The Worst Part of the Job

I hate this part of the job. It’s ironic if you think about it. I, the God of Death, understand the value of a human life more than most. The new girl hasn’t messed up yet, but it only a matter of time. The god of life before her, George, treated them like playthings more than anything else, and before him was Darwin, who kept changing them until they were “perfect”. I do wonder if he reached that goal before Madam Order fired him. However, that is unimportant right now. I have to focus on the job at hand, no matter how much I hate it.
Most humans are given a chance to live however they want. Most of them don’t get to because of their foolish governments, but they had the chance to try. However, for a life to end at such a young age, it is just criminal. Robbing them of even the chance to actually live. Unfortunately it is my job to take them with me, so that they can be judged. I’ll take comfort in the fact that they probably haven’t done anything they can be punished for. I only wish they could be rewarded for what they wanted to do.
It is in these far too common moments that I am forced to question everything I ever knew about the universe. If the world was truly as just as I was lead to believe it to be, why can an innocent child who barely had a chance to live be on my list? It is in these moments that I remember what it was like to be mortal all those eons ago. I remember the feeling of sympathy, and wonder how the judges do what they do, without a single thought.
I have lingered for too long. I still have more work to do. Sleep well child, may the afterlife be kind to you; I am sorry I can’t do more.