Introduction: After accidentally releasing the entire Underworld's population, the Reaper is banished to Earth, forced to work amongst the living. With the help of his teenage cheerleader assistant, Madison, he must fetch the undead and deceased who roam the planet.
A Holy Message
"Aha!" Lucifer yelled as he slayed the Reaper at Mario Kart,"Who d’ya worship now?"
"Whatever…" the Reaper grumbled. "I’ve got work to do."
"Bruh, you said that, like five hours ago. Besides, I put Hot Pockets in your microwave."
"Last one to the kitchen is a Demigod!" the Reaper dashed through his fresh-out-of-the-can suburban home.
In a bite of a Twinkie, a flash of light erupted from the ceiling before he could reach his beloved goal. Three all too familiar figures emerged from the brightness, beginning their slow descent to the ground, as the fun, relaxed atmosphere in the house instantly evaporated…
“What now?” he asked the three angels that stood before him. Michael, Israfil and of course, Gabriel, clip board in hand stood there with identically sleepy grins.
“Greetings from the Celestial Council, Mr. Reaper,” enunciated Gabriel, flipping through the pages of his clipboard. “We bring an important announcement from the Holy ones.”
“Fun's over,” he heard Lucifer scoff before the ground suddenly caved in and he disappeared back into Hell. The angels expressed mock relief as he left.
|"Aha!" Lucifer yelled as he slayed the Reaper at Mario Kart,"Who d’ya worship now?"|
“Let me guess,” sighed the Reaper, “I'm in trouble.”
“Yup,” answered Michael. He was intensely admiring his reflection in his sword. “You've got a few ghost problems on your hand.”
“As in?” If the Death God had a forehead it would have creased. What could have possibly happened in one lazy afternoon?
“It seems the dead are procrastinating... their death,” Israfil scratched his ear, visibly embarrassed.
|“Greetings from the Celestial Council, Mr. Reaper...”|
Gabriel coughed, stepping back into the spotlight. “Evidently, the stairway to Heaven is a high one. It takes the deceased an average of three days to ascend. As of late, an increasing number of souls have been avoiding their climb into the heavens, preferring to roam earth rather than endure a final workout.”
“Pff, Americans,” snorted the Reaper, now stuffing Hot Pockets into the void of his hood.
“The point is, we need an alternative. Something else they can climb. The council asks that you construct something modern for new souls.”
“Like an escalator?”
“Yes! Precisely! One of those modern machines... That is exactly what we need. You, Mr. Grim Reaper, shall build us an Escalator to Heaven! Send us your blueprints and we'll supply you with the necessary paperwork. Good day Mr. Reaper,” with that, the angels cheered, and ascended back into the Holy light.
“Alrighty then,” the Reaper rolled up his sleeves, revealing absent upper limbs. “Let's do this!”
Grabbing his scythe, he picked up his pocket Ouija to call his assistant, Madison. They were on a mission to get the dead in shape. Little did he know, this was the beginning of the biggest procrastination problem in undead history.
Sit back in your recliner and grab the remote, because the dead are about to get lazy...
Chapter II next month!