VisDare – Death

The kid is wearing a striped hoodie, faded jeans, and worn out sneakers. I remember a song one of the humans wrote. The times are definitely a changin’. He walks up to me and I see how young he really is. He can’t be a day older than a hundred years. I shake my head.

“You the intern?” I ask him.

His scythe is decorated with doodles and stickers. He smiles up to me and answers, “Yes, sir. The name’s Mictlan but my friends call me Mick.” Mick. Ridiculous name for a Death. He holds out his hand. I ignore it.

“Yes, I know your name. It’s here in your record. Your father’s Mictlantecuhtli?”

He nods.

“He is a very great Death. Does his job well and efficiently. I won’t go easy on you just because you’re his son. You got the short end of the stick, kid. I won’t be nice ”

“I expect nothing less, sir.”

Again, he holds out his hand. I ignore it.

“Follow me.”

I can hear him behind me, dragging his scythe to the ground. “Don’t do that,” I say without looking back. I massage the bridge of my nose. Times they’re a changin’.