My fingers tapped against the hard granite countertop as my legs dangled in the air. My gaze trained on Death, who hummed softly as he stirred instant coffee into his mug. The same mug hit the floor and shattered when he turned, saw me, and dropped it.

"Kid," he said, staring at the ceramic shards and puddle of steaming coffee. "You are going to end up giving me a heart attack."

"The only issue is you don't have a heart." I slid from the counter, slipped past him, and opened the fridge. Old containers that once held butter and Cool-Whip lined the shelves, all filled with leftovers Death made long before I joined him.

"I'm soulless, not heartless." With a wave of his hand the cup reformed and the coffee evaporated. He poured himself another cup and took a careful sip. "The noodles should still be good, I made them last century."

"Don't you have any pizza?" I said, bending to look at the lower shelves.

"Technically, I do. Would you consider it pizza? Probably not. Don't stand up." Death reached over my head into the deep fog swirling in the back of the fridge. He pulled out a ceramic plate. "Here you go."

I took it from him. "It doesn't look too- Can I quit?" I asked while staring at the pizza.

"No, and why?"

"Because I cannot work for someone who thinks eating pineapple and broccoli on pizza is okay." I shoved the monstrosity he called pizza into his hands. He nearly dropped the plate, but saved it at the last second.

"The sauce is made from pickle jelly."

"Is that supposed to make it less disgusting? Because it doesn't. In what part of your mind would it make things better?"

Death stared at the pizza. He placed it in the fridge, before closing the black doors. Fingerprints covered the surface. Some of them were smaller, but Death was pretty young when he started living here if my cloak was anything to go off of. Death drained the rest of his coffee and placed the mug aside.

"It's not like I was the one who wanted it, or thought it would be good. We had a competition a while back on who could come up with the most disgusting pizza. Whoever won would have theirs become a thing on Earth. I think Rafe won." A sigh left Death's lips and he stared into the distance, eyes focused on nothing. I waved my hand in front of his face. He didn't react. I frowned.

"Was it really that bad?" I asked.

Death jolted back into reality. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. He looked at me. "You know what? I went and did some extra work last night, not that I get paid overtime, but I think I should have enough time to teach you our language."

"Really?" My eyes widened and I leaned forward slightly. The entire time I had been here he's treated me with cold indifference. He talked to me and he's protected me, but everytime he did so it was clear he was doing it because of me being his apprentice, not because he liked me. The fact he let my body hit the ground, and he didn't heal the injuries first cemented that. His job was his first priority, I was just something he could use to make his job easier.

"Yeah. I mean, why not? I owe you for not getting you out of there the moment I sensed her. I'll be back in a minute, I need to grab a book from my study. Stay here."

Death walked upstairs. I rolled my eyes. Where else was I going to go? I might've been a rebellious person, but frankly I was too scared of Death to disobey him. I climbed up ontop of the counter and grabbed a snack from the cabinet. There was a good selection, despite this being a realm of death, rot, and destruction. I closed the cabinet and carefully lowered myself back to the ground. Even though I was dead, the thought of falling didn't sound appealing, maybe because it would hurt or maybe because I'd get laughed at by Death.

I turned around and leaned against the counter, eyes locked on the staircase. No one came down it. Instead, Death popped into existence on top of the table. He didn't notice where he was, and he walked off. He crashed to the floor. Despite covering my mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle my laughter, Death heard me.

"It's not funny, kid."

"Yeah, it kinda is. You need a hand?" I asked, despite having no intention of helping. My attention was elsewhere, and that happened to be on my fruitless struggle to open a pack of gummies.

"I'm good." He picked himself off of the clean wooden floor. One arm held a book against his chest; he placed it on the table. It was a worn, battered paperback. Most of its cover was ripped away, but there was enough to make out half of the title and some sort of picture.

I pushed myself off of the counter. Walking past him, I pushed the gummies into his hand before moving to look at the book. I couldn't read the title, it was written in a language I didn't know, in a script I didn't recognize.

"What do you want me to do with these?" Death asked.

I looked at him. "Open them?" I turned my attention back to the book. A detailed picture of what I assumed to be Hansel and Gretel was half ripped away. Fairy tales, a book full of fairy tales was how I was going to learn how to speak a language.

"I have gloves on."

"Then take them off." I carefully turned the cover and then the title page. The ancient yellowed paper broke apart in my fingers. I didn't see a table of contents, or pictures, but there was a separate piece of paper, one much newer than the rest of the book. My finger closed gingerly around it, and when it didn't instantly disintegrate I pulled it out.

Row upon row of tiny letters and script filled the paper. Some ran left to right. Some ran right to left. Some went down the page while others spiraled in the corners. Every second I looked at the microscopic writing, the more my eyes strained. Once I stared at it long enough to give me a headache, I realized it was supposed to be like the Rosetta Stone. Each line of writing was the same sentence, just in different languages. I don't know how I figured that out, considering there wasn't a language I knew on it.

I heard a drawer open and shut. The noise repeated with Death mumbling about never being able to find a pair of scissors. Metal rattled, then the snip of scissors as Death cut the packet open. He sat it and the scissors on the table.

"There," he said, moving a chair over. It scraped against the floor making the corner of my mouth twitch in discomfort. Death sat down with one leg crossed over the other. "Can I see that?" He didn't wait for my response before snatching the paper from my hands. He looked it over and dropped his head onto the table.

"Uh, are you okay?" I asked, reaching out a hand to prod his shoulder. He flinched away from my touch, and I withdrew my hand.

"I forgot just how many variants there are." His toned arms covered his head, fingers clasped. "I thought this was the full list of languages, but it's only our language an all six-thousand-five-hundred-sixty-one variant of it."

I opened my mouth, only to find no coherent thought could leave it. Shock was the main reason, but the gummy I was choking on certainly didn't help. A hard hit on my back knocked it clear, and Death looked at me.

"You okay?

I nodded, forcing myself to swallow. The feeling of something stuck in my throat didn't pass. I wanted a drink of water, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference. Death's eyes were still trained on me. "I'm fine. Thanks. And please don't tell me that I have to learn all of those."

Death drew a sharp breath, the type of inhale that told me I wasn't going to like what he said. Good news, I was right. Bad news, I was right. "Well..."

"Goodbye, cruel world." I pushed off the table, tipping the chair back, and hitting the floor. A jolt shot through my body and my back ached, but it quickly disappeared."Kid, you're being dramatic."

"Sorry, I'm dead. I can't hear you."

"I am literally Death."

"Nope, there's nothing. Just a light. Great-Gramamma is that you?"

Death sighed. His chair scooted back, hitting my leg. He knelt beside me. "Kid, how about I make you a deal? If you can summon Hell's Fury and Heaven's Grace again by the time I get back, I'll figure out an easier way how to teach you."

"I don't know how I summoned that stuff in the first place." All I remembered was the blind panic and adrenaline of a weapon flying straight at my face. Whether they appeared because of that or because of something else entirely, I couldn't say. All I knew, all I could figure out, is I shouldn't have been able to.

"Well-" Death stood up. "-if you don't figure it out by the time I get done with my duties today, you can say goodbye to any free time. You'll be hitting the books from now until the apocalypse. See you at dinner."

Wind blew through the room, despite the lack of open windows, and he disappeared. I stood and righted the chair. The piece of paper caught my eye. I picked it up and looked at all of the different variations, before putting it back down.

"Guess I know what I'm doing today," I said. The next half hour of my afterlife involved gathering material, and I spent the next hour trying to find a suitable place to build what I needed. Actually building the makeshift slingshot took probably ten minutes, which I spent muttering quiet thanks to the kids from detention who taught me how to make them, albeit on a smaller scale. Death wasn't going to be happy with me, which made me hesitate, but ultimately my dislike if studying won out. After all, he never said I couldn't use stuff from around the house.

Bungee cords, rubber bands, and everything elastic I could find were twisted into two bands. A towel tied around them made the cup to place stuff in, while a trigger mechanism made of various materials was somehow working as planned. I didn't know how, but I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it was making less work.

Once everything was in place, including one of the fifty coffee mugs I was using for ammo, I stood directly in front of the loaded slingshot, with the pull rope in hand. Taking a deep breath, I pulled it.

As it turns out, shooting ceramic mugs at yourself using a homemade slingshot is not a good idea. Something I should've realized long before not only building the slingshot, but being covered in bruises. They ranged from a slightly darker shade of gray to completely black. Blood, or whatever the ghost equivalent of it is, trickled down my face. Oddly enough, when some of it got in my mouth from my busted lip, it still had the sharp metallic taste of blood, just mixed with dirt. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Despite the numerous mugs that flew directly at my face, nothing happened. No power stirred deep inside me, no light, no weird stuff around my arms, not even Luci popping up through the ground to try to steal the piece of chocolate in my pocket. Worst of all, there was nothing to keep me from studying a list of languages longer than any essay I'd written for school.

On the bright side, I didn't have to worry about my body hear melting the chocolate.

A branch dug into my back as I laid on the ground, staring up at the overcast sky. Light flashed among the clouds, but there no thunder followed. A faint shadow cast over me and I turned my head. Death stood above me, his cloak tossed over his shoulder and his hair blowing in the breeze. His scarf hung loose around his neck as if he had just pulled it down.

"Do you want to explain why all of my mugs are lying shattered on the lawn?" he asked.

"I thought it was kinda muggy out here. And I left dome of them." Past him, I watched as the mugs reassembled. As soon as the last one did, I closed my eyes.

"Did you figure out how to use those powers?"

"Does it look like I figured it out?"

"You look like you got trampled during the running of the bulls. Are you bleeding?"

"Probably." I gave an awkward on the ground shrug. Did he not see the blood pouring from my lip? "I took a mug to the side of the head."

"A mug like this?"

I opened my eyes, expecting to see him holding one for me to look at, not for on to come hurtling towards my face. A yelp broke past my lips and I threw my arms up above me. Light and fire erupted around my forearms, blocking the mug. I sat up, and I chucked the mug at Death.

"Was that really necessary?!" I yelled, glaring at him. My lip hurt with each word and expression I made. And of all the thing Death chose to do, he had the audacity to laugh. He sat beside me and pulled off one of his gloves. "Yeah, because it proved that wasn't a freak occurrence. You can actually summon that stuff, which you should be happy about." The smooth material of his glove rested on one side of my face, holding it steady as he healed the large gash on the side of my head. His ungloved hand moved and with it went the sensation of my flesh knitting itself back together. When he healed my busted lip, we looked anywhere but each other, trying make the situation less awkward.

When he finished healing the cuts, that's when I said, "But you're home already."

"The cafe had to close early today, something about a roach infestation."

"Does that mean I don't have to study until the apocalypse?

"Unless you want to. I'm pretty sure God has some books on these." He gestured to my arms. "It'll be easier for you to read them, than for me to explain something I know nothing about. Like that one uncle who's convinced he's always right."

"Do you have an uncle like that?" I asked.

Death shook his head and stood up. "Not an uncle, but I know some people like that. Come on, I'll make us some grilled cheese. Just clean this up before you come in."

I watched Death walk away, his form disappearing beyond a patch dead trees and rocks. I moved my eyes to the mugs scattered around the area, and the disassembled slingshot. Looking at the ribbons, the thought of practice rose into my mind. Getting control over these powers seemed like a logical idea, but I doubted Death would be happy to repair his mugs again. Picking up the mugs by hand would go faster, and have less chance of me screwing up. My stomach growled which made me make up my mind. Mug after mug went into the box, until no more littered the ground. I lifted the box. The mugs clinked against each other with my every step, chiming with sharp sounds. The cardboard began to slip from my hands with the porch within view. I sped up, barely making it up the steps. I balanced the box on one leg and I kicked the door with my foot. I waited and it began falling again. It slipped from my grasp. The door swung open and Death caught the box before it crashed.

I followed him in and slipped off my shoes. My foot slid out from under me, but I quickly righted myself. Padding carefully over to the counter, I crossed my arms on the smooth surface. I stared at the ribbons and fire. When I looked away, I didn't see after images and I felt no building headache, so I found myself staring deep into the light. "Do you know how to get rid of these?"

"Like I said, kid, I'm not going to try to teach you about something I know nothing about." He placed the box beside the stove. One by one, he pulled the mugs out, putting them back in the cabinet where they belonged. His shoulders fell as he looked in the box. He put the last mug away before tossing the box into the corner. "Food's on the table."

Two plates sat on the table with carefully folded napkins beside them. I sat down and dug into my grilled cheese. The flavor filled my mouth, making me hum in appreciation. It tasted so good, much better than any I had eaten when I was alive. "How are you better at making these than anyone else who's ever made me one?" I asked.

"Practice." The reply was softer than usual; he sat down.

"Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, but no smile rose up. "I'm just thinking about how I'm going to get those books from God. If I have do explain this to him, things might get ugly." He finished the rest of his meal and stood up. "Do me a favor and close your eyes."

I did what he asked. The darkness of my eyelids was a welcome- Soft lips pressed against my forehead. I flinched, the chair nearly falling back. "What was that?!" Each word that fell from my lips didn't feel right, they felt like they were some different language even though my ears heard them as perfect English.

"It's the easiest way to teach someone languages," Death said. "Congratulations, you're fluent in every language. Go get your scythe." He grabbed his cloak and shrugged it on. He flipped his hood up.

"Why?" I scrubbed at my forehead.

"We're going to go celebrate. Who do you want to kill first? The abuser or the trafficker?"

Chapter: 3,108

Book: 18,542

My phone is almost dead. Fun.

I want food.

See yah