“So, who’s going to die today?” The deep, loud voice of Director Goldstone rings through the murky gymnasium.

I clench my fists, trying my best to remain standing still. I’ve survived for a year now, leaving the whole squad to know me as the longest one standing. Everyday I wake up, not with the fear of being chosen, but the need to.

I’d rather be rid of the constant fear of being chosen. I’d rather die all at once but they just never pick me. It makes me wonder if they’ve forgotten about my existence altogether.

My eyes scan the crowd of people standing in fifteen rows to be precise, with twenty people dressed in a dull blue in each row. Each day they bring in someone new and kill someone else to keep the number at a constant three hundred.

“It seems Ms.Lombardi is late with the chits today.” Director Goldstone grumbles, rubbing his salt and pepper beard. However, his voice dulls out into the background when I meet the eyes of a tall, dark haired boy standing two rows next to me.

My breath catches and I know I need to look away, but I can’t seem to. I don’t know his name. I never bothered to learn it knowing one day, he’d be chosen like all the others. Even if I don’t fear myself to be chosen, I am terrified of the day this beautiful stranger is.

He flashes me a smile, his green eyes glistening with something that is very scarce in here: happiness. It almost disgusts me. What is he so cheery about? What’s there to be happy about?

But I’m also shocked. How is he so bold enough to do something so out of formation? We aren’t allowed to move. To speak. Not even to blink. They give us a serum that makes it easier to not move, but we still have control, and when someone does blink, they’re taken to the… chambers.

And he dares to smile.

I look away immediately, my breath catching in my throat. Even if I am not afraid of death, I am afraid of torture.

“Ah, fuck it.” Director Goldstone exclaims, uncrossing his arms. His burly figure walks down the first row, scanning the people there. Then the second row. Then third. Then the one in which the handsome stranger stands in.

Director Goldstone stops in front of the boy, his eyes lighting up with a sociopathic look of amusement. Only such a maniac would find pleasure in killing a bunch of teenagers.

Teenagers.

Am I still a teenager? Or am I a legal adult now? No. That isn’t possible. I’ve been here a year and I was last sixteen. So maybe I’m seventeen now?

“Hm.” Director Goldstone strokes his beard, scanning the boy. “I suppose it will be like old times! When I used to handpick you all!” He chuckles.

I wasn’t here from the start of the organization, but I have recollection of someone telling me about how Goldstone would pick the person that would die. Obviously, the person that told me was chosen.

It’s good I didn’t ask for her name.

“You, Subject Sterling.” My heart leaps in my chest. He picked the boy. I already feel my heart racing, my breath quickening. No. Pick me instead - I want to scream.

And his last name, at least I know it now.

Director Goldstone walks away, beckoning two men in white suits closer with two fingers. I cannot watch this time. No. I can’t. I can’t see him die in front of me.

The men grab one of his shoulders each, and drag Sterling to the front of the gymnasium. My eyes widen and fear begins bubbling in my chest after a long time.

Another man, wearing a protective white suit walks up to Sterling and Director Goldstone. He carries a large syringe with a murky purple-ish blue liquid in it. I don’t know what it is, but I know what it does.

I want to close my eyes but then I remember that I used extra serum this morning, so that I don’t blink at all. My heart pounds in my chest and I clench my fists once more, trying to think of anything else to distract myself from the scene in front of me.

But I can’t. My mind seems to have gone numb. Why did I bother to even look at his face? Why did I allow my mind fall into countless delusions? Why did I let myself fall in love with a person whose name I didn’t even know?

Whose death was inevitable?

The man in the protective suit uncaps the syringe, bringing it to the boy’s neck. When the man injects him, the boy finds me in the crowd again and winks. I stumble back when the mysterious liquid makes an effect, causing the boy’s eyes to immediately turn bloodshot and for blood to start oozing from them as well. He coughs up blood, then falls slack onto the white floor.

The last thing I feel is someone stick a needle into my neck, then two arms catching me when I begin to asleep.

Time is precious. I know how important that saying is as the bringer of death. You never know when you will be robbed of it. However, that saying has not stopped me from lingering near the hospital room of a certain young woman.

I call it a malfunction, humans would call it love. Or maybe infatuation. I am incapable of loving, after all.

Strangely, I keep on finding myself watching her when I am not torturing humans with the news of their death. She simply… intrigues me, one could say.

I know me lingering near the little human harms her- but I cannot help myself. She is too tempting to resist and laying my eyes upon her is the closest I can get to her.

She definitely sees me. She knows death lingers close to her but I wonder if she knows why. Maybe she thinks she is deserving of something so unpleasant as death but I do not know, for I can only bring death, not read minds.

I often try getting close to her but it does nor go my way- well- maybe it does considering when I am close to her, she is closer to her death.

So I linger at the door, my scythe in hand and my hood upon my head, watching her.

She is beautiful, I let myself admit. Fiery red hair, eyes green as a meadow in springtime but just devoid of life. Even when she looks so dull, she does not fail to mesmerize me. She truly is beautiful- and I truly should not have picked eighteen to be the age I set into.

I forgot how hormone-driven one can be at eighteen and it does not seem to dull down even when I’ve been on Earth for millennials.

“Are you the grim reaper?” She asks me one day, finally bold enough acknowledge me.

I, however, am not bold enough to reply.

“Do grim reapers not speak?” She asks another day, her eyes burning with curiosity.

Still, I did not respond, only disappeared.

“Are you here to kill me today?” She asks one Friday.

Now, I have gathered the courage to speak.

“No.” I say, my voice a deep, hollow rumble. It lacks any liveliness, any joy. Much unlike the woman in front of me, who puts on her best smile despite the fact that death lingers closer to her.

“Why don’t you? Shouldn’t you be doing your job?” She raises her eyebrows, looking at me piercingly despite her vulnerable position of almost-laying down on a hospital bed.

“I do do my job. Visiting you is just what I do on my time off.”