When I was young, not even ten yet, my mom looked me straight in the eye and told me I wasn't special.She told me like it was no big deal, like she was just reminding me to take the trash out. She said, "there's no point in aiming for the stars. You're just like everyone else, and you'll be much happier if you accept that now. You're not special."What she said wasn't wrong, I guess.We all think we're the main character. We all think we're destined for some greater good.Some of us go through our entire lives waiting for some escape that will never come. Some great destiny or fate, some undeniable proof that we mean something. I was not one of those people. I knew, life was simple. You were born, you lived, then you die. That's it. There's no bigger meaning to it.But having that mentality from such a young age, did something to me.It made me not care about relationships, romantic or otherwise. I mean, we're all just going to die, so what's the point in getting attached?What's the point in aiming for more?
I remember my sister cried when my mother told us this. She was younger than me, by three years. She still had the dreams of a child, and my mom made sure those were crushed early on. She repeated that same line to me so many times throughout my life, they didn't even sting anymore when she said them at some point. "You're not special." Like a mantra.
I thought about that moment a lot throughout my life, and for some reason, it was the memory that flashed through my eyes as I died, laying in the road.Even the panicked, yelling voices were disappearing now.My mother's sharp green eyes stare into my soul as I feel my heart slowing down."You will never be special. Stop trying now."I sigh, or I try to. I don't think there's any breath left in my lungs anymore.You were right, mom.But I wish you hadn't been."Hellloooo?" Jab. "Hey. Hey. Hey." Poke. "Heeeeeeey!""Jesus fucking Christ." I curse, sitting up and inhaling breath into my lungs desperately. My eyes dart around frantically, trying to absorb where I am.Which apparently was... nowhere? Like... there's nothing. Just blackness around me."He hasn't worked for us in centuries! I wish people would stop giving him so much credit." My eyes shoot to the floating boy in front of me. My brain was too confused to even linger on the fact that he was floating like there was no gravity in the room. Which, I guess I was too."What the fuck..." I rub my eyes, trying to understand something about what was happening to me right now.Last I remember...I saved that girl. And got hit by a car in thanks."Am I... dead?" I ask, looking at my hands and then back up to the boy. His legs were crisscrossed, and he was leaned forward eagerly, staring into my eyes with his totally white ones. Creepy. His hair matched in color, totally white, long and shaggy. His skin was pale and perfect looking, and in contrast to his white character color, he wore a blood red hoodie and black pants, along with matching black leather boots. He was tall and lanky and had all sorts of tattoos on his neck, face, and hands. There was what looked like a snake head coming up on his hand from his arm, and I could see thick black lines outlined in thin red ones. Not to sound weird, but I've never wanted a guy to take his shirt off more before in my life."You sure are, buddy." He grins at me, and I glare. I am not his buddy. And I'm not loving his giddy attitude about me being dead."Who are you? Where am I?" I ask. I'm surprised my body doesn't hurt. I reach my hand up and touch my head gently. No wound. I'm glad at least I never really had to feel any pain. I always thought getting hit by a car would hurt, but I guess if you get hit hard enough and in the right spot, you don't even have time to feel pain before you die. I wonder how fast the car was going. The speed limit on that street was only forty, but people liked to show off to the walking people going from bar to bar. I wasn't the first person to get creamed on that street, and I doubt I'll be the last."I'm York, or Y, whichever you prefer." "Y?" What the hell kind of a name is that? "And you're in the... processing phase of death." I shake my head, but he holds his hand up before I can ask anything else. "Let me explain." He clears his throat dramatically, and floats forward a little so he can stare into my eyes. I narrow my gaze at him, but don't back away. His completely white eyes are very unsettling. What is he?"You, my handsome friend, died protecting another human, for no selfish reason other than it was the right thing to do." I nod a little. I guess I did. Did that mean I was getting in heaven or the happy dream palace or what? "However." York grins evilly at me then, and I swallow. "In the midst of your pure act, you had some very impure thoughts.""I feel like it's normal for anyone to regret-"
"Hush, I wasn't done." I flinch when he pushes his finger against my mouth. I smack his hand off, and he shakes his head a little, crossing his arms. "So rude. As I was saying." He clears his throat, and I roll my eyes. "You saved someone's life and lost yours because of it, and if that had been the end of it, you would've been offered a spot as a Guardian."
"But because that's not the end of it..." I try to get him to get to the point. What's a Guardian? Sounds good, I guess.
"Because you immediately regretted saving her life, you no longer meet the requirements to become a Guardian of human souls. It does mean; you meet the qualifications to become a Reaper." He held his arms out then like he was celebrating something, grinning ear to ear at me.
This wasn't real, was it?