“So, who’s going to die today?” asked Death, leaning back into his vintage Eames chair. The room was cool and bright, light from the bright summery day was beaming into the office from over the skyscrapers. He (if you could call him that) was dressed in a light gray suit, sporting a black tie and shoes. His feet took their time ascending the desk and found their place on the corner, propped one atop the other. The notebook lay sprawled on his lap now, the pen clicking repetitively in his hand.

Across the planet from that stylish New York City office, a 13 year old girl named Sophie was laid out on a grassy hillside. At the foot of the hill was the valley, and littered throughout the valley was a mixture of reds whites yellows and purples. The wildflowers had taken over this particular area, and would run rampant for the next few months. Sophie herself used to run rampant through these fields, either with her friends chasing her, or her dog Murphy sprinting ahead of her looking happier than ever before to be enjoying a most beautiful day.

Her blond hair complimented the daisies which surrounded her and her companion was panting away next to her on the blanket. She looked down at him and wondered if he ever broke into a sweat beneath all that dark fur. She was sweating now despite it being a cool 70° out.

Sophie’s parents were leery to let her roam from the house or be on her own at all since she was so weak lately. They knew better though, that if they tried to stop her she’d only make it her mission to do what she wanted.

Sophie laid back onto the picnic blanket and closed her eyes. She could feel the sun beaming down onto her face. For half an hour she laid there, lost in her thoughts, worried about the impact she’s left in her time here. Her face chilled, and she felt the shadow creep over her head. When she opened her eyes, there he was.

She wasn’t scared, and instead looked up at Death with intrigue and a mild agitation. After a few moments, and based on the outfit, she knew her time was up. She sat up, studied Death closely, and only asked one question of her captor: “Can you make sure Murphy makes it back to the house? He’s quite clumsy.”