Chapter 4 Exerpt:

Death was not a happy camper.
Certainly being Death does have it’s rewards. Not ever being hungry, or tired, or thirsty is a nice little trait to pick up. Having metal bands dedicate an album to you does tend to impress the ladies. And, of course, there’s the bike. You cant help but look completely bad ass on a low riding, flame spitting Harley Davidson.
But Death does tend to be quite the full time job. Always jotting here, or running there. Never really having time to enjoy the finer things in life. Sure you wind up meeting completely fascinating people, and Death truly HAD met them all…but the problem is by the time he got to them, well, they’re already DEAD. This tends to make their conversations rather one sided.
Death particularly was disappointed by his conversation with Albert Einstein. Death was quite the fan of Einstein’s work, and was anxiously awaiting what he had hoped to be quite the stimulating conversation.
Instead, Einstein said all of five words to him.
“OH, I’m dead? That sucks.” And Albert proceeded to pout the rest of the way to the pearly gates.
Sure, there were some rather interesting conversations that came his way. He remembered one with a small child from South Africa about 200 years ago. The boy was fascinated with the whole bit about not having to breath, or eat, or how much fun it was going to be spitting down a people from heaven, which death had to explain was going to be a bit of a challenge since heaven wasn’t really ABOVE the earth, but more like SIDEWAYS to it.
And now, looking at 400,000 souls, all of whom were from Wyoming, all of whom through years of being trained in the art of “pleasant Midwestern conversation”, Death seriously was beginning to wonder if the job was truly worth it.
“Why Hello”, said Susanne McMurry, a long time residence of Casper. “That was quite the little jolt now wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I imagine it was.” Said Death, shaking it’s head. This was the 578’th conversation that had started out this way, and it knew that there were at least another 300,000 conversations that were going to go exactly the same way.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I’m Death.”
“OH, well that’s a VERY nice bike you’ve got there Mr. Death.”
“Why thank you.”
“What are we doing now.”
“Now YOU are going to judgment, and I’m going to move along to the next soul.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun.”
“You have no idea.”
And death took her hair in his hand and with one swift swipe of it’s sickle sliced off a lock of her hair and moved along to the next person in line.
“Why Hello”, said Ryan Schuster, a cattle farmer who up to the part where he was pretty much atomized lived right off of Highway 14 out of Casper. “That was quite the little jolt now wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was.” Said Death, shaking it’s head again.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I’m Death.”
“That’s a pretty sweet bike you’ve got there.”
“Why thank you.”
“What are we doing now.”
“Now YOU are going to judgment, and I’m going to move along to the next soul.”
“That sounds kind of interesting.”
Death was beginning to consider just getting cards made up. “Small little business cards” it thought “Black with red ink. Something simple, Nice big skull on the front, something simple on the back like ‘Hello, you’re dead, going off to judgment, yes it’s a nice bike now isn’t it.’ That would simplify this whole process”.
“Why Hello”, said Tom Stanawoski, a student at the University of Wyoming who was working part time for a liquor store in Burlington. “That was quite something wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was.” Said Death, shaking it’s head again.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I’m Death.”
“OH WOW man, I’m a huge fan.”
Death gave him a good little once over. Tom was dressed head to toe in black and wore more eyeliner then Tammy Fay baker at the height of her addiction to Maybelline products.
“Thank you” said Death “Always nice to see someone who appreciates my work.”
“That’s a pretty nice bike”
“Why thank you.”
“What are we doing now.”
“Now YOU are going to judgment, and I’m going to move along to the next soul.”
“Oh, rocking.”
Yes, he’d defiantly need to get some cards printed up.