Please read previous chapter if you have not done so already. It explains everything about the original Death series and the rewrite, to prevent any confusion.

You CAN read this story if you haven't read the original Death series. This is a ROUGH DRAFT and not the official published story, which is available everywhere books are sold today!

Hope you like the trailer on the side. ;)

NO SPOILERS from the original series readers, this story will be VERY different and you are most likely very wrong. x) DO NOT read the comments if you do not want spoilers, there most likely will be many. 

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            Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you that there is someone a lot more terrifying than the Kardashian's when they're angry.

            Death.

            That's right, death is personified in this particular story. The Angel of Death. You've heard of him, right? Hint: He wore a black cloak and carried a scythe.

            Buckle up your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy ride.   

            The first day I met Death, I was dying. (Shocker.) He wasn't the type of person you forgot easily, but it definitely wasn't because of his charm.

            Death was a big bully.

       I'm talking, 'pushing-humans-in-front-of-moving-buses-because-they-can't-see-him-and-it's-entertaining-for-him', bullying. Ever since he became a Fallen, Death made everyone who crossed his path a. indebted to him..., b. quake in fear, c. run the other way, or d. all of the above.

            Sometimes when he was bored or wanted to get his way with something, he tortured his victims with their own fears until he won. Other times, he tortured humans just for kicks and giggles because he hated the human species. (I've seen it myself. He really does kick them and giggle.)

            Fallen are really twisted like that.

            What's that? You don't know what Fallen are? 

             They're evil angels.

            Death was actually a good angel at one point. Actually, he was the best. Second best, if you want to include the whole 'Lucifer, God's favorite, trying to steal God's power and falling from heaven', dilemma. Death fell from heaven a long time ago for being exceptionally naughty. Unfortunately for him, he not only got his wings painfully ripped off and was damned to live amongst the humans, but he was also cursed pretty badly. He now had to eat souls and distribute them to heaven or hell in order to survive, and if he didn't, he would slowly and painfully begin to deteriorate in the human realm until his body pathetically mummified. He would still be alive, just immobile and helpless.

             Ah, the perks of being immortal and evil! 

            The guy rarely got a slap with a ruler from the big, old, original angels up in the puffy clouds, aka, the Elders. If Death got his job done-- collecting souls and distributing them to heaven or hell-- and didn't do anything too crazy, like start another Black Plague-- he would never be penalized by the Elder's for anything he did in-between jobs.

            I know. Talk about a corrupt system and bad parenting on the Elders part.

         As I said before, this Fallen isn't the type of person you easily forget, and it's not because he's charming. Perhaps you will further understand my hatred towards him once you come to realize that the "Angel" part of his title is complete BS. Sure, Death's started to cut back on the number of people as he kills for fun, but he's rotten on the inside out. He's always gotten what he wanted, too, as soon as he wanted it, no matter who or what he had to kill in his way. And he had been that way for years and years...and, well, years. 

        I was six years old when I first met Death. I remember that day perfectly, as if it was yesterday. It was a hot summer day in Chicago, and my mother was going food shopping after finding an empty box of waffle mix in the kitchen pantry and no milk or eggs in the fridge. 

                From the living room, I could hear her Mom shifting around pots and pans and gathering her keys. Mom was a multi-tasker. Many times I'd caught her making mac and cheese, talking on the phone, and reading a book--all while doing paper work from her office. She never stopped moving. I used to draw pictures of her as an octopus because I thought she needed eight arms in order to do all of those tasks at the same time. 

              Mom briefly poked her head into the living room, a bob of short blonde hair and a warm smile. "Henry, do want anything at the market? I'm thinking breakfast for dinner tonight." 

              "Don't forget the bacon," Dad said. "Lots of bacon."

            My father was sitting on the couch reading a recently dated newspaper, while I doodled a portrait of my teddy bear, Mr. Wiggles, on the coffee table by his feet. Who needed paper when you could use markers on wood? That afternoon, my father  was relaxing after work and reading the sports section of the newspaper. I sat by his feet and drew squiggly lines on important bills and documents, that he unknowingly left out in the open for the notorious doodler herself to discover.

                "Lots of bacon. Check." Mom winked at me. "And lots of waffles. I'll be back in an hour, I have some other errands to make."

            Waffles.

         The mere sound of my favorite food bouncing around in my head made my marker pause. Waffles. I dropped my marker, grasped Mr. Wiggles by the upper arm, and dashed into the kitchen at full speed. 

            Let me tell you something about that bear full of fluff. Mr. Wiggles was a loyal friend of mine. We ate together, slept together, and bathed together. (That last one hadn't really worked out as I hoped it would, thank god for a dryer.) He was always at my hip, under my armpit, or on a pink leash dragging on the floor behind me. Sure, he had picked up a few holes and scratches on his eyeball since the day I had received him as a baby, but I loved him just as much as the first day I dribbled on his ear. Mr. Wiggles and I had a strong relationship. We'd only needed couples therapy three times. No matter what, that furry bear--whether it was unwillingly or willingly on his behalf, had always been glued to my side, and had been the most protective man in my life, well, up until...never mind.

            "Can Mr. Wiggles and I go with you, Mommy?"

            "Yes, but you have to give me a huge kiss before we go anywhere," she said, smiling. "No slobber. Mr. Wiggles has to give me one too."

            "Mwa!" I kissed her cheek. Mr. Wiggles was shy around other girls besides myself, so he only gave her neck a hug with his fluffy arms.

            Mom  and I went through the garage to the family car. She buckled me up, got in the driver seat, and turned on the car. As we drove through our neighborhood, I counted the trees that passed by on the road, hopping up and down as the car went over bumps.

            About halfway to the market, I started to feel a twinge of pain in my body. Making a small grunt of pain, I squeezed Mr. Wiggles to my tummy.

          "What's wrong, honey?" Mom asked, blue eyes glancing anxiously in the rear view mirror. "Are you getting car sick?

             "My stomach is hurting me."

            "What did you eat for breakfast?"

            "Daddy made me toast. It tasted like dirt."

            Mom rolled her eyes, laughing. "This is why we keep so many TV dinners in the freezer," she said. "His toast is probably the reason you have a tummy ache. We'll go the doctors on the way home if you still aren't feeling good. Okay, baby?"

            "It really hurts, Mommy."

            That sentence alone would have normally made my mother slam on the breaks. Make a U-turn, and bring me back home. Mom was always overprotective. But there was something that prevented her from turning around that particular day. An unknown force that kept her going to that market; call it Fate. Fate had to be what made her eyebrows fall inwards and her foot continue to press further onto the gas. Mom's eyes had glazed over slightly as she said, "We're almost at the market...."

            I hugged Mr. Wiggles to my chest, extracting all the comfort I needed from his soft body. Food shopping was my favorite activity to do with my mother and the stomach ache was ruining it. Would she take me to the doctors after we got food? Would the doctor give me a needle? I hated needles!

            Still in a daze, Mommy pulled into the parking lot, which was surprisingly almost empty. She got out of the car, briskly walked to get a shopping cart, and then came around the car to unbuckle me. As soon as I was in the food cart,  I was so excited that I began jumping up and down in my seat. It was as if I had never had a stomach ache to begin with. Mom was acting herself again as well. For the moment, at least, the strange feeling in my stomach had subsided.

            I patted my small hands on the shopping cart handle."Mommy, push me! But don't let go!"

            She laughed. "Hold on!"  Mom got into a runner's stretch, with her hands on the handle and her right foot back behind her other. "One....two... three!"  Mom ran with me down the empty parking lot all to the front entrance of the building. I cheered and clapped the entire time.

            The automatic doors clicked open. To the left were checkout centers, to the right were vegetables and flowers. The ceiling glowed with luminescent lights. We made a right, and went straight to the flowers. She plucked a single daisy, gave it to me, then held a finger to her lips as we both giggled secretively.

            After weaving between aisles to find our goods, I started to feel sick again. This time, I was border-line ready to throw up burnt, dirt toast. As I was about to tell Mommy how I was feeling, the impatient cashier girl cleared her throat from behind us. "It's your turn, ma'am'." Her black eyes fell onto me. "Uh, your kid looks a little green..."

            "She has a stomach ache."

            "Oh. I used to get stomach aches all the time when I was little." The cashier was around sixteen, with heavy black makeup on her eyelids and piercings everywhere there was skin. She crossed her arms over her chest as my mother unloaded the cart, blowing a large bubble with her gum, then cracking it obnoxiously in her mouth. It sounded like she was dancing on bubble wrap.

            My mother brushed her blonde hair behind her ear. "My husband cooked again," she explained, rubbing my stomach soothingly and laughing to herself. Although it was evident she didn't like the rudeness of the cashier, she sure didn't show it on her face. Mom grew up a strict Catholic and firmly believed in loving thy neighbor.  

            Mom started to unpack the cart, giving my arm a playful squeeze when I handed her all four boxes of waffle mix in a row.

            Even with an upset stomach, I knew exactly what I was eating the entire week. Waffles.

            Mom swiped her card across the credit card machine. I had to force myself to look away from the girl with the exaggerated makeup, who was eyeing me like I was a moldy piece of bread. She reminded me of a gothic clown. I hated clowns. I swung my legs in the cart, twisting the daisy in my small hands. Studying the flower, I realized that flowers brought a lot of people happiness if they were at the front of the market. When I glanced back up at the cashier girl, her eyebrows were bunched together and her expression looked cheerless. Hesitantly, I reached out to hand her the flower.

            She stared at the flower. Stared at me. Then carefully took it by the stem and placed it on her register. There was a twitch of a smile on her face. "Thanks, kid," she said dryly.

            Suddenly, the automatic doors of the market opened, and male voices began to shout out orders throughout the store. Men had entered the building with ski masks and guns. The leader of the pack of intruders stepped out in front of the rest, loading his shotgun in one fluid motion. The men spread out around the store, grabbing items of food, breaking into cash registers. My mom immediately took me out of the food cart I was sitting in, dropped to a place on the floor behind another cashier station, and held me hard to her chest. She put a finger to her lips as I whined.

            "OPEN THE REGISTERS, NOW!"

                        "Halloween called, they want their costume back, gothic freak," an unfamiliar voice mocked, followed by many hearty male laughs.

            The cashier let out a squeal. "Don't touch me! Let go!"

            "Fu--she got me right in the nose! You're dead, bitch!"

             We heard the slap of the gothic cashier's feet on the tiled floor. Running. The piercing boom of a gun going off, then a sickening crack as a heavy object smacked against the floor. My mother jerked at the sound. Both of our ears had to be ringing like crazy. Mom started to mouth a prayer. We heard a moan from the girl. Another shot went off. No moans followed.

            Cash registers started to get noisily broken into. Some change fell to the ground, flying across the room as the men stuffed the money messily into their bags.

            A thin stream of dark red blood became visible down our checkout aisle, curving towards my mother and I. A scream bounced off the walls. I realized it was my own when my mother put her hand over my mouth. I was confused, putting Mr. Wiggles in my choke hold as my heart pounded in my ears.             

            A pair of large shoes came into my vision. "Aren't you pretty," the same unfamiliar voice said.

            Within seconds, the man had scooped me up with one arm and secured me to his side. Mom began to panic, throwing her entire purse at him. "Take whatever you want. Take my whole purse. There's two-hundred dollars in there. I have more."

            "Is that a D & W bag you have on, and you only have two-hundred bucks on you?" The masked man laughed harshly. "Go stand over there with your hands up where I can see them, lying bitch."

            "Mommy!" I screamed, wriggling against the man's strong grip.

            My mother looked down at me, her mouth trembling. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness..." She murmured the passage from the Bible under her breath, her free hand finding her cross. "You can still redeem your actions. God will forgive you."

            "What the hell are you force feeding me?" the masked man questioned. "If I wanted to hear religion muck, I'd flip on that boring channel with the monotone nuns."

            My mother closed her eyes."'There is no peace,' says the Lord, 'for the wicked...' There is no peace,' says the Lord...."

            "Stop with your Bible talk, or I'll shoot her brains out!" the masked man screamed, closing the distance between us. There was a crazed look in the gunman's eyes as he jammed the gun against my forehead. I felt the coolness of the barrel through my bangs, and started to cry.

            Mom began to sob along with me. "Please! She's only six! I'll give you anything you want!"

            My stomach cramped. Suddenly, I found myself screaming again.

             The man's grip on my arm began to cut of circulation. My mother fiddled with her purse. He knew she was wasting time, probably calling the police. The gunman lifted me off the ground with one hand and held onto me, pointing the gun at my mother. "You're a moron for fooling with me. I can get millions for this little twerp on Ebay," he hissed. The smell of alcohol drifted out of his lips, circled my small frame and squeezed with a toxic strength.

            "Hey man, we have no time for this!" the raspy voice of one of the other masked men screamed from the front entrance. He was watching the parking lot, a shot gun readied in his arms. "Hurry up and get the money, we got lucky today! There's nobody--" His gaze fell on my mother and I. "Dude! What are you doing? Don't you watch the freaking news? Kidnap the kid, and we'll be running for the rest of our damn lives!"

            Amateurs." A deep voice penetrated my mind, followed by a foreboding sting of pain in my stomach.

            Inhaling sharply, I screamed at the unbearable pain on the skin of my belly that came with that strange voice, wriggling out of my captor's arms until I dangled half on the floor. "Why is she screaming like that?" the masked man asked. "Does she have a disability or something?"

            I screamed my heart out, clutching Mr. Wiggles to my chest as tears spurted endlessly from my eyes. The man gave me a hard shove to the ground, covering his ears.

            Now the gunman was gripping the sides of his skull, screaming. "My...head! I feel like...it's going to explode! My eyes! I can't see!"

            My mother scooped me into her arms as I fell to the ground, shielding me with her body as the gunman went utterly ballistic.

             "You!" The gunman raised his gun towards me. He tore my body away from my mother and forced me to stand. As if hearing something, he tore his head to the side, eyes wild. He shoved me away. "Make the voices stop! Make them stop, you little bitch!"

            "She's just a baby!" my mother cried. "Don't hurt my baby!"

            Gripping his skull, the man shook his head back and forth. "The pain! Make it stop!"

            The man came forward and knocked my mother to the ground with a single punch to her face. He then turned down to me, visibly wincing in pain, as I crawled away from him in fear.

            "Faith! Run!"

             I got up onto my feet. The crack of the bullet was so loud that my hearing momentarily departed, and I was unable to hear my mother's screams. The impact of it through my stomach was so excruciatingly painful, that I hadn't felt it even enter, nor had I felt my head strike the surface of the hard ground. Mr. Wiggles had left my small hand and clashed with the tiled floor at my side. Beside me on the ground was the gothic cashier with a gaping hole at the center of her skull. I tried to scream, but instead, rolled over onto my back, lips trembling, eyes wide open, staring with glazed eyes at the ceiling, slowly drowning in a pool of crimson. Above me, the bright white fluorescent lights of the market illuminated.

            "FAITH! MY BABY, MY BABY!" I heard my mother vaguely cry out to me after the pounding in my ears. She fought against the gunman with all of her might, until she knocked his gun straight out of his hand. She hit him with something heavy, he fell in a lump to the ground. The other masked men aimed their guns at her. Oddly enough, when they saw me on the ground, they lowered them. "Love bears all things," my mother sobbed over me, holding my hand tightly, reciting more of the Bible. "'Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away...' Lord, send me an angel, a miracle. "

            The gunman started to get up off of the ground and looked down at his hands, which were violently trembling, and grazed my stiffening body with slightly wet eyes.

            As I fell into a trance, staring at the sparkling ceiling, a smooth, baritone voice enveloped my ears, and in my peripheral vision I saw the outline of a massive shadow. "Well, wasn't that boring," the shadow said. "You made the mother watch? That's very cliché, don't you think? So unoriginal. There's a lot of books on this, and movies out there that you could have watched before robbing this place, you know. I give that a 2 out of 10, tops."

            The gunman turned around towards the stranger. "Jesus...Christ," he muttered, falling to his knees with his mouth wide open. A hooded man appeared out of thin air, wearing a draping obsidian cloak that entirely concealed his identity. Appearing at least twice the size of the average man, he loomed over the gunman with intimidation, clenching a strange shaped weapon in his gloved left hand.

            A scythe.

            "Wrong," the shadowy man said. "Jesus? Really? You've insulted me immensely."

            The masked men in the store all froze, gawking at the hooded man with the same shocked expression, before trampling over each other out of the store.

            "Please, call me Death." With a playful, "Boop!" Death then tapped the man swiftly on the shoulder. Instantaneously, the gunman fell to the ground. Lifeless. Death nudged the dead body of the gunman with the tip of his black boot. "Sigh," he said, feigning sadness, "it's as if everything I touch dies, you know?" Brightening, he offered my mother his hand. "I'm Death, it's a pleasure to meet you."

            She gasped.

            Death put both his hands promptly behind his back. "Small joke." He tilted his head down towards me. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? Hmm, it's 10:32 AM. This must be... Faith Williams? Oh, I do love me some Catholic names." The large cloaked man stepped over the gunman's unmoving body.  As he bent down and hovered his fingers over my cheek, his voice began to morph into something more serious. "Her soul. It's so pure, and unfortunately, so young. The little ones are always the hardest to collect. However, I've never seen a soul quite like hers in all of my years." He chuckled softly. "Wow, listen to me. And I thought the robbers were being cliché. This soul...it's definitely unique. Most souls are different shades of blue, but hers...hers is... white? Fascinating..."

            As the hooded man went on, my mother continued to sob in hysterics, staring widely at the man. "Are you--are...are--" She stopped, returning her blue gaze to my pale face. "Please. Don't take her from me," she whispered, shutting her eyes, as if she couldn't bear the realization of what was happening. "I know who you are. If her soul...if it's unique, or special in any way, please--"

            "Really? You know who I am?" Death drawled out sarcastically. "What gave it away? Was it the cloak or the scythe? I'm taking a survey." Snorting, he slowly walked around my body, hands clasped behind his back, observing me at different angles. He kicked the gothic cashier's dead body to the side. "Scoot over, Lily Munster, I've got a job to do." There was a cheerfulness in his voice as he squatted down where the gothic girl's blood remained smudged on the floor, still analyzing me."So, anyways... Mom, are you cremating? I personally wouldn't suggest it. I'm sure the right mortician will make that huge, gapping...kind of revolting... gash on your child's stomach look like a bee sting!"

            My mother began to cry hysterically.

            "Relax, woman. It was only another small joke. Here, let me ease your mind. I promise you, that your Faith will not die today but only if you quit bawling. How's that?"

            My mother calmed down slightly, her attention fixed on the large hooded man as if he was the source of everything in the room.

            "Good. Yes? Well, I believe I have a proposition that you will be very interested in," Death continued after a long pause. "You see, I haven't seen a soul as pure as your daughter's in a while. Call me a collector of rare gems, but this soul I would particularly like to spare and let mature." His low laughter gave me instant goose bumps, and his hand brushed against my own. "Just how badly do you want to see your daughter graduate middle school? Go to prom? Get married? Live her life?"

            My mother began to sob once again. "That's all I want. Please, please help her! Help my baby!"

            "I will come for her," Death stated. "I will come for her when the time is right. One cannot escape me without something in return...your compensation for me saving your daughter's life will be... her. Are you willing to accept that I will take her away from you? This is my only offer, you don't have much time."

            Blood seeped from my lips. My mom frantically looked at the man, and then back at me. "How long would I have until you come for her?" More demanding and hysterical she rephrased her question. "How long would my husband and I have her?"

            "You're in luck, I'm prepared to make you an excellent deal," Death whispered with that smooth, deep voice of his. "Excellent for myself at least. I'll give you until her eighteenth birthday, then her soul is mine. There it is again, cliché time. I haven't made a deal such as this for centuries, but her soul is special. As I said, I want to let it mature. See what becomes of this...rarity. Eighteen seems like a nice number, odd numbers personally make me cringe..."

            As Death slowly tilted his hooded face away from me and towards my mother, her hesitation morphed almost instantly into acceptance, as if he had some sort of hold over her with his eyes. "Please, just save Faith! Just save her!" 

            "As you wish." Death looked back down at me and grinned, his huge, straight teeth flashing through the darkness that surrounded his face. His next words were foreign and velvety, as gentle as a caress on the cheek.

            Suddenly, light lit up under his hood revealing the most interesting color of eyes. Chiseled, pierced, male features hovered over my face. I felt a chill throughout my entire body as Death slipped off one of his leather gloves, revealing a hand with odd black markings, which he hovered palm down over my stomach.

            I opened my eyes a little wider, feeling the pressure in my stomach subside, and my body become stronger. The blood flooding my mouth was absorbed back down my throat all at once, momentarily leaving me breathless. When I could breath, there was absolutely no pain anywhere in my body.

             "Mommy?" I whispered, anxiety building in my chest as I saw her crying. "Mommy, why are you crying?"

            "Faith?" Her features lit up in happiness. "Fai--"

            The hooded man held up a gloved hand. "Do not touch the girl yet, she is in a fragile state. Faith doesn't remember what happened to her, she will remember in due time," Death explained, leaning his shadowed face forward as if to observe my eyes. I stilled under his intelligent gaze, knowing it was best not to move. "It is time to seal the deal."

            Lights flickered violently in the market. The ground shook. A black cloud surrounded myself and the hooded man, as if creating a shield around us, before spiraling down like a tornado and absorbing like a sponge straight into the center of my chest. I jerked upwards, making my mother instinctively move towards me. Death held her back again as I momentarily struggled to breath. My sunshine blond hair slowly began to drift into the midnight, becoming black from the roots down, and then I fell back to the floor, stunned.

            "You too, Mom. There's no backing out of this now. You are bound to our deal." The hooded man touched my mother's hand, and her hair began to change as well. Her short golden hair melted into a halo of black.

            The hooded man then leaned over my face again, mumbling more foreign words under his breath. I didn't fully understand at the time that Death was saving my life.

            Death put me back on the floor and stood up to his overpowering height. With a small movement of his hand, his scythe appeared out of thin air. "Her eighteenth birthday," Death reminded my mother. "I will make sure you remember, but I'm sure you will regardless.  I will come visit her as I please. You will not interfere, or I will destroy her without hesitation, and then destroy you."

        Death began to walk away from us, turning to give me one last, long look as I began to sit up. I was in awe, staring at such a large, evil being who radiated so much power that it was hard to look away from him.

            I could no longer see Death's face, but I could tell he was smirking. And not in a friendly way.

             "I will collect you, Faith Williams." Sarcastically, he then added, "I'm sure we will become the best of friends."

             So there it is, our first encounter. I couldn't remember any of that until I was eighteen, because the memories of him I had as a child were taken away from me. But even at eighteen, I didn't know everything. Now I'm in my early twenties, and I can remember every single detail of our "friendship" from start to finish.

               This is how I survived Death.

                Kinda.

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5/15/21- Please keep in mind even though this book is massively improved from the original DIMBFF (which I wrote when I was 14), I wrote THIS draft that you are reading right now only a few years later, while I was still in my teens. Therefore, this book is not a current reflection of my writing  style by any means. (This is me apologizing in advance for the occasional cringe moment from teen Kat's writing.) LMFAO!! You get it.

Faith is a teenager in the first book. It's just the 21 year old retelling her story and what she remembers about Death, beginning at age 17-18.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter enough that you continue on!! Your voting and feedback means the world!!!

xx

- Kat

Twitter and Instagram: Katrocks247