I'm going to continue writing short stories about Death. I am absolutely fascinated with the Grim Reaper character. This is the same Death from the Reaper, as it will be in all short stories about him. This series of short stories is unofficially being called the Chronicles of the Forsaken.

If you know my origin, you may better understand me.

Death was not meant to be. I was, I am, a consequence. Never orchestrated until after the Fall of Man. If Adam and Eve had never taken of the tree, I would not exist.

Am I an angel? Well, I have been called the “Angel of Death”, but am I an actual angel? I'm not entirely sure. In all actuality, I doubt it. I can see angels and demons. Angels are rare, but the demonic hosts of Earth are abundant. They whisper to humans, lie to them. Guide them down a path of self destruction.

And I can't do anything about it.

At least, I don't think I can. I've never tried. Anyway, back to the original subject, Death was never intended. I am a punishment. Man sinned, and so I am here. Although, I have no idea why I'm a sentient entity. A force with a mind. Death is a fact of life. I am not everywhere at once, and there is but one of me.

I am the guide of the forsaken.

The Ferryman is another name of mine. I guide the trapped souls into the light. I bring them through the thick veil of shadow to their final judgment in eternity. A grim duty, that of course sheds light on another name of mine, but it is necessary. Even if I am a fact of life, I have become a source for legends, horror stories, cults, and more throughout history.

As you already know, some of my names are the Fiddler, the Ferryman, the Angel of Death, and, of course, the Grim Reaper. In some cultures I am synonymous with “Father Time”. I guess it is because time eventually does away with all things. “Cronus” from Greek mythology is connected with both Father Time and myself.

But, as to my origin, I am a result, as I have said, of the Fall. It was not until Satan took the shape of the serpent and enticed Eve to take of the tree before passing it to Adam that I was needed.

Death is an icy chill. If I so will it, my touch will feel like being dipped into water colder than any of Earth. When I came to be, I felt that cold. Like it was filling an empty space, it filled me up and gave me form. Well, almost. I was shapeless shadow. A misty darkness. I had not seen humans before, so it wasn't until then that my current true nature came to be.

I was merely innocence and instinct. Knowing nothing of evil and only the task that was mine: The reaping of souls. I was surrounded by darkness. The place in between Earth and eternity. Where only the dead can go when they pass on to their reward. Or their punishment.

I was suddenly engulfed in light. A bright, burning, holy light. I was filled with the knowledge of the world, of the Fall, of Satan, the demons, angels, and God. But very little about myself. All I knew was my purpose, nothing more. I was then thrust into the world.

I could see the garden. It was, and still is, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. As I watched, I saw the first two beings thrust out of the garden, and a great and fearsome being of light appeared before the garden. In its hand was a sword covered in flames so great that they could eat through any mortal substance.

Around me, demons were laughing and cheering. The path had been opened. Man, the Father's favorite creation, had been corrupted. And now the war could begin.

I have lived amongst humans to try and see the supposed joy of their lives is. All I can feel, though, is sickness as I watch through the ages. I have seen religion corrupted and weakened. Oppressed and destroyed. Christians becoming weaker throughout the span of time.

I remember when I had to take my first soul. The accursed Cain. The first murderer. I felt such evil and hate in his being. Of course, back then no one knew what to make of an eight-foot tall skeleton robed in black. All those who see me are dead, though some actually don't know it yet. Even in modern times some still scream and cry. They plea and beg.

I stopped trying to comfort them a long time ago.