#i guess i selfishly want to treat myself with something nice this summer

[cosmojjong]

i don't think it's registered yet in my brain that i'm gonna see shinee after a whole decade of stanning them

[spindle-legged-crane-blog]

Beka's Beginning

“You think I like treating her that way? You think I enjoy punishing the little brat? Well, do you? Do you, Bobby? She deserves everything I give her.” My mother’s voice filled the tiny suburban home at a shrill octave.

“Miranda, it was only an accident. It’s not like any of your friends are going to see it anywa– ,” Mom interrupted Dad before he could even finish.

“That’s not the point Bobby! The little brat wasn’t supposed to be in the garage in the first place or messing with the cans of paint!”

Something slammed against a counter as glass shattering a moment later into the kitchen sink down the hall.

“You refuse to discipline her, Bobby. So I’m the one that has too. Just go back to your computer and let me deal with the little monster.”

I can almost see how my Dad would respond, his large shoulders slumping forward as he gave his glass of brandy a tired swish. Then slowly he would push away from the kitchen table, drain the glass before it began to sweat with condensation and stand. The ice within the glass would click quietly as he set it down on the table and begin to slowly make his way back to his office where he would then go on craigslist and make a post asking for girls who would do dirty things. I saw the emails one time when my dad had to run to the store and Mom was at her book club.

Mom would then finish cleaning up the kitchen before slowly making her way down the hall, the heels of her shoes clicking angrily along the wooden floor. The closer she got to my bedroom the more I began to wish I was dead because death would be easier than being beaten for spilling paint on the garage floor. And maybe, once I was dead, I’d be able to rest with the only person who had loved me and stood up to Mom.

I was able to time how long the beating would be, down to the minute because it had happened often enough. Sometimes she would have a belt, sometimes not. She would always come though and grab me by the hair I had to keep long. Once she was done I would always feel different. That maybe just this once I didn’t deserve it; not that time. And I definitely didn’t want to be dead because I didn’t want to give Mother the satisfaction. But then I would go to bed and the next morning I would feel like I deserved it for sure, every time until that last.

I’ve been thinking about those times a lot recently. Many people say that knowledge is power. I don’t know about that personally, but knowledge definitely has something to do with everything because if I had known 6 months ago what I knew now I definitely wouldn’t have run away from home and I wouldn’t be living on the streets for that matter either. I’d have told an adult and gotten help.

Have you ever been camping? Well sleeping on a stoop or in an alley is never fun, summer or winter. That’s where I am though, so I might as well make the best of it, right?

It’s hard to make the best of something when you’re freezing to the very bones. Huddled beside a plastic trash bin and a heap of something that distinctly smelled like sour gym socks and rotten milk, I bring my hands together and rubbed furiously, the ripped wool scraping against chapped skin. The wince sliced against me like a frozen blade. My tears filling up and spilling over at the pain, freezing against my skin; it’s better the pain than to be numb though, because then I’d surely be dead.

Tilting my head back I feel my wool beanie catch on the rough brick wall of the building just at my back, cars driving down the dark streets at the end of the alley. Children cried in the apartment building down the block, harmonized only by the sound of a dogs bark. The moonlit sky had swallowed up the glorious and proud sun and made everyone feel its loneliness. Studying the black sky I can’t help but wonder why we humans so selfishly make the earth so bright that we outshine the very stars.

With the passing minutes the cold seemed to fade. I knew I was still shivering but it just didn’t matter as much anymore. I was a vagabond, living on the streets. The clothes I was wearing I had found in the trash or being worn by other sleeping bums. Or at least I hoped they had been asleep; the idea of being a grave robber just didn’t sit well with me.

“Why does it never cease to surprise me that you would have taken so long to find?” I look up to see who had spoken. He was a tall man, roughly seven feet tall dressed all in black; black dress shoes, black slacks and she assumed a nice black dress shirt underneath the black jacket with the fur rimming the hood. One wild guess the fur was. But beneath all of that absence of color the man itself was pale as milk, cheek bones so sharp that they looked concave.

“Got any spare change?” Lightly I ran my tongue over cracked lips, raising a trembling hand up and out towards the stranger. I felt like I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t.

“None for you, Beka, not that you’ll be needing it.” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a white stick, rubbed white and smooth from years of use and roughly as long as a ruler.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everyone’s name, Beka, especially yours. Feeling cold? Wouldn’t surprise me, with that thin coat you’re wearing.”

“Give me enough change and maybe I can buy a nice thick jacket like the one you’re wearing.” I stared at him as my hand dropped to my side, knowing he wouldn’t give me any money. Pity, I could have really gone for a juicy burger. Or even a dried out McDonalds burger, depending on how much change he had.

The man stared down right into her eyes; the dark depths of his own seemed to burn with hellfire. If I had been normal I might have pee’d myself, but I wasn’t and I wouldn’t let this man scare me. Leaning forward he reached out and I realized with a start that he wasn’t wearing any gloves. When his skin touched mine they seemed colder than winter itself as he gripped my chin

“I’ve been waiting for your birth. Your about 30 years late but I think under the circumstance I can forgive you.”

Okay, so maybe this man was just a little bit insane? Finding renewed strength in my limbs, I forced myself up and stepped away from this psycho. He began to twirl the stick between his fingers and for a moment I could swear I heard something slicing through the air like a knife.

“Who are you? What do you want?” My voice raised up an octave and for a moment I was fearful of what he could have wanted from me. Realizing that it only made me angrier.

“I go by many names. The Ankou, Dullahan, Cù Sìth, Śmierć, Hel, Pesta. Giltinė, Yamaraja, Yanluo, The Great King Yomna, La Santa Muerte and my own personal favorite Thanatose. But most just call me The Grim Reaper.”

The man smiled, showing teeth as white as moon beams. The sound of a knife slicing through the air became more prominent as he continued spinning that stick.

“As for what I want, well I thought that was fairly obvious. I want your soul, little girl. Now hand it over.”

For a moment the world seemed to stand on its axis, holding its breath as if waiting for what I might say. What could I say though, because the Reaper was here standing before me. Why else would he be here but to take my soul and take it wherever those things went. If he was here then I must deserve to die, just like I deserved all the beatings, all the meals I went without; deserved death like I deserved a mother who hated me and a father who lacked the backbone to care. I must have, right?

Whether I felt I deserved it or not didn’t seem to matter though as Death took a step closer, his approaching steps sounding like heels clicking against a wooden floor. My chest constricted, strangling the air from my lungs as my eyes followed the rising of his arm. The stick was no longer just a stout piece of worn-out wood but the long knobby handle to a scythe. The air it sliced through glowed the faintest of blues as it made its way towards where my soul must have been.

She deserves everything I give her.

The breath rushed to fill my lungs as the scinhk! of the blade came to an abrupt stop.

Let me deal with the little monster.

The rage already inside me flared up more as my fingertips tightened on the metal of the scythe, stopping it mid-arch. The air was no longer cold to me and my one pale green eyes were now as dark as Deaths. My other hand flew out and gripped the handle of the scythe, jerking it towards me. Deaths grip was stronger though and with minimal effort he jerked The Weapon from my hands and sent me to my knees.

“You’ll do, little apprentice. You’ll do. Get your ass off the ground; we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

With a swirl of his coat the man, or was it the god, turned and began to walk away. He reached the end of the alley before he realized I hadn’t followed. Turning he regarded me with an irritated expression.

“What is it now, brat.”

“What work?” My voice shook just a little, to my shame.

“What?”

“What work do we have to do?”

My question must have bored him. With a sigh he waved me over. Rising up to my feet I moved to join him at the end of the alley.

“We have souls to collect and things to destroy that have no souls. Investigate where and why ‘Untimely Deaths’ occur. That’s the basic part of our job.”

“Our job? What if I don’t want to be a Grim Reaper?”

“Then to-fucking-bad. You were born to do it, you deserve it. Now shut up and follow me. We have a Carnival to get too across the country. I wonder what The House of Mirrors has to do with the coming death…” The Reaper grumbled darkly to himself as he walked away but this time I followed him. Little did I know I would be following him for quite a few years before finally I would get to reap his soul and take on the mantle. But that’s a different story.

The Reaper said I was born to this task, that I deserved it. Maybe he’s right, deserve it I probably did. But scary as it seems I wanted it and I didn’t know why. Maybe it was for revenge and I’d get to reap my parent’s souls whenever we got close enough to the suburb. Or maybe I wanted to help those who were stuck in similar situations like I had been. Or maybe I was just insane. Only time would tell and maybe, just maybe if you’re still alive I’ll tell you before I reap that soul too.