touches as per usual.
“That’s why I’m not generalizing, Hugo, I know absolute things are quite rare,” 82 stated, blushing fiery but keeping his composure as he fixed his gaze to meet 79’s challenge. “I’m only after the downfall of toxic technology. I won’t be an impediment to the breakthrough of new innovations. What is your next dream assignment?”
79 was so amused at how 82 very efficiently reverted the topic away from potential disruption of their peace, but occasions such as these are platforms for thrill to him, always. It was why it had been a relief for so many that he was designated as the reaper for the shatter of sexual scandals across media platforms. He opened his mouth, poising to growl but instead licked and teasingly bit 82’s neck. “I would never lose the classic appetite for delicious things,” he almost whispered, yet still audible. “Hence I want the ruin of rotten recipes!” His laughter could’ve made it seem like a joke, but decades of familiarity made the other three able to grasp the sincerity of his intentions.
82 and 94 were still rendered speechless though when 75 hastily stood up then brutally pushed 79’s slender frame away from 82, taking him instead to a cushioned vacant futon several steps away from the table of their feast but still near enough for them to be overheard.
“Coercion is really your style, huh?” 75 assertively asked as he laid himself on top of 79, a swift irony of his very question.
“Don’t you think I’m a good fit for that kind of assignment though? You – you know I’m ravishing!” Literary reapers were the ones most lethally consistent with the morbid gorgeousness of the human depictions of grim reapers so all three of them were absolutely enthralling but 79 undeniably holds a certain exquisite charm like no other. It was hard to dispute such a glaring fact.
“You’re a good fit for it but you’re not meant to be a plagiarist, moron,” 75 debunked 79’s claim, surprisingly emotional.
“You designed that assignment recommendation for me, so I made the decision for us.” 79’s eyes also sort of sparkled with glittering tears.
82 finally got a hold of the meaning in their actions and statements but 94 was still slack jawed.
“He’s anyone’s first and most formidable audience,” 75 stood up away from their sensational pose and looked pointedly at 94 then swiveled his gaze towards the dark sky, talking to the one they all knew.
“You listen! You hold what we say in consideration, no matter how they decline to believe it!” 75’s tone cracked with vulnerability, but it was the bravest all of them had ever seen him. “So yes, give 79 the reaping of rotten, unhealthy recipes! And – well, if you would, please – please give me the reaping of plagiarized, fabricated works away from publication!”
After this declaration, this prayer, really, 75 slouched back down to be on top of 79 again to kiss him wholeheartedly. 82 met 94’s eyes with tender understanding that they were both applauding their two friends so proudly.
More than anything, 94 loved the stellar realization that maybe not everything was indeed scripted for the mere benefit of comforting him. The conceitedness of his point of view shamed him a little, but that’s yet another perk as the youngest, isn’t it? He learned and he learned as much as he could. Scripted – the word made him snicker now too, when it used to pinch his heart so many times for the past decade.
His three friends now walked towards the champagne bottles to pour some on their glasses. The silence of course left the stage wide open for 94 to pitch his dream assignment since everyone was done disclosing theirs.
What’s purely obvious was his dissatisfaction with the assignment of reaping the entertainment and romance gossip articles within the world of celebrities. This country in particular thrived on those for the past couple of years. Love Teams, they used to call those. Alarming number being thrown on the pits sort of gave the vibe that humans no longer wanted love stories anymore; didn’t believe in love anymore, scorching fallacies of stardom be damned. And 94 learned that if happiness could be contagious, sadness could be twice as infectious. It was such ruthless hard work nowadays to still trust in connections when so many were falling apart. Reapers were always regarded as numb and dumb to emotions but that was something the reapers could only aspire to have and be, unfortunately.
The door loudly sprang open, bewildering all four reapers on the rooftop deck. The first party crash they’ve ever experienced. It was a girl in her mid-twenties dressed so glamorously as she held a journal in her arm and a phone in another. She was on a video call with another friend who seemed to be at a family party gathering.
“Ara! It’s already the new year, girl, we can move on!” The friend no doubt wanted to spread the cheer of the holidays.
“Yes, yes. Sure. I dressed up for tonight, didn’t I? See,” she angled the camera of the phone to flaunt her royal ensemble attire. “Lots of cash spent, but it’s worth it. Tonight is worth it!” She did her best to smile but all four reapers had seen so many of those to decipher the agony.
“Ara, it’s never our fault for believing them.”
“I know. I won’t blame myself, don’t worry. Just – just, you know, it’s like the world doesn’t want us to believe in anything anymore,” the girl Ara confessed, as she sat down on the pebbled walkway of the roof deck and carefully laid the journal down beside her.
“There’ll always be new ones we could support. We should just wait! Better ones who are real!” The four reapers just exchanged raised eyebrows, annoyed but more than anything else, concerned.
The two girls ended their video call after the Ara girl finally got nonchalant on her replies to the other’s galling non-stop flood of other topics. By then, 94 managed to assure the other three that they could utilize the mist bubble around them and ignore while he observed and handled, since it was a repercussion of what he had to reap just a few days ago. Humans cannot really see or hear them unless the reapers wish anyways, but 94 still tiptoed in silence nonetheless as he studied the girl who now stood to also look at the view of the city underneath.
She inhaled and exhaled deeply – a prelude to the speech she’d been holding back and saving for this moment.
“God!” she cried out. “You planted me in a family of a husband and wife who don’t love each other enough to stay together! And it was – it was – I didn’t blame myself for it and tried to believe again! And my two relationships – wow – they also failed! But I’m still doing my best not to give up believing, aren’t I? This – this! They – God, them – THEM! My beliefs – all of what I wanted to trust are delusions, is that what you wanted to tell me?! Is that what you wanted me to accept?!” The girl was now down on her knees, fully bawling out loud.
“When I couldn’t find the faith in myself to write again, they became my subject inspiration to give it another shot! And now – and now – even those tales are broken too! I could no longer believe I could write anything anymore! Please, I cannot – I don’t –”
The surge of wind opened the journal on the ground, revealing to 94 that the girl wrote fan fiction. There was a lavender card peeking as prologue perhaps to the story she was crafting there.
“Fiction!” The girl wildly laughed boisterously despite her grief. “If that could be my only safe space away from reality, was that so disgustingly mediocre – dull and inferior? Should I be embarrassed forever that my pain was not academic? That my desire for joy was not scholarly! God please!” The girl stood up and walked towards the rail, her sorrow evidently betraying the reason she came here tonight – splurged on the best wardrobe she could afford and wrote what she thought her final farewell would be after reality had scorched her empty.
94 felt and identified with the girl’s yearning. But tonight, more than ever, he understood the generosity gifted to them via the chances and choices they could select to interfere or interrupt. Tomorrow morning is when Ara will see how the first page of her journal has been changed from Fan Fiction by Ara Bienvenido to: Fantasy Novel by Ara Bienvenido.
It was one of the earliest things literary reapers had been trained and taught to accept for thousands and thousands of years: that there’s no such thing as hierarchy in genres and subjects. 94 wanted Ara to know and restore her faith by reminding her that the farewell to one path means the welcome to another. Something 94 also got reminded of tonight just as well.
Because this was the beginning of the introduction of his new assignment for the new decade too. A responsibility entrusted to him that he would embrace and carry so hard.
That night, the lavender card fell away from the hotel rooftop deck and landed exactly on the trenches of firework embers down below. 94 has finished his old assignment and is now saying hello to the new dare of what to reap next:
Wreckage of suicide letters.