Here's an excerpt of my writing, so you can see how I write.
"Prove to me that I'm dead!" Gerald demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "I want some proof, and I want it now!"
I mentally facepalmed, internally groaning. This guy. On the outside, I just sighed. "Look to the ground. I would think your dead body is proof enough," I told him, gesturing to his bloody corpse, obvious evidence of his death. "What else do you want? A sky writer? A musical number? Maybe a parade with banners that say 'Congratulations, you're dead!'?"
I wanted to hurry up and get this over with. It was never easy, explaining to people that they were dead. There were many reactions. Many were in denial, demanding that I stop messing around and let them go. Others broke down, pleading with me to let them live, to let me see their families again. Some become violent, swinging their fists and scratching, fighting to get their lives back. Though they battle ferociously, they can't hurt me much because I'm just as dead as they are.
It wasn't as if I could just snap my fingers and start their hearts back up. I'm not a magician or an angel; that's not my area of expertise. Once they were dead, they're dead. I send them where they need to go, and that's it. End of story. There is nothing else I can do about their situation.
Gerald narrowed his eyes and glanced down at his body. A sickened look crossed his face, and he staggered back in shock. "W-what happened to me?" He stammered, a hand flying to his mouth.
This was the part that I both hated and loved. Those that die never seem to remember exactly how they died - excluding those who become Death, of course. It was hard telling innocent people how they died. They always had questions, many of them unanswerable, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They had done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve having their life stripped from them in an instant. I was always kind to them, kind and sympathetic.
But Gerald was far from innocent. He was a monster.
"Well, Gerald - do you mind if I call you Ger?" I asked him, flashing him one of my famous cynical grins and going on before he could respond. "That's what your mother called you, isn't it? Ger? Before you shoved a knife through her neck."
His eyes widened and I saw his fists clench, as though he were preparing for a fight.. "How did you know that?" He whispered.
I tapped the side of my head, keeping the grin on my face. "Everything interesting there is to know about you is right here, in this large noggin of mine." I crept closer to him, not even remotely intimidated by the fact that he's at least a foot taller than me. What was he going to do, kill me? "I know all about your fetish. You know, the one where you get off killing innocent people." Gerald's mouth dropped open and he started to gape like a fish. Truthfully, it was pretty amusing. "Oh yeah, I know all. I know that you’ve killed thirteen women by strangulation, eight by stabbing, and two with a car. I know that you've killed twice as many men, all by torture. Oh -" I winked at him, "- and that weekend in the Bahamas isn't a secret to me either."
That's one thing about being Death; the histories of everyone we are assigned to are forever engraved in our minds. As soon as they die, BOOM! Their life downloads into my mind, and I have a front seat to everything they've ever done, good and bad. I can't forget them if I tried. And I've tried.
At this point, Gerald was pale and, if he were alive, I'm sure he would have fainted. "W-who are you?" He breathed, shaking.
I smiled at him. "My name is Nick, but you can call me Death." I allowed myself to bathe in the satisfaction of the horror on his face at the mention of Death. "I'm here to send you to where you need to go." He opened his mouth, but I continued, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "But forgive me, I ramble. You wanted to know what happened to you." I closed my eyes and thought for a moment, replaying his death scene. The justice of it was truly beautiful, and it almost brought a tear to my eye. Almost. "Two men, who shall remain unnamed, have histories with a few of the people you murdered. After learning that you were the cause of the deaths, they decided to take the law into their own hands." I opened my eyes and nudged his body with my foot. "And voila! Here you are. A broken nose, eight broken ribs, two shattered bones, one bullet hole, and twelve knife wounds." I sniffed and wrinkled my nose. "Oh, and it appears that one of them urinated in your mouth." That's new and, admittedly, creative. Kudos to the men who did this.
Gerald gagged, his face turning a light green, as if he could taste the urine. How great would that be? I wondered gleefully. "Oh god. What sickos would do that?" He croaked, retching.
