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He Kindly Stopped for Me
Death loathed the smell of peanut butter.
It wasn't that it possessed a stench, per se--it certainly had nothing on some of the cheeses he'd seen people slap on their hoagies in this place--but it was such a distinctive odor. Really stuck in your memory. You smelled peanut butter, and you could practically feel it clinging to the roof of your mouth.
Or, in Death's case, you smelled peanut butter and you could probably see that infernal Brooke Johnston hanging around, stubbornly clinging to a life she had to right to.
Death sniffed.
There she was, sure as day. Sitting in the corner booth of the grocery store deli, scrolling through her InstaSnapWhatever feed and eating her dumb lunch like she wasn't supposed to have died five years ago.
God, that was an obscene amount of peanut butter.
Death frowned down at the perfectly good pimento cheese sandwich perched innocently on his plate. Ruined, now--all thanks to the overdue sack of bones stinking up the place with her peanut butter and breathing. The nerve.
He should've known he would run into her today. It never failed--whenever he had a mass pickup scheduled (today it was a factory fire at a manufacturing plant, really nasty stuff), Fate would inevitably plop Brooke Johnston in his lap, a reminder of his one true failure.
Well fine. If that's how the universe wanted to play, so be it.
Death took a bite of his sandwich, shoved the rest of it into the bottomless pockets of his Eternal Cloak of Despair, and followed the infernal Miss Johnston out of the deli.
How to collect, how to collect.
He couldn't very well get her by automobile--he'd seen how well that worked out the first time. And there were too many people in the grocery store with time left in their tickers, a fire wouldn't work either.
Death shuddered. Fires sucked. Reminded him too much of the office. He'd take field assignments over processing condemned souls in the depths of Tartarus any century.
Hmm. A burst appendix wasn't the guarantee it was four hundred years ago, and cancers were too slow moving. Not as many infectious diseases to play with anymore, either.
Damned hygienists.
Death grabbed a package of pretzels and stepped into the girl's checkout line, eyeballing her in the hopes that she would spontaneously combust. No such luck; she merely asked him for his Publix rewards card after scanning his bag.
Death grit his teeth.
Brooke Johnston was immune to lightning.
She couldn't choke. Tripping, falling down three flights of stairs, and concussing herself against a curb didn't slow her down.
Arranging the due dates of all of her major tests and essays so that they fell on the same day had no effect whatsoever. No panic attacks, no signs of stress, nuffin.
Death even gave her a fatal peanut allergy, for crying out loud, and she still finished her blasted sandwich and meandered on back to class.
He tried and he tried, but Death could not kill Brooke Johnston.
Pimento cheese now reminded him too much of peanut butter.
At long last, Death snapped. He barged up to her apartment and banged on the door, throwing company noncontact policies to the wind. He struggled to restrain himself from screaming into her stupid immortal face when she opened it.
He did, however, draw himself up to his full height, pull his Cloak of Eternal Despair from the shadows, and inject his voice with the Tortured Mewlings of Condemned Souls as he thundered, "Brooke Johnston, your time is up. I am here for your immortal soul."
Brooke Johnston merely blinked at him. "I already paid in full."
It was Death's turn to blink in confusion. "What?"
"Yeah." She folded her arms. "I finished my payment plan back in undergrad. You guys said it would cover the next fifty years. It was a back-to-school special, I think."
"You... You sold your soul? To who? Satan?"
She raised a brow. "Well, yeah. He was the only one buying. How else was I going to get through college?"
Death stared at her. He stared at her for a very long time.
Eventually, she shifted uncomfortably. "Look, if you don't mind, I'm trying to eat lunch--"
Death turned on his heels and stormed off to Hell. It was time to have a very long, very angry conversation with Satan's demons about inter-department communication.
And also to see about increasing the prevalence of peanut allergies in the population.
It wasn't that it possessed a stench, per se--it certainly had nothing on some of the cheeses he'd seen people slap on their hoagies in this place--but it was such a distinctive odor. Really stuck in your memory. You smelled peanut butter, and you could practically feel it clinging to the roof of your mouth.
Or, in Death's case, you smelled peanut butter and you could probably see that infernal Brooke Johnston hanging around, stubbornly clinging to a life she had to right to.
Death sniffed.
There she was, sure as day. Sitting in the corner booth of the grocery store deli, scrolling through her InstaSnapWhatever feed and eating her dumb lunch like she wasn't supposed to have died five years ago.
God, that was an obscene amount of peanut butter.
Death frowned down at the perfectly good pimento cheese sandwich perched innocently on his plate. Ruined, now--all thanks to the overdue sack of bones stinking up the place with her peanut butter and breathing. The nerve.
He should've known he would run into her today. It never failed--whenever he had a mass pickup scheduled (today it was a factory fire at a manufacturing plant, really nasty stuff), Fate would inevitably plop Brooke Johnston in his lap, a reminder of his one true failure.
Well fine. If that's how the universe wanted to play, so be it.
Death took a bite of his sandwich, shoved the rest of it into the bottomless pockets of his Eternal Cloak of Despair, and followed the infernal Miss Johnston out of the deli.
How to collect, how to collect.
He couldn't very well get her by automobile--he'd seen how well that worked out the first time. And there were too many people in the grocery store with time left in their tickers, a fire wouldn't work either.
Death shuddered. Fires sucked. Reminded him too much of the office. He'd take field assignments over processing condemned souls in the depths of Tartarus any century.
Hmm. A burst appendix wasn't the guarantee it was four hundred years ago, and cancers were too slow moving. Not as many infectious diseases to play with anymore, either.
Damned hygienists.
Death grabbed a package of pretzels and stepped into the girl's checkout line, eyeballing her in the hopes that she would spontaneously combust. No such luck; she merely asked him for his Publix rewards card after scanning his bag.
Death grit his teeth.
Brooke Johnston was immune to lightning.
She couldn't choke. Tripping, falling down three flights of stairs, and concussing herself against a curb didn't slow her down.
Arranging the due dates of all of her major tests and essays so that they fell on the same day had no effect whatsoever. No panic attacks, no signs of stress, nuffin.
Death even gave her a fatal peanut allergy, for crying out loud, and she still finished her blasted sandwich and meandered on back to class.
He tried and he tried, but Death could not kill Brooke Johnston.
Pimento cheese now reminded him too much of peanut butter.
At long last, Death snapped. He barged up to her apartment and banged on the door, throwing company noncontact policies to the wind. He struggled to restrain himself from screaming into her stupid immortal face when she opened it.
He did, however, draw himself up to his full height, pull his Cloak of Eternal Despair from the shadows, and inject his voice with the Tortured Mewlings of Condemned Souls as he thundered, "Brooke Johnston, your time is up. I am here for your immortal soul."
Brooke Johnston merely blinked at him. "I already paid in full."
It was Death's turn to blink in confusion. "What?"
"Yeah." She folded her arms. "I finished my payment plan back in undergrad. You guys said it would cover the next fifty years. It was a back-to-school special, I think."
"You... You sold your soul? To who? Satan?"
She raised a brow. "Well, yeah. He was the only one buying. How else was I going to get through college?"
Death stared at her. He stared at her for a very long time.
Eventually, she shifted uncomfortably. "Look, if you don't mind, I'm trying to eat lunch--"
Death turned on his heels and stormed off to Hell. It was time to have a very long, very angry conversation with Satan's demons about inter-department communication.
And also to see about increasing the prevalence of peanut allergies in the population.
This story has a very strong opening, on of the best of the entries I've read till now. From that, the first part is quite entertaining and interesting. I liked Death's characterization. You gave a lot of information through simple action and its dislikes.
Then we begin the second part and it starts to become more disjointed, less interesting and a bit more telly. The ending then is the weakest part. The final scene feels disjointed and unsatisfying. While the trick solving the situation is cute, it goes still again what we know (from other literature) about how selling your soul works. While this can be an interesting detail of world-building, it lacking any explanation here is jarring. It also seems that, for all the build-up, Death arrives, says two things, and then goes. Anti-climatic endings have their place in comedy but seem to go against what we learned about the characters previously.
I Liked the story despite my criticism, but it needs some reworking in my opinion. Still, considering the constraints of time and word-count we are working with, good job.
Then we begin the second part and it starts to become more disjointed, less interesting and a bit more telly. The ending then is the weakest part. The final scene feels disjointed and unsatisfying. While the trick solving the situation is cute, it goes still again what we know (from other literature) about how selling your soul works. While this can be an interesting detail of world-building, it lacking any explanation here is jarring. It also seems that, for all the build-up, Death arrives, says two things, and then goes. Anti-climatic endings have their place in comedy but seem to go against what we learned about the characters previously.
I Liked the story despite my criticism, but it needs some reworking in my opinion. Still, considering the constraints of time and word-count we are working with, good job.
Death seems rather petty, but I guess centuries of killing mortals and light years of red tape will do that to you.
It's not bad, but I would have preferred a different ending that tied Brooke and Death more closely instead of just a joke. As it stands, I feel the story wastes two interesting characters for the sake of commentary on the state of bureaucracy.
It's not bad, but I would have preferred a different ending that tied Brooke and Death more closely instead of just a joke. As it stands, I feel the story wastes two interesting characters for the sake of commentary on the state of bureaucracy.
Man, why hasn't Death been pulled up yet by his superiors? His obsession must creating a pretty long list of overdue... um, clients by now, right?
This was quite good, though. As >>Orbiting_kettle has already said, the opening scene is particularly strong, supporting a fine balance of story and concept. After that... concept kind of wins out, and the telling of the story felt weaker as a result. I'm not sure the ending actually resolves anything, either. It just felt like another failed attempt by Death, rather than an actual conclusion. That penultimate line made me smile, but I was kind of left wanting something more.
Still, scores for neat characterisation and strength of prompt interpretation. Thanks for sharing.
This was quite good, though. As >>Orbiting_kettle has already said, the opening scene is particularly strong, supporting a fine balance of story and concept. After that... concept kind of wins out, and the telling of the story felt weaker as a result. I'm not sure the ending actually resolves anything, either. It just felt like another failed attempt by Death, rather than an actual conclusion. That penultimate line made me smile, but I was kind of left wanting something more.
Still, scores for neat characterisation and strength of prompt interpretation. Thanks for sharing.
Echoing Orbiting_kettle, The intro was definitely a high point. Lots of funny and character, ex: "her peanut butter and breathing." I am left wondering at this fire he's supposed to handle, though; does he just leave it hanging?
The middle bit would probably have benefited from being expanded; word count, I know. Just sayin'
Johnson is set up as being quite significant: 'his one failure,' but given what the problem ends up being, I'm surprised it hasn't happened before. It also seems kind of straightforward. While the ending is funny, it's not gut busting. Unfortunately, I'm not really sure what would need to be tweaked.
The middle bit would probably have benefited from being expanded; word count, I know. Just sayin'
Johnson is set up as being quite significant: 'his one failure,' but given what the problem ends up being, I'm surprised it hasn't happened before. It also seems kind of straightforward. While the ending is funny, it's not gut busting. Unfortunately, I'm not really sure what would need to be tweaked.
The ending was cute, in my opinion, but a bit... fast? I think it could have benefited from more buildup, foreshadowing, something. Still, this was interesting and evocative of the characters, and I enjoyed that.
So Death is a ‘he’?
It's undoubtably amusing, and the final twist was fun. I'm not as fussy as the other commenters, I thought this piece held its own. It's not very ambitious, but the idea is fun and I don't think you could significantly expand without dragging the plot. So good job, within the Minific bounds.
It's undoubtably amusing, and the final twist was fun. I'm not as fussy as the other commenters, I thought this piece held its own. It's not very ambitious, but the idea is fun and I don't think you could significantly expand without dragging the plot. So good job, within the Minific bounds.
A very funny premise in potentia, but... Execution (no pun intended) fails a bit here. If he gives her a peanut allergy, and she eats peanut butter, does she not choke? I get, from the end, that she's immune to all things because of a deal with the devil, but that's not portrayed strongly enough before then. If she's immortal, have her fail to die in a fire or some such... something that is more clearly "impossible" so that the explanation at the end makes more sense.
Technicalities aside, I did enjoy the characterization of Death. There's an aloofness here that works as "personable" and that should be played up more.
Technicalities aside, I did enjoy the characterization of Death. There's an aloofness here that works as "personable" and that should be played up more.
He Kindly Stopped for Me: ( With apologies to Emily Dickinson )
>>Orbiting_kettle >>ZaidValRoa >>Ceffyl_Dwr >>Ratlab >>Not_A_Hat >>Monokeras >>Xepher
Consensus seems to be: more words, refinement of death montage, general heavy sanding. Possibly stronger utilization of the characters. Thanks for your thoughts, everyone.
>>billymorph
Life is pain; I long for oblivion
Good job, all! This was a rather tricky prompt, and the variety and quality of stories that were submitted were, as always, quite impressive.
>>Orbiting_kettle >>ZaidValRoa >>Ceffyl_Dwr >>Ratlab >>Not_A_Hat >>Monokeras >>Xepher
Consensus seems to be: more words, refinement of death montage, general heavy sanding. Possibly stronger utilization of the characters. Thanks for your thoughts, everyone.
>>billymorph
Life is pain; I long for oblivion
Good job, all! This was a rather tricky prompt, and the variety and quality of stories that were submitted were, as always, quite impressive.
