Sunrises always made Death cranky. There was just something about brightness that affected his entire mood. He had met the Sun several times before, Sun was always flamboyantly dressed from head to toe. Death suspected he was sexually fluid,
because he swore that he had seen him flirting with men on many occasions despite his claims to be a straight guy however, it never really bothered him because he got free food whenever Sun invited him for his legendary parties. Sun was one of the only few people who actually genuinely treated him as equal. To be honest he was the only one who acknowledged Death whenever they met. He was a beautiful man with tanned glowing skin, golden hair and a really good muscular body. His eyes were like actual stars that could be seen on a telescope, the kind that looked like sparks of gold and red, like a supernova.
Death was grateful that he had Sun, but sometimes he felt Sun was expecting more out of him than just company, so he always made excuses to leave
before things got out of hand. Just then, he felt it. The signal, reminding him that a soul was to be collected soon, a soul that needed his attention. He lifted off the
roof and glided along the lawn before settling on the trees beside her house. He wanted to stay. He wanted to see what else she would
do. But He had to leave, or else he would get into trouble with the Lord of the Underworld. The last time he had forgotten to collect a soul, Lord Tartarus made him
starve. Now, as human beings, we starve when we don’t get food or water, supernatural beings, on the other hand, live off the essence of life itself. Meaning,
for example Gods. They live off one’s faith and prayers, for supernatural beings, like Death, he lived off the essence of a soul, so for every soul, he reaped he would be replenished. He did consume human food, but it wasn’t enough to sustain him forever. A supernatural being’s existence is a lot more fragile than a human life. “Humans have it easy,” his Mother always said. That was what irritated her about the human race. “These humans are nothing more than dirt stuck on our fingernails and yet they have such arrogance. Their main source of food should be money, that’s what they crave for these days anyway,” she had told him many centuries ago when he was just a teenager. Death sighed when he thought of his Mother, she was a lovely woman when she wanted to be, but on most days she was a force to be reckoned with and he found that a problem because she always thought she was right, even when she was wrong, she was always right. Even their own Father, who was even more difficult to deal with, was no match for this force of nature. A long time ago when everything was so innocent and new, when the world was coming into being, when the trees formed and the rivers widened, when life took its first breath, everything was wonderful. His life had been happy and fulfilling. His parents loved him, they loved each other. Everyone got along. Then, men came with their weapons, their steam engines and now guns and ruined it all.
The gods despised the humans for their recklessness. They were disgusted with their abilities to bring destruction wherever they went.
He hated humans too, so much so that he scared them every chance he got, when they were lurking in the alleyways he would sneak up on them and whisper something incoherent in their years. He was the original serial killer, after all. That’s what they called him, a killer, all because he took their lives. Please. He was merely doing his job, a job he would have rather turned down if it weren’t for his parents. His parents were the cause of most of his problems with himself which
was why he refused to live with them and decided to live as a wanderer.