The world has gone awfully quiet, yet the sound of escaping souls screaming ring in my ears. The air reeks of sickness and the streets that were once so full of life are abandoned.
My workload has increased.
When I have more souls to collect it is typically because a war has taken over the world. This time is different; this time it is a different type of war, a war fought with a different set of weapons.
While I usually gathered souls from battlefields, I now gather them from hospital beds. These souls are more fragile than usual, so I take care of them with extra care. Some struggle to come with me while others oblige. Only a few fight to keep living, until their bodies give out. Sometimes I wish to leave them, to let them live; but I cannot control when it is their time. As I carefully lift them from the beds, the world seems to be in chaos around me. During a time of such quiet, chaos continues to exist. Humans rush around the rooms to assist the living and to dispose of the dead. As much as it is possible for me, it breaks my heart to sooner rather than later collect the souls of these people. Like I said, I have no control over my schedule.
The permanent remnants of disease now cover my cloak. Yes, the spirit of disease does leave residue. The majority of souls these days carry such a residue. I gather souls from beds all around the world, more in some parts than others. Once in a while I see other humans weeping at their bed sides, while times they are completely alone when I come for them. I don't usually feel like I am robbing life when I go about my work, but this time is different. Wars are ignited by the human's need for power and wealth. This time, no human is at fault. This time, it is out of their fleshy hands.
Now that I think about it, maybe it isn't. On my rounds, I have observed humans on the streets with signs, firearms, and no form of protection. I do not think it's a coincidence that I collect even more souls after such demonstrations.
I have been doing my duty for as long as time, yet I begin to tire of the excessive amount of souls. There are simply too many souls to collect, and it has been this way for months. Not one hospital bed is ever empty and the unaware continue to protest in the streets. The sound of coughs and cries shake me to the bone. A vicious cycle never ends as the ignorance of human kind leads to more work for me, which leads to more humans isolated, which leads to more ignorance. The weight of the countless souls I carry put pressure on my shoulders.
Now, some say that I must love this, as war is my best friend; but this isn't any kind of war. This is a pandemic.