The grim reaper sits before his marble desk, bones drawn across his lap. His robe hangs loose at his sides and the holes in his skull where his eyes used to be feel heavy. Before him are hundreds of millions of glass spheres, like snowglobes, showcasing his work: there sits the miniature body of a man he took from a hospital; there, a mother with her child. Some of them make him feel sad all over again. He knows nobody wants to hear about that. The grim reaper can’t be sad, can’t feel emotion! But he does, and he reaches out towards a particular sphere that means more to him than the others.

A bell rings behind him. His day off is over. He has no time to relive the past. It’s time to reap again.