The girl stepped up to the edge, steeling herself for what she was about to do. The wind whipped past her face, taking her scarf with it. The girl didn’t bother going after it; she didn’t need it where she was going. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to jump.
The girl turned around and saw an impossibly pale boy wearing black clothes. He looked to be around sixteen years old, probably the same age as the girl. His eyes were impossibly dark, and were oddly hypnotic.
“You can’t stop me from jumping,” the girl’s voice was devoid of hope, but she felt her body relax, tension leaving her muscles.
“I know,” The boy sounded resigned. “That’s why i’m not here to stop you, i’m here to join you.”
“What?” That was the last thing the girl expected him to say. She watched him wearily as he walked up to the edge next to here.
“So,” The boy looked down at the sidewalk, probably judging the distance to the ground. “What’s your name?”
The girl hesitated for a second, then said: “Emma. Emma Walters. What’s your’s?”
“Is that a spanish name? You don’t really look spanish.”
“So i’ve been told,” Marithu muttered. He turned around and looked at Emma. “You ready?”
Emma took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Great.” Suddenly, Marithu took a step back, and started falling backwards over the edge. Out of pure instinct, Emma lunged forwards, trying to grab Marithu’s hand. With impossible speed and strength, Marithu grabbed Emma’s outstretched hand and pulled her down over the edge, and into the cold, loving arms of Death.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- Emma groaned. Her head hurt like crazy, and her bed felt weirdly rock-like. And cold. Really cold. Abruptly, Emma sat up, remember what she had been trying to do.
Emma was on the sidewalk in front of the building she was trying to jump off of. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. All around her were black feathers, barely visible against the blackness of night. The feathers were constantly shifting shades of black, becoming darker and lighter without any noticeable pattern.
“What the hell?” Emma muttered. Everything about this night was weird and horrible. First her boyfriend, then her mother, and now these feathers.
“Quite the opposite, actually,’ Emma whirled around, and saw the pale, mysterious boy she met on the roof. He shrugged, and said, “Don't worry, it’s a very common mistake. Practically everyone makes it at one point or another.”
“Who are you?” Emma demanded. Then she thought for a second, and said in a much quieter voice, “How did I survive?”
“I already told you who I am,” Marithu glanced at the sky, which was beginning to look a stormy. “And as for how you survived, you didn't. If you don't believe me, which I wouldn't blame you for doing, just look down.”
Emma hesitantly complied, and gasped. She was surrounded by a pool of dark red blood, which was coming from a broken, unrecognizable body that was exactly where Emma was laying a minute ago.
That’s my body, Emma thought in horror. I’m dead. I’m actually dead. That thought bounced around Emma’s mind for a few seconds while she was paralyzed with horror.
“Doesn't feel as peaceful as you thought it would, does it?”
Emma gulped and looked up at Marithu, who looked slightly amused by her reaction. She tried to find her voice, and after a few tries, she asked, “What are you?”
“The Grim Reaper.”