Young Writers Society

"I'm a horrible person and feel free to do so, they'll either think you're crazy or they'll come find me," he winks. "Fast food delivery."

Edward let out a loud groan, having grown just as exasperated and frustrated with this situation as Schadel had. This was the worst possible thing to happen. Not only had the truth been partially discovered (fully in his case) but the person who had done the discovering wasn't keen on keeping secrets.

Just wonderful.

"Please don't tell anyone," Schadel begged. "Even the supernatural aren't supposed to know! It's one of the biggest secrets in the entire world, and I'd be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out I had told a mortal!"

"First: a what? Second: oddly enough, I'm not really feeling inclined to help you out at this juncture, mädel."

Schadel groaned again.

"A mortal," she repeated. "I know your soul is being held back, but it's the closest thing I can think of right now. It's what we call people who aren't like us, even if they're dead or have extended lifespans. It was originally just a synonym for humans, but then someone was smart enough to call everything else that, too."

He tipped the rest of his bottle into his glass, thinking for several moments before answering. "Fine, I'll keep it hush-hush if I can." His gaze turned over to Edward. "And you don't start going on about the Nazis again. You have no ficking idea what went on for those of us who were trapped in Germany and you certainly aren't in a position to lecture me about it."

Edward opened his mouth to argue with this last request, but closed it once he understood that it was probably the one thing he could do keep this man from sharing Schadel's secret. He would have to sacrifice his morals if he wanted to help his friend out - and himself, by extension, since she was his employer.

Schadel took a deep breath.

"I'm a grim reaper," she quietly admitted, so softly that even Edward had to strain his ears to pick up. "A large majority of us take care of collecting the souls of the deceased. I don't do it on a regular basis - I never had - and I have my own job here on Earth. That's how I can see your soul, and that's how I could break the bonds that are keeping it here. All I need to do is use my scythe, and your soul will be collectable."

A Reaper. Kratzer's mind flashed back to the dark-haired woman who'd stood atop the mountain peak so many years ago, half-dead and the body of Hitler left behind. Azrael, where she'd left him, though he'd never quite understood why.

He was, for once, at a loss for words, so he just sat back. "D***."

Astrid pulled themself away from the entrancing film. They heard a soft choking noise, and with a few moments of foggy blinking, they realized that it was coming from the man beside them. He was... crying. It took a moment to place the word.

They tried to push away the little thrill that rose in their chest. This was the first time that they had had the opportunity to console someone. Gingerly, they set a hand on the man's back.

"It's alright, sir. There there," they patted his back, "If you feel so inclined to, would you tell me what the matter is? I'm a superb listener."

They had the urge to add something else, and with a combination of intoxication and exitement it came tumbling out.

"You are a value member of this society- your life is very meaningful."

James flinched at the touch. "Valuable member-" James blubbered bitterly, barely understandable as he lifted up his head to look at the person who was touching him.

"I'm of no more v-value than a grain of s-and is to a beach," he slurred. "If I -" he choked on a sob, blinded by pouring tears as he tried to look at the person beside him. He could barely make out a face. He didn't know them.

"I have no one. No one would miss me if I di-" his voice caught again, and he buried his face back in his arms as the sobs grew just a little louder, and his shoulders shook.

Astrid felt themself tearing up at the pure sorrow in the man's voice. Absently, they picked up their glass to guzzle more of their black liquid while thinking hard for a response.

"No no no, don't say that. If you died, I would run into you as a ghost, and I would like you a lot less." they blabbered, now awkwardly rubbing circles into the stranger's back, "and being alive is so much better than the alternate. Just look- you have films!"

They jostled the man, pointing at the screen cheerily.

James shook, struggling to lift his head to follow the blurry finger of the person comforting him towards the even blurrier screen with moving colors. His lower lip began to tremble and he turned his head to look back at them.

"I-I don't k-know what the f*ck that is," he whispered harshly, as tears fell quickly down his cheeks and hung on his nose, and his lips.

"I don't even know wh-what I'm living for anymore." His voice warbled with each passing word. "I keep... running. Running away and fighting. Fighting to stay alive. But f-for what?" He gestured wearily with open hands towards the blurred figure before him.

"Everything I do is in vain!" he cried hoarsely. "I can't even make a difference because I was too f***ing stupid to do something smart when it mattered, and now it's all for loss. I have nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

Astrid scowled sternly at the sobbing figure, who was spiraling further and further into complete helplessness. Their eyes were brimming with sympathetic tears of their own, which stung like mad and tipped their unstable mood into annoyance.

"Hey! Hey, now you stop that.You're making me cry, and it hurts like hell. Everybody makes mistakes, and everybody has to struggle to find the will to live sometimes. That's all you can do- find it over and over and over again."

A few tears slipped down their cheeks, burning skin in their wake. They felt their hold on their form shift with their emotions, and struggled to control it.

"Living life can seem like living through hell sometimes, but as someone who really does live in Hell, I wish I could actually live. Here. Permenately. Because everything in this realm is wonderful and full of hope and I want that! So don't tell me you have nothing, because right now all I can see is that you have everything!"

They caught their breath at the tail end of their rant, their anger finally ebbing a little. They hadn't meant to reveal so much, and certainly hadn't meant to yell at this poor man. Sagging in defeat, they let out a desperate moan.

"I'm sorry- I'm terrible at this. Who am I kidding. I'm not mad at you- I'm mad at myself."

James listened quietly as the person lectured him on how good he had it, and even though he didn't understand half of what they were talking about, he couldn't find the energy to argue. He nodded slowly, finally downing the drink he'd ordered some time ago - but how much time had passed was an enigma to him. As he set the cup down with unsteady hands, he shook his head in solemn, despondent agreement. Or disagreement. Based on the last thing that was said.

"No. No," he continued to slur. "You're right. You're right... I should be happy. I should be grateful. I've had so many brushes with death it's almost comical that I can say that, yes, I'm still alive. Today. And many people would perceive me as strong-" his voice cracked, and he sunk his head a little lower. "-for persevering despite all of the forces coming against me."

James's lower lip quivered once again as he fought back the tears, so he could finish his thought.

"But they'd be wrong."

He buried his face once again in his hands.

"I'm a despicable excuse for a person. All day I could spout provoking platitudes on the human condition, and why we ought to do the right thing above all else. But at the end of the day I am a failure of my own creation. A hypocrite to my own mind. To my own conscience. I can't believe what I do for others for myself. I've given up on my-" his voice cracked again, but this time he continued to speak through the sobs, as difficult to understand as he might've been.

"-self. In the face of great loss and violence I have persevered for one reason and one reason alone: and that is in the hope that someday it will end, and in that end, I will bring an end to the tyranny by which the people of my kingdom suffer. But in my heart I know that is too lofty a goal for one man to achieve. Or at least - I know now what I did not know then, when I sabotaged my life along with his plans, and I threw everything away for a gamble. I could've played my cards right and this all would've been over years ago, but I let myself be silenced by my own friend-" it was at this that his sobs became uncontrollable, and he blubbered through the rest of his tearful monologue with much difficulty.

"-Because I was too hesitant and too afraid to defend myself to him. And when he turned his back on me, so did the rest of the world, as they took my personhood and value as a member of society and decided to put a number on it. And my life has been all but suffering and momentary breaths of fleeting hope that fall through the cracks in my fingers the moment I struggle to grasp it - with no consistent persons in my life who wouldn't drop me or sell me in a second, or who would otherwise suffer for not doing so. And so when I say I have nothing," he reached out for the shoulder of they who was his consoling presence. "I do not mince words. I have nothing to my name, and no one who will mourn my death who doesn't already think me dead, or lost to them entirely. I have nothing to lose but life itself, and were I not too afraid to, I would risk that. That. What little I have... is the very breath I breathe... and were I a better man, I would be thankful for it. Because that's the thing-" he looked into what he was marginally sure were the person's eyes with a bitter, weak smile. "I know I ought to be. And that makes it all the worse."

"Yeah," she said, nervously rubbing the back of her neck. "We're, uh, kind of like a secret? Obviously the ghosts have some knowledge of us, but we don't usually make that knowledge public. If we did, everyone would begging for us to let them live, even though something like that ruins the natural order of life. If you leave a soul in a deceased body for too long, it's going to become a ghost - and not a happy one."

Astrid felt a hand on their shoulder, and immediately retaliated by grabbing both of the man's shoulders. At this point in his monologue, they were crying freely with abandon, hardly even feeling the tears. They listened intently, nearly cross-eyed in blurry concentration, before they opened their mouth to speak, targeting a mere portion of what they had heard.

"Just- just because you put your trust in a friend and they failed you does not make you a failure. And... and if you've given up on yourself, it doesn't mean that you are worthless, only momentarily lost." they choked through this little encouragement, trying to suppress the urge to shake the miserable man's shoulders.

"B- but I know that the odds are that if you keep living, something is bound to turn around for the better for you. Be.. because this world is too wonderful for it not to."

They blinked hard and attempted to focus their eyes enough to stare into the man's.

"Plus, I've meet some pretty despicable excuses for people. I can already see your soul," they slurred, "and you are definitely not one of them."