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The Woes of a Second Year Associate Reaper
Technicalities are a bitch. Frank P. Munchausen was required to die at 10:48PM on October 21st, 2017. Unfortunately, I reaped his soul a minute early, at 10:47PM. I mean, the man was unconscious, going to die peacefully in his sleep. I had things to do, places to be, more souls to reap. No big deal to take him a minute early, right?
Wrong. Turns out people reaped early are entitled to compensation under Purgatory tort law. Now, this is a protection mainly to prevent people being reaped long before their time. Maybe get we’ll have to give them a sweet haunting gig, or a way to communicate with their loved ones, or if someone really fucked up, a resurrection or reincarnation, but we’re talking about years early here.
So now we’re being sued over one minute of life. One fucking minute, which by my estimation, given that the average human lives 75 years and is valued at around nine million dollars, is worth 23 cents. And it wouldn’t even have been a minute Frank was for conscious either, so probably is worth even less.
Big D, and by that, I mean Death, and I are sitting on our side of the office behind Big D’s big stone desk. He’s got a flair for the old-world aesthetic, all fire and brimstone: hot lava walls and stone everything. I feel bad for whatever intern had to set up the furniture. Big D is rapping his fingers against the desk, clearly annoyed and losing his patience.
Of course, Frank is twenty minutes late to the arbitration we set up. Typical soul—will cry on and on about the time they lost because of an errant scythe and proceeds to waste everyone else’s time.
Frank’s lawyer is sitting conveniently near the exit, since we’ll be telling him to piss off soon. He holds his arms akimbo, tapping his feet anxiously.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” he says with no trace of confidence.
Everyone is eyeing their watches.
“Well,” Big D starts to say. His voice is a smooth baritone with a choir of a million souls all screaming simultaneously behind it. “It seems as if your client—"
At that moment, Frank bursts through the door, stumbling about. The wet stench of booze permeates the air as his knees wobble, and he slumps into the chair next to his attorney.
“Resurrection, woo!” he slurs.
Frank’s lawyer sits him up straight. “The last minute of a human’s life is without parallel in its worth: it’s the time to say goodbye to family, time to find peace with the end. Lord Death, your boy stole that from my client.” He points to me.
“Oh, that’s horseshit!” I roll my eyes. “Frank wasn’t even—”
Big D holds up a hand in front of me. The message is obvious: stop talking.
I know better than to disobey Big D.
Big D swings his hand over to Frank’s lawyer, gesturing for him to continue.
“We’re prepared to talk about damages. The human spirit cannot be measured in monetary sums, and while my client lost only a tiny fraction of his life, that fraction is priceless. As such, we demand that Mr. Munchausen here be given a human reincarnation, as the we’ve already passed the three-day time limit for a resurrection.”
I’m absolutely gob-smacked by the audacity of this fucking moron. A reincarnation, the second most resource-intensive mode of soul reincorporation barring a full resurrection, reserved for only the most extreme of circumstances, for a drunk who died a minute early. I feel queasy just thinking about it.
“Mr. Dullahan, what do you have to say to that?” Big D eyes me expectantly.
Do or die time.
“Well, as an associate reaper of two years, I feel that I am qualified to weigh in on the worth of a minute of human life.” I dig into my pockets and get out a pen, checkbook, and a piece of paper.
“Here’s what we’re prepared to give you.”
Frank and his lawyer’s eyes light up.
I pretend to write on the checkbook, instead writing on the slip of paper. I hand the paper to Frank’s attorney.
Frank and his lawyer look over the slip. It reads, “NOTHING!”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Frank’s lawyer asks.
“It means we’ll see you in court, asshole.”
“Well done, Mr. Dullahan.” Big D chuckles. It sounds like a cat being tortured. “Now all of you get the fuck out of my office.”
Wrong. Turns out people reaped early are entitled to compensation under Purgatory tort law. Now, this is a protection mainly to prevent people being reaped long before their time. Maybe get we’ll have to give them a sweet haunting gig, or a way to communicate with their loved ones, or if someone really fucked up, a resurrection or reincarnation, but we’re talking about years early here.
So now we’re being sued over one minute of life. One fucking minute, which by my estimation, given that the average human lives 75 years and is valued at around nine million dollars, is worth 23 cents. And it wouldn’t even have been a minute Frank was for conscious either, so probably is worth even less.
Big D, and by that, I mean Death, and I are sitting on our side of the office behind Big D’s big stone desk. He’s got a flair for the old-world aesthetic, all fire and brimstone: hot lava walls and stone everything. I feel bad for whatever intern had to set up the furniture. Big D is rapping his fingers against the desk, clearly annoyed and losing his patience.
Of course, Frank is twenty minutes late to the arbitration we set up. Typical soul—will cry on and on about the time they lost because of an errant scythe and proceeds to waste everyone else’s time.
Frank’s lawyer is sitting conveniently near the exit, since we’ll be telling him to piss off soon. He holds his arms akimbo, tapping his feet anxiously.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” he says with no trace of confidence.
Everyone is eyeing their watches.
“Well,” Big D starts to say. His voice is a smooth baritone with a choir of a million souls all screaming simultaneously behind it. “It seems as if your client—"
At that moment, Frank bursts through the door, stumbling about. The wet stench of booze permeates the air as his knees wobble, and he slumps into the chair next to his attorney.
“Resurrection, woo!” he slurs.
Frank’s lawyer sits him up straight. “The last minute of a human’s life is without parallel in its worth: it’s the time to say goodbye to family, time to find peace with the end. Lord Death, your boy stole that from my client.” He points to me.
“Oh, that’s horseshit!” I roll my eyes. “Frank wasn’t even—”
Big D holds up a hand in front of me. The message is obvious: stop talking.
I know better than to disobey Big D.
Big D swings his hand over to Frank’s lawyer, gesturing for him to continue.
“We’re prepared to talk about damages. The human spirit cannot be measured in monetary sums, and while my client lost only a tiny fraction of his life, that fraction is priceless. As such, we demand that Mr. Munchausen here be given a human reincarnation, as the we’ve already passed the three-day time limit for a resurrection.”
I’m absolutely gob-smacked by the audacity of this fucking moron. A reincarnation, the second most resource-intensive mode of soul reincorporation barring a full resurrection, reserved for only the most extreme of circumstances, for a drunk who died a minute early. I feel queasy just thinking about it.
“Mr. Dullahan, what do you have to say to that?” Big D eyes me expectantly.
Do or die time.
“Well, as an associate reaper of two years, I feel that I am qualified to weigh in on the worth of a minute of human life.” I dig into my pockets and get out a pen, checkbook, and a piece of paper.
“Here’s what we’re prepared to give you.”
Frank and his lawyer’s eyes light up.
I pretend to write on the checkbook, instead writing on the slip of paper. I hand the paper to Frank’s attorney.
Frank and his lawyer look over the slip. It reads, “NOTHING!”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Frank’s lawyer asks.
“It means we’ll see you in court, asshole.”
“Well done, Mr. Dullahan.” Big D chuckles. It sounds like a cat being tortured. “Now all of you get the fuck out of my office.”
Love the imagery going on this, but despite the content of the story, I didn't find it particularly funny. I didn't really connect with the narrator, either, though that may be as a result of his given personality. Not sure I can pinpoint something, exactly, but there just needed to be more... stuff, and I realize how dumb that sounds, given that this is a minific competition. It just didn't do much for me in its current state, but it has a ton of potential.
Having worked in the legal field, I can confirm that there are plenty of people like Frank. Always looking for the smallest infraction to demand the biggest payout, they’re a living hell to deal with. As such, I found this to be fairly amusing, and somewhat of a revenge fantasy against all of the frivolous lawsuits I had to deal with as a legal assistant. I also liked how Death looks so done with all of this, as if this whole situation is an annoyance that he doesn’t deserve.
That being said, the story doesn’t really amount to much other than the bizarre situation it provides. It’s certainly amusing, but it isn’t an especially engrossing event. The main character isn’t really interesting either (and I actually related to him!), as he’s just that beleaguered worker who deals with stupid people. It's a good archetype, but it's not enough to make a great character.
An amusing story, and that’s about all it is.
That being said, the story doesn’t really amount to much other than the bizarre situation it provides. It’s certainly amusing, but it isn’t an especially engrossing event. The main character isn’t really interesting either (and I actually related to him!), as he’s just that beleaguered worker who deals with stupid people. It's a good archetype, but it's not enough to make a great character.
An amusing story, and that’s about all it is.
>>libertydude's "the story doesn’t really amount to much other than the bizarre situation it provides" voices my major impression here, although in my case I think the big driver of that impression was the inconsistency in characterization that drives the turn. The "Stop talking" hand moment sets up Death as a neutral arbitrator (like a judge to the narrator's prosecutor) and the narrator as on somewhat thin ice for their lack of professionalism. Then everyone's reaction to what the narrator writes blows apart both of those things. This could benefit from staking out more clearly the characters' relative relationships up front (and possibly from thinking about why Death stops the "bullshit" line if he's going to back the narrator up on his defiance shortly thereafter).
That said, this could be interesting if it dug more deeply into its premise. I'd love to see this lead in to watching the actual court case, although that would be terrifically hard at minific size. You do effectively set up the archetypes here and the real satisfaction would be from watching the karmic shoe drop.
That said, this could be interesting if it dug more deeply into its premise. I'd love to see this lead in to watching the actual court case, although that would be terrifically hard at minific size. You do effectively set up the archetypes here and the real satisfaction would be from watching the karmic shoe drop.
I appreciate what you're going for here, and you almost succeed.
A quick note, you mixed up the "conscious" and "for" here: And it wouldn’t even have been a minute Frank was for conscious either,
Overall, good effort, but you didn't quite manage to bring enough wittiness to the table for my personal taste to become engaged.
A quick note, you mixed up the "conscious" and "for" here: And it wouldn’t even have been a minute Frank was for conscious either,
Overall, good effort, but you didn't quite manage to bring enough wittiness to the table for my personal taste to become engaged.
Hmm, not much to add after reading the previous comments. I think this does a decent job of characterization, and it reads smoothly and pleasantly. As all four of these characters are new though, we don't really have any expectations of how they'll interact, so the idea that the ending is a subversion of expectations doesn't really work. Of course the lord of the underworld tells you to frack off.
Was the “Munchausen” a reference to the famous baron hero of zany adventures?
The concept here is frankly hilarious. I think the story succeeds pretty well in transposing some of the proverbial weirdness/absurdness of US court cases into the hereafter. It misses on some obvious humour bouts, though. Like playing on time/eternity concept (“Mr Munchausen!” Death exclaimed. “At last! I don’t have all eternity!”).
Otherwise, this is fairly linear, but overall good execution, well paced, and though the conclusion is somewhat unsatisfactory (it leaves the things fundamentally unchanged, so we are led to think all we’ve read so far was just a chunk of exposition) it’s sufficiently well written to nest conformably into the upper half of my slate. Well done, author.
The concept here is frankly hilarious. I think the story succeeds pretty well in transposing some of the proverbial weirdness/absurdness of US court cases into the hereafter. It misses on some obvious humour bouts, though. Like playing on time/eternity concept (“Mr Munchausen!” Death exclaimed. “At last! I don’t have all eternity!”).
Otherwise, this is fairly linear, but overall good execution, well paced, and though the conclusion is somewhat unsatisfactory (it leaves the things fundamentally unchanged, so we are led to think all we’ve read so far was just a chunk of exposition) it’s sufficiently well written to nest conformably into the upper half of my slate. Well done, author.
I had a good laugh. Big D doesn't take any shit, and I love it. I'm a little confused as to why Mr. Intern gets the prerogative of being able to basically tell Frank and his lawyer to bugger themselves. He's only an associate. I wouldn't imagine he'd have that sort of administrative authority.
Doesn't make it any less funny though.
Doesn't make it any less funny though.
Okay, this one definitely made me smile! And kudos on an interesting (and rather literal) interpretation of the prompt! Thumbs up!
Agh. The anticlimax end doesn't really work for me, given the story sort of leads the reader to naturally assume that the narrator is in hot water, so Death letting him basically flip the bird doesn't really do anything but elicit an "Oh." This would probably be a funnier structure if the story was told from Frank's PoV (asshole gets what's coming to him), but instead positioning it as idiot Reaper who knowingly broke the rules despite being a ware what a pain in the ass it was getting to mock people isn't really a solid setup/punchline.
That said, general tone and structure is fun (though you could use an editorial pass). I get a pretty good feel for the narrator and you have some funny presentation. You should also be more aggressive about line breaks. "Technicalities are a bitch" and "Wrong" read a lot better when presented as their own lines, rather than connected to the paragraph.
That said, general tone and structure is fun (though you could use an editorial pass). I get a pretty good feel for the narrator and you have some funny presentation. You should also be more aggressive about line breaks. "Technicalities are a bitch" and "Wrong" read a lot better when presented as their own lines, rather than connected to the paragraph.