1 Fox's Tragedy 1

Crash. The tingle of shattering glass decorated the bang as a massive truck made a violent and screechy collision with an old vehicle. Someone screamed across the road as cars skidded to a halt on either side of the mess. The diver's side had caved in with horribly twisted metal while the truck bounced on, dented but functional stopping at the curbside. Reynard Mattias stood frozen, eyes wide in horror as he watched from the sidewalk. To his right was the turn off to a parking lot, where the car- where his father should have turned to pick him up.

Something else was on the road he noticed, as his nose filled with a foul and smoky smell. Mixed with the broken glass which reflected the grey sky was a crimson, just a little, his breathing accelerated. The driver got out of the truck, a short piggy man, sweat gleamed on his forehead as he took deep breaths. Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had called for help.

Reynard snapped out of shock to realize what he'd just witnessed. His heart drummed as his breath became short. What, no, that wasn't supposed to happen. The rain started coming down, momentarily a sprinkle before opening the floodgates on the scene. "Was it not?" At the silky feminine voice the rain stopped, the world stopped, yet Reynard could still move. In the distance, a fork of lightning stabbed the horizon but neither dissipated nor moved.

"W-what..." His brain began to stop dealing with the absurdity and impossibility. The voice spoke again, sly of sound.

"Was it not supposed to happen? I find I must disagree." It was behind him, he realized. Turning in the unfalling rain, he beheld a woman standing on the little hill that rose up from the edge of the sidewalk. Blacker than night her attire was tight on her slim figure. And her hair was long, falling to her hips in a clean and flawless white much unlike Reynard's. However, on her snow-white face, she wore an unsettling mask of bone.

"There is nothing supposed, no plan, my little fox; even fate did weave, all would be random still. For who weaves for him?" The woman began making her way down to where the totaled car sat motionlessly. "I find myself forgetting my manners, I am Grim, have commission to call me by any human given name I have as well. I'm especially partial to the angel of death." Reynard didn't know what to say, merely watching as with a squeal of metal the woman tore open the car with silver gloved hands. "Not much of a talker are you? Good, I don't mind a quiet one," she said with a tone ever so slightly suggestive.

Reynard opened his mouth but no sound came out at first. With a deep breath, he steadied his shaking hands only to seemingly transfer the quivering to his voice. "What the hell…," he managed. "What happened, what are you…?" Grim stared at him from the wreckage, her expression undeterminable.

"Did you not gather? I am the grim reaper," she told as with an arc of her wrist a silver scythe, ornate with obsidian twirled out of seemingly nothing at all. "And simply put, this man or your father, my little fox, is dead." She brought the scythe down with a clang, a noise like sand falling reached Reynard's ears as Grim lifted up a shimmering white orb that reflected diamonds in the unmoving droplets of rain. "However I would not have frozen the world for you if I simply wanted to show you his soul." There was almost a tone of glee in Grim's voice. "Little fox, I have come to offer you a deal." Little fox, why did she keep calling him little fox? Reynard was far too frightened to correct the supposed reaper.

"A-a deal?" he stammered.

"Little fox, tell me, is he the only family you have left?" Reynard nodded slowly. Grim made a strange but oddly melodic sound like a laugh that sent shivers down his body and to the tips of his fingers and toes. "You wouldn't want him to really be dead now, would you? I have an offer, for his soul little fox." She held the white sphere between them. He was unable to process the entirety of the situation. His mind had long since stopped trying and moved to blind acceptance. With that, he understood Grim's offer and saw no other option. His hand still trembling ever so slightly closed to a fist.

"Fine, what do you want?" Again Grim let out an unsettling sound that was nearly laughter but so far off.

"Yes, it is something I want indeed. If you want this soul then come with me, come with me to the old world of angels, deities, and spirits. And be reborn as my little fox. For his soul you must simply complete my tasks," she offered.

"Tasks?" Once more the laugh-like sound touched his ears.

"We'll start very simply. In fact, all I want you to do is let me wish you a happy birthday. When you turn fifteen." Wait, he thought, he was a nineteen-year-old, who had dropped out of high school and worked on a janitorial team. How would he turn fifteen again?

Confusion brimmed as Grim readied her gleaming blade. "I do wish you luck my little fox." Reynard's eyes shot wide in alarm as it swung down on him. He saw but the piercing edge, then all went black.