Eleanor Monologue
Allow me to introduce myself, I am Death and at some point, you and I will cross paths. Now there is a certain stigma around me that I feel I have to clear it up. You fear me and what I do but what you fail to understand it. I am not someone to fear. I am merely your escort to purgatory where you go to be judged (that is where you should worry). I do not enjoy taking a soul from someone; in fact, I feel the pain, I become that pain. For that reason I have no face, I cannot be seen by humans, and I am one of the most secluded and isolated beings to ever exist (if not the most secluded and isolated being). Even though I do not like nor enjoy this job, it is my job so I make sure I do well. But there are times though I wish I could help humans
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“I’m not sure the jaw was broken in a struggle and most of the fingerprints were singed off postmortem but with what we have I’m fairly optimistic,” the woman, I assumed was Eleanor, kindly replied, and returned to her work but the man was insistent.
“How can you be optimistic about a dead guy when you won’t even consider a date with me?” the man gave an arrogant smile, closing the notepad.
“Well, Detective James because dead or not he has more manners than the likes of y--,” Eleanor was interrupted, by a younger man, her intern I would presume, on the other side of the alley.
“Dr. Spencer I think I found something. It’s sticky and it kinda smells,” the young men made a disgusted face and dropped the sticky substance as he spoke.
“I'll be right there, Dr. Bishop!” Dr. Spencer called back, grateful to have an excuse to get away from the detective.
I had gotten distracted enough and felt as though I had heard enough. I got closer to the victim; it was a man no older than 35 lying on the ground lifeless. I touched his chest and pulled out his soul. At that moment, I knew everything about him, his goals, dreams, aspirations, family, even who had killed
“I’m not sure the jaw was broken in a struggle and most of the fingerprints were singed off postmortem but with what we have I’m fairly optimistic,” the woman, I assumed was Eleanor, kindly replied, and returned to her work but the man was insistent.
“How can you be optimistic about a dead guy when you won’t even consider a date with me?” the man gave an arrogant smile, closing the notepad.
“Well, Detective James because dead or not he has more manners than the likes of y--,” Eleanor was interrupted, by a younger man, her intern I would presume, on the other side of the alley.
“Dr. Spencer I think I found something. It’s sticky and it kinda smells,” the young men made a disgusted face and dropped the sticky substance as he spoke.
“I'll be right there, Dr. Bishop!” Dr. Spencer called back, grateful to have an excuse to get away from the detective.
I had gotten distracted enough and felt as though I had heard enough. I got closer to the victim; it was a man no older than 35 lying on the ground lifeless. I touched his chest and pulled out his soul. At that moment, I knew everything about him, his goals, dreams, aspirations, family, even who had killed