The Seven Minute Duties of Reaper #357

Genre: fantasy, slice-of-life
Warnings: depressing thoughts about life and existence, existential crisis, implication of animal abuse (it’s not described), some strong language
Word Count: 4,228
Summary: After years of guiding human souls through their final seven minutes, Charlie – Reaper #357 – has become incredibly cynical about their job and life itself. Something needs to change for them or they might just lose their mind.

Excerpt is from the start of the novel

“Wha…what happened?” the young man asked groggily, pressing a hand to his head. He blinked and winced at the bright light around him, and looked around himself. “I was in my car, there was a crash…am I…am I in heaven? Are…are you an angel?”

“Not exactly,” Charlie replied, the boredom already evident in their tone.

They genuinely considered making up some sort of elaborate story about what they were, about the afterlife, forgiveness, nirvana, a higher plane of existence, but ultimately dismissed the notion. Management would not be pleased.

“I am a reaper; number 357 to be exact, and I am here to take you through your life.”

“My life?” The man paused and stared in to space for a moment, realisation slowly dawning over his face, his eyes widening in response. “Oh God…I’m actually dead aren’t I?”

“Almost.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your body is dead…and your mind is following. You have seven minutes left, and in those seven minutes I will take you back through your life so that your soul will be cleansed and ready for whatever comes next.”

*

“Whatever comes next?” the woman asked nonplussed. “What do you mean?”

“Well whatever happens once you die.”

“What will happen?” the woman asked, her voice filling with fear.

Charlie shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I think it’s whatever you want to happen; heaven, reincarnation, nothing. Anyway,” they said, clapping their hands together, “we need to get started. Chop chop!”

*

“I…I can’t believe I forgot about Steve,” another woman said hollowly as she watched the memories from her early twenties play out in front of her. “He was my best friend and I…I just forgot about him…How did I forget about him?”

“You grew apart, different paths, you met a woman, he met another woman, relationships took over, etcetera etcetera,” Charlie sighed. “It happens.”

“I just didn’t think it would happen to me…”

*

The man cried as he watched his younger self, stupefied from alcohol, throwing up in the middle of the living room before engaging in a verbal screaming match with his partner.

“I was such a shit,” he sobbed. “I can’t believe I put Jamie through that…they were so good to me and I…Oh God!” He completely broke down and reached out blindly to Charlie, burying his face against their chest.

Charlie sighed a long-suffering sigh, and patted his back murmuring, “There there.”

*

The woman’s life finished, showing her lying in bed with her children and grandchildren around her. As it faded to black, she fell to her knees, and Charlie smiled in anticipation of the happy tears that would surely follow. It had been a good life, one that was quiet and full of love and family. One that so many of their previous cases had been missing.

“I…God there are so many things I would do differently,” the woman whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Charlie’s face fell and they uttered a flat, “What.”

“Did you see my life?”

“Yes; what was wrong with it?”

“It was so boring! I didn’t get to travel, I gave up on my dreams of art school, I never had a passionate love affair, I didn’t do anything! Well I can tell you, it’ll be different the next time around,” she said, her eyes manic. “I’m going to make sure I do all the thi-“

The woman’s voice cut off as Charlie waved a hand through her, and she faded silently into mist, the colour draining from her as she did. When she had completely disappeared Charlie sighed and muttered, “That’s what everyone says.”

They finished everything up, resetting the room back to its usual appearance; blank walls with only a simple table and chair in the corner. They sat down at the desk, opened the file on it and documented the seven minutes as they had occurred, along with the reactions of the client. Charlie ended the report with their recommendation.

‘Through the expression of their regret the client has demonstrated that although they have failed to grasp the beauty of the life they lead, they have in fact cleansed their soul by understanding what it would take for them to truly appreciate the life they are given. My recommendation (pending the beliefs of the client) is reincarnation.’

Charlie rolled their eyes as they wrote their recommendation; if they were allowed to be completely honest they would recommend that every person who expressed regret with a perfectly decent life lead be sent on to the next stage and not be given another chance. However, it was policy; if a being expressed genuine regret and remorse over their actions they would be allowed another chance.

Another chance to mess it up and regret their every decision yet again.

Report done, Charlie signed the document, closed the file and took it out of the room to hand over to the filing clerk. That done, they made their way to the lunch room for a well-deserved break. That woman had been their twentieth “seven minutes” that day and they were feeling completely drained from the repetitive cycle.

*

“Hey Charlie, what’s up?” one of his co-workers Dylan called out as they entered the room, waving them over.

“Nothing much, just had yet another client who had lead a perfectly lovely life which they then expressed all sorts of remorse and regret over every decision they’d ever made,” Charlie replied in an irritated voice.

“I feel you,” Bridget, who was sitting beside Dylan, said sympathetically as she poked at her jelly. “I had to recommend reincarnation for every single one of my clients today. Still,” she added brightly, “it’s worth it when you get someone who’s truly happy and at peace with their life and is ready to move on.”

“Oh yeah because that happens all the time,” Charlie snorted in reply.

“It does happen.”

“How many times has it happened with you? Because I can tell you that out of the thousands of clients I have had, only ten of them, TEN, have been ready to move on. Humans,” they declared decisively, “are compulsive moaners and begrudgers – nothing’s ever good enough, and even when they’ve had a brilliant life all they can focus on is how much better it could have been. And it doesn’t matter how many lifetimes they’re given, they will never change.”

“Wow, cynical much?” Dylan deadpanned.

“You would be too if you worked with humans.”

“Maybe; I guess we’ll never know,” Dylan replied with a lazy grin.

“I’m going to get some food,” Charlie huffed, turning and walking away.

By the time they returned to the table Sam was sitting with Dylan and Bridget, chatting animatedly with them, a cup of tea in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

“Hey Sam,” they said as they took a seat. “What pronouns are you using today?”

“Hey Charlie, it’s she/her today,” Sam replied with a smile. “How’s your morning been?”

“The usual; yours?”

“It was okay. I had a seven-year-old who died from lukemia, and a toddler with a brain tumour. Mainly happy memories though, and they were very peaceful in the end after our chat,” she told them, a sad smile on her face.

“I would take a thousand moany adults over guiding one child through their life,” Bridget said, and Charlie nodded in agreement.

Like many other reapers, they had applied to work in the paediatric section of the Seven Minute department; the case-load was smaller and you got to spend more one-on-one time with the clients making sure they were fully cleansed and at peace before being sent on. However, they had been rejected and sent to work in the adult section, the reason being that they had overly-sympathetic tendencies when confronted by emotional scenes, while at the same time lacked the ability to effectively communicate with younger clients. It was probably for the best; Sam had told them about some of her more difficult cases when they’d gone for drinks together after work, and all it had taken was the word ‘neglect’ for Charlie to start tearing up.

“I wouldn’t; guiding a young person through their final stage is an incredible privilege and an honour,” Sam replied, “even more so when they’ve had a difficult life. That’s when they need you most.”

“Well fair play to you because I couldn’t do it,” Bridget said, and finally started to eat her jelly.

Charlie quickly finished eating and stood up. “I have a few follow-up reports to catch up on, I’ll see you guys later.”

“We still have half an hour left before lunch ends; come on, stay and chat with us,” Dylan protested.

“Sorry guys, I want to try and get out of here on time for once.”

“You know there’s more to life than reports.”

Charlie laughed, a single snarky ‘ha!’ and replied, “Not in our line of work there’s not.”

“We’re still up for drinks later right?” Sam asked them as they stepped away from the table.

“Sure thing; swing by my office when you’re done.”

Charlie waved and walked off, dumping their empty tray by the bin as they exited the room. They grabbed a coffee, headed to their cubicle, put on their headphones and let the dulcet tones of Einaudi wash over them as they tackled the pile of follow-up reports they had let build up over the week. Ten minutes before lunch ended, they grabbed the files for their afternoon clients and quickly flicked through them. The majority of them were older, in their sixties, seventies, and eighties, but there was one person who had died in their twenties, and one in their forties. They were most definitely not going to be easy. A bell rang, signalling the end of the lunch break and announcing the five-minute warning for all reapers to get to their rooms to meet their first clients.

*

“Why did you decide to be a reaper?” Charlie asked Sam when they were half-way through their third drink of the evening.

Sam stared thoughtfully into the distance for a few moments before finally replying, “I’d just watched my life, and it was fine, nothing special, but I’d had a family and a dog and I’d volunteered in my community working with teenagers, showing them that you can be black and be successful and that education is important. I remember that, once the memories of my life had ended, I just thought that I didn’t know if there was any point in me living another life. Not in a depressed or apathetic way, just in a, ‘I’ve already had a good one, why push my luck? Why run the risk of being reborn as a terrible person?’ Which is probably really selfish; I’d done some good work in that life, and I probably should have gone back and hoped that I would do more good work, but I was afraid of all the ways I might mess things up, all the potential regrets I might have. And I didn’t want it to end either, I just…I wanted something different. So I asked my reaper about what they did and when I heard about the programme I volunteered straight away.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not in the slightest. Yes, I’ve seen some horrible things, and yes there are nights I cry myself to sleep over the lives some of those poor young people have had to endure, but I know I’m helping them to find peace. Do you regret becoming a reaper?”

“Sometimes. A little,” Charlie admitted, staring down into their drink. “I wasn’t a bad person when I was a human, but I wasn’t a good person either. I left India as soon as I could to find a better life in England, and I got a job and a house and a dog who I loved, and I had friends who I loved and I let myself be sucked into the whole middle class bubble of ignorance. I let people think I was a player because I couldn’t face trying to explain to them that I’m aromantic, I never corrected anyone on my pronouns even though it made my skin crawl every time I heard the words ‘he’ and ‘him’ and I never once gave a thought to doing anything to support the community I knew I was a part of. I just thought, ‘what was the point of me? Why should I be allowed another life?’ So I said I didn’t want to be reincarnated, but that the idea of everything just ending terrified me, so my reaper told me that if I wanted to, I could become a reaper. It sounded like a good idea at the time; I’d have a job, something to do for as long as I wanted, and I’d keep my memories so I could finally work up the courage to start being myself. It was great at the time, really brilliant, and I got to change my name and tell other reapers about myself, meet everyone in work and make friends and finally be comfortable with myself…but now… I was always a bit cynical about life; what was the point in doing anything because nothing ever changes, blah, blah, blah. It was one of the things I wanted to change about myself, and I thought that it would, I thought I’d get to see all these different lives and help all these different people and it would be so clear that things do change, only they don’t! They don’t change – everyone makes the same mistakes and has the same regrets, and I don’t…I don’t know if I can be a reaper for much longer,” they finally confessed, their voice full of anger and misery.

Sam had listened attentively as they spoke, humming along and throwing out the occasional, ‘yeah.’ When they had finished speaking she sighed and said, “Oh Charlie,” and Charlie absolutely refused to look at the sympathetic look they knew was on her face, or listen to the pity in her voice. Instead they gulped down the rest of their drink and then stalked over to the bar to get more.

“Have you thought about going to a different section of the department?” Sam asked once they had returned with another round of drinks.

“I can’t go to any of the other sections; I’m not suitable,” Charlie replied bitterly. “I’ve thought about going to a different department, maybe just doing intake processing or dealing with recommendations…but the idea of that makes me feel even more miserable. I need…I need something different. Like something outside of work. Something to give some sort of meaning to my existence.”

“Have you thought about dating? Not like, romantically, but maybe something like a queer-platonic relationship?”

“No, I have literally no interest in that sort of thing,” Charlie replied, shaking their head. “Maybe I need like a hobby or something; I don’t really do much outside of work.”

“That’s probably a good idea; there’s lots of stuff that you can do,” Sam said eagerly. “You could come with me to kickboxing.”

“No thanks,” Charlie replied with a grimace, and then quirked their lips and added, “I was thinking more along the lines of knitting.”

“Whatever helps you out.” Sam shrugged, and then held up her drink. “To finding meaning.”

*

“What do you mean I’m dead?!” the man yelled at Charlie as the end of his life played out before the two of them. “I thought I was in a coma, I thought this was some sort of ‘Christmas Carol’ thing, I thought I’d have another chance!”

“I told you from the start, I’m a reaper and I’m here to guide you through your life.”

“You didn’t explain it properly,” the man argued, tears streaming down his face.

“I did; you didn’t want to hear what I was saying,” they replied firmly. “I’m sorry Mr. Parsons, but you are dead.”

“So that’s it? That’s it?!”

“It depends. You may be born again into another life, or yes, this may indeed be it.”

“I need to be born again, please, I’ll do anything, I need another chance,” the man begged as he fell to his knees. He grabbed Charlie’s trousers and clutched them as he continued to speak through his tears. “This can’t be it; I made so many mistakes. I promise I will do better, I promise I will learn from this, I promise I will -”

The man disappeared in a haze of mist and Charlie continued to stare at the spot where he had been only moments before. A drop of water hit the ground as the room around him went blurry, and Charlie suddenly blinked in surprise as they registered the tears that were welling up in their eyes. They quickly wiped them away, sniffed, and then set the room back in order before sitting down to finish the report.

‘I would strongly recommend reincarnation for the client; he clearly has learned much that will assist him in his next lifetime. This should ensure that he is fully satisfied the next time he enters the Seven Minute department.’

The last report of the day done, Charlie quickly sent it to filing and gathered their things. They had found a notice for a beginner knitting class that met Wednesday evenings and wanted to give themself plenty of time to get to the yarn shop where it was held. Charlie made sure they had their supplies, took a moment to panic over whether or not this was a good idea, reassured themself that it would be fun, and then walked to the exit.

“Charlie! Oh brilliant, I’m glad I found you!”

Charlie groaned and turned to see Dylan running towards him, a file in his hand. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah um, could you do me a favour? I would have asked Sam because she has clearance but she’s already left. I’ve got a date that’s supposed to start in half an hour and I’ve ended up running really late with my clients – there was a parakeet this morning that was being really difficult. Anyway, I have one more left but if I start I’ll be late for my date and I really really like this girl and I want to make a good impression, so could you please take this client for me? Please?”

“What? Dylan, I’m not qualified to work with animals, I’m not cleared for it.”

“No it’s fine, I’ll give you my pass card, and I’ve got the file here. Look it’s a dog, a family pet, died at ten so it must have had a pretty good life. It will be fine, you just sit with the dog, watch the memories, give it a cuddle afterwards and then write the report like you would for any other client. When you finish the report leave it on the desk and I’ll write up my recommendation and hand it in for filing tomorrow. It’ll be easy and you would be really helping me out if you did this.”

Dylan sent Charlie his best puppy dog eyes and Charlie felt their resolve immediately crumble.

“Ugh, okay fine,” they snapped. “Just this once though, and if it gets out you’re taking full responsibility.”

“Yes yes, great, thank you so much,” Dylan cheered, pulling Charlie in to a hug, which the other reaper half-heartedly returned.
He pulled back and handed Charlie the file and his pass card. “You’re a star; I will buy you many many drinks next time we’re out.”

“And chips and curry sauce afterwards.”

“You got it.” Dylan threw them a wink and then rushed off to grab his things and leave.

Charlie waved him off, sighed, returned their things to their cubicle and then headed off to Dylan’s office. They knew that this was a really bad idea, that they and Dylan could get in so much trouble if anyone found out, but it would just be this one time, and Dylan had assured them that it would be easy. Besides, Charlie hadn’t actually been around a dog since they’d been alive themself; it would be nice to get to cuddle up to one for a few minutes. That thought firmly in place, Charlie let themself into Dylan’s office, set the file on the table, checked the name of the dog – ‘George’ – and put the pass card into the slot.

The dog slowly materialised in front of them, his form starting off wispy and in shades of grey, before becoming more defined and solid, colour flooding over his body until he stood in front of them, his tail wagging. He let out a small bark and cocked his head to the side, and Charlie stared at him in slight confusion. George was a small black-and-white dog, looking like a cross between a collie and a terrier, and he was smiling that goofy lopsided smile that Charlie had seen on other dogs. However, he only had one eye, half an ear was missing, and he was painfully thin. He didn’t look like a family pet…Charlie double checked the file and saw that George had been owned by a family, the Smiths, up until he died. Maybe he was a rescue dog?

“Hey there buddy,” Charlie said softly as they crouched down and extended a hand out to the small dog.

George flinched and backed away. Charlie sat cross-legged on the ground, keeping their arm out and waited patiently while George stared at him curiously. Eventually the little dog moved forward and sniffed at Charlie’s hand, moving forward until he was nuzzling Charlie’s chest while Charlie petted his head and scratched behind his ears. When they felt confident that the dog felt comfortable with them, they scooped him up into their arms and stood up.

“Right then boy, let’s have a look at your life eh?”

George yipped and licked Charlie’s face. Charlie laughed and pushed a button on the wall. The room darkened and then suddenly expanded outwards in a burst of life as a room came into view where a mother was laying with her tiny pups. Charlie watched as George was taken from his mother far too early, and passed in to the eager eyes of a smiling child who hugged him close all the way home. They smiled as they watched George and the girl grow up together, practically inseparable as the years went by. The smile started to fade when the girl and her mother died, and George was left alone with the father. By the time George’s life came to an end, showing the thin, battered body lying in a heap on the ground, Charlie was sobbing their heart out and clutching George to their chest while the little dog whined and licked their face.

“You poor thing,” Charlie sobbed, cuddling the little body. “You poor, poor thing. How could he have done that to you? How could you endure it for so many years? Oh it’s not right, it’s not fair!”

They cried and cried until they had nothing left to give, and slumped in a heap on the ground as the room returned to normal, feeling physically and emotionally drained. The sobs slowly faded away and Charlie continued to hug George close as he licked their tears away. Eventually Charlie pulled away and looked down at the little dog, who stared back up at them, wagging his tail and grinning with his tongue lolling out. He barked and butted Charlie’s chest with his head, and Charlie laughed and ruffled the fur around his ears and neck.

“How could anyone mistreat you so you precious little thing. I promise you,” they said, leaning down so their forehead was pressed against George’s, “if he gets assigned to me, I’ll be recommending him for nothingness, rules be damned.”

Charlie hugged George one more time, then placed him on the ground and stood up. This was when they were supposed to send Charlie on, write the report and leave it for Dylan to deal with tomorrow. This was when they were supposed to put what they had seen behind them and head out for their knitting club, when they were supposed to get out and try and find something just for them.

They couldn’t do it.

George cocked his head to the side, and any resolve Charlie had managed to build up immediately vanished.

They sighed miserably, said, “Oh fuck it,” and scooped George up in their arms. They placed a hand against the dog’s forehead and transferred just enough life essence to him so that he could remain corporeal and stable. They placed the dog on the table, opened the report and quickly filled it in, finishing at the point when George’s life had ended. What they were supposed to write next Charlie had no idea, so they left it as it was and closed the file. They grabbed the pass card and file in one hand, scooped George up in the other and left the office. Charlie sprinted to Dylan’s desk, dropped his things on the table, and then made their way to their own desk.

“Be quiet,” they pleaded with George as they threw their coat over him in a poor attempt to hide him from any late workers.

They grabbed their bag, looked around, and then walked as quickly as they could out of the building.