The man behind the desk continued to write and sign the documents almost non-stop, only taking an irregular pause to look him in the eye and then continue writing.

He was quite nervous about the professional attitude of the individual, especially since he had no idea how he had ended up there.

One second before he was thinking about his business and a short while later a man dressed in white was leading him down a long and elegant corridor. They seemed quite surprised to see him, as if he wasn't supposed to be there.

Then he had him enter that office and sit down in front of the one who was now signing the documents.

- Sir.- He put down his pen. - Do you know where you are?-

- In… an office?-

The man sighed and took off his glasses, it wasn't going to be easy. It never was, it hadn't been easy for him either back then.

- Technically yes, but not really. We can call this the "Problem Case Section", in short, I hate to be so direct but I'm overwhelmed with work, you are deceased. Heart attack, I’d say. As someone condemned to hang, I’d say it’s not a bad death.- He tried to make the news seem lighter as he touched his neck.

He still couldn't get close to a rope without having bad flashbacks.

He looked into his eyes, he had to say he was taking it pretty well. In the rare cases where they had to argue with the souls, they went crazy, begged, implored, denied the fact, cried, etc. All the stages of grief in their worst demonstrations.

There was one case where he had to literally punch his interlocutor to make him calm down, he wasn't very proud of it.

It was a bit barbaric.

- You, sir, are you the Death?-

- Me? Death?- He widened his eyes, then waved a hand. - No, no. I am not Death, I am Sahaquiel. An Archangel. You can think of me as a state employee under the orders of Death.-

He tried to explain it simply, it was easier than calling himself a deceased who had been given a second chance at a happy ending.

You know, if he had revealed it, he probably would have asked for the same chance at life.

Not that he would have denied the chance, but it wasn’t his place to decide.

- I usually do field work, but for now I’m working in the office. We’ve been short-staffed lately. The living and their obsession with war and massacres, you never know what’s going to happen.- He pressed what looked like an intercom. -Hey, Ramiel. I know you don’t do anything, bring some tea!-

- Get it yourself, I’m on break!-

- Excuse me. My colleague is a layabout! He’s got more muscle in his arm than gray matter!- He shouted into the intercom with some relish.

- I swear to the Gods, I'm coming over there right now and shaving that beautiful greenish hair of yours! You'll be walking around in a wig for months!-

- You try it, I'll shatter your china on that asshole face of yours!- T

hat wasn't exactly how he imagined the argument between two Angels. He thought they were noble and dignified creatures and instead he was seeing them insult each other like little children.

It was a strange sight, probably if he had told anyone they would have thought he was crazy.

Not that he would have had the chance to say it, he was dead and buried.

Buried? Cremated, maybe?

He hadn't left any instructions.

Oh dear God, what if…

- Excuse me, by any chance my body...-

- Yes, don't worry. You won't feel any pain, regardless of whether the body is cremated or given to science.- He returned to his professional tone, probably his anger was only directed at his colleague. - Standard question. After so many years we have a long list of "standard questions", we are never surprised. Usually. Then there are “those cases.”-

He coughed, he couldn’t tell if it was disgust or embarrassment, but he actively tried not to meet her gaze.

It was one of those famous situations that you didn’t want to talk about at all.

At work it was a common thing, maybe an embarrassing customer or an argument with an annoying manager. It must have been the first case. Even in municipal offices there were often people like that.

The Angel took a white jacket from the coat rack and zipped it up to the neck, completely enclosing the black shirt. It had to be a uniform or the equivalent of a jacket.

He certainly wouldn’t complain to an Angel.

Not to a six-foot-tall Angel who worked for the literal Death.

He was dead, sure, but they could probably have made him die again. And maybe there wasn’t any Super-Death waiting for him. Or worse, there was and he was waiting with a much less friendly and courteous attendant.

- Follow me, once the paperwork is finished, we’ll meet Death.-

He opened the door to the room with a smile.

Ah, meeting Death.

Meeting Death.

Meeting Death?

Meeting Death?!

- Death? Are we seriously going to meet her?!-

- We will meet him, Death is a man. - He put a hand to his chin. – He is not actually a man in the biological sense of the term, the Great Gods do not have a sex or a gender defined in a constant way if we exclude the Great Time. But it is the human aspect that he prefers to adopt, more comfortable he says. And he does not want to be confused with his sister, the Great Life. Between us, she is…-

He took a deep sigh in an attempt to find the exact word to describe her without falling into blasphemy.

She was certainly not the type of deity that caused plagues like rain of fire or frogs, but irritating her is always annoying. Probably the humans had created Ishtar about her.

- The term you're looking for is “fucking exasperating”! -

A voice shouted down the corridor, it was behind a wall but you could easily see that it was shaking a coffee pot to be seen.

- Thank you, Ramiel!- He shouted back. – The Great Life is a fucking exasperating Goddess.- He smiled kindly, but his words betrayed his beautiful face. - Honestly, we all lack Supreme Courage, she was a true Goddess!-

“Life”? “Courage”? It was a real pantheon, he didn’t expect polytheism, but apparently it didn’t really matter that she followed another religion.

Very convenient.

Sahaquiel continued to lead the way, in the corridors you could see several busy individuals running left and right with piles of documents or books or standing at a coffee machine while having a conversation during a break.

The other world had coffee machines? But why was he still surprised? He was dead, he was next to an Archangel and he was about to meet the literal Death. At thirty he would have made thirty-one.

- A little advice, when you talk to him be careful about...- He took a long pause trying to find the right words. And by “right” I mean really, really “right”. – Saying something stupid as a human.-

- Like?-

- Like politics, war, or using faith to discriminate against others. He doesn’t take the last one very well. Not at all.-

It wasn’t a euphemism. Death is a kind, friendly, and gentle individual. Sure, he may seem cold and creepy at first glance, but he’s the kind of person who tries to do the best for others.

For this reason, he viscerally hates that his name is used to do harm.

His name or names.

Anubis, Abi, Yama, Thanatos, Vichama, Ereshkigal, and many others, some lost in time and in the memory of lives that would never return.

Names of men and names of women.

Names of protectors and names of destroyers.

The one who comes to take everyone and who reaps every single ear of corn.

A being so fearsome that some have mistakenly named him as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Death is not hypocritical, it comes to everyone sooner or later.

“There are individuals who have been given eternal life! Death is not neutral!”, sure, one might object, but it is wrong.

It’s not eternal life. It’s an extension.

And extensions, sooner or later, end and the bill is paid.

The moment you hear the first cry, the contract is made.

And it can’t be rescinded.

Not even by Death himself.

And believe me, there were times when Death really wanted it.

Sahaquiel slowly opened the door, not to the entrance of the structure but to the back.

A place where only a few went with air still in their lungs.

The man must have been honored.

The smell was magnificent, as if hundreds of scents were blending harmoniously without fighting each other. The air was fresh, refreshing. The sun was blinding, but it didn’t force him to close his eyes. The grass was soft, even with his shoes he could feel himself sinking into the softness, almost like a feather mattress.

- Good morning, you must be the “special case”.-

A voice called him from near a tree. A yew, he was quite sure of it.

That cold voice belonged to a man. A boy, perhaps? He couldn’t tell how old he was even though he had him in front of him, almost as if it were impossible.

His skin was pale, but not enough to look like a corpse. It was the classic complexion of someone who rarely left the house and preferred studying to sports.

His hair was a pitch color and fell medium length to cover his ears, almost blending in with the dark tunic he was wearing. And his eyes, they were closed, constantly closed.

- Welcome.- He put down a sickle and in its place he took some pruning shears and began to cut the leaves of the yew. - Forgive me, but taking care of these trees is a job that I have to do periodically and I don’t have much time to stop.-

- I… understand, sir.-

- This garden is the world of the dead. Do you like it? -

He looked around, he was surrounded by flowers, billions of billions of billions of flowers of countless colors. It seemed like he was inside a rainbow, a magnificent rainbow. Trees everywhere lush and strong and… brambles, brambles next to stunted trees that seemed to clash with the rest.

- The brambles and dead trees are the souls of the wicked. Those who in life committed cruel acts, but not enough to be punished with the Parade. - Death continued to prune. - They are trapped in a nightmare full of despair until they become better individuals and can reincarnate. Shock therapy, let's call it. These, on the other hand, are the blessed. - He showed him a flower next to him. - They are the good people, they live a magnificent dream until reincarnation. A prize. -

- So we all end up here and then reward and punishment? -

- Almost all of us. Almost, but you don't need to know about the Parade. Don't worry, you won't end up there.- He put the scissors on the table and looked at his work, that yew was really well pruned.

Healthy, fit and alive.

Yes, he could be proud.

The soul of the great man who had become the yew tree would live a wonderful dream and in his next life he would do great deeds of kindness.

Kindness was engraved in his soul.

- You, sir, are without infamy and without praise, so he will have a flower and a beautiful dream.-

- I have a question, why am I here? His employee did not explain it to me.-

- You are dead, but you already know that. I guess you are here by pure chance.-

- “Chance”?-

Death nodded, then began to dig into the ground with a small shovel.

- Chance. It may not sound good, but chance exists. There are countless variables and possibilities and I do not calculate them. I cannot calculate them, free will exists. I simply do my job and nothing more, it is not nice for many, but I do it.-

Once the hole was filled, he immediately began to water even though there were no seeds or sprouts.

Was he just watering the ground uselessly and making mud? No, the mud didn’t exist there, it had no right to be there.

- This is where you will reside, it’s a nice place in the shade.- He pointed at it with a finger. - You will flourish for about 87 years before reincarnating into another living being. But I can’t confirm that you will be a human, there are many sentient races in the universe, but you have a good chance. You are a surprisingly common race in many Universes.-

He stood up, pushing himself on his knees.

- Last questions? I don’t know if you will remember them in your next lives, I warn you. They would be more for self-satisfaction.-

- One, sir. Your Excellency. Your most illustrious Excellency?-

- Death is fine.-

- Death, now… what is the meaning of life?-

The God bowed his head, as if he had to think about it a bit.

- It depends on the individual.- He replied.- What makes sense to you, might not not have it for another. Every living being is different, for some the meaning of life is love, for others hate, for others knowledge. I think you should be the one to choose your meaning. -

At that point Death simply raised a finger and made the soul disappear in front of him.

No incredible light effect, no pose and game with the scythe or miracle.

No show thought up by religious people or writers to make it all more exciting and elegant.

It was something simple.

Simple like the blooming and dying of a flower.

An event virtually unnoticed by everyone. In place of the "special case", there was only a little yellow flower.

Not a showy flower, but simple.

Simple like a life.

He watched it take its place in the hole he had dug.

"Sometimes it's nice to talk to the living." He thought.

- "It depends on the individual"? Death, you've become good at making excuses. - Sahaquiel approached, raising his arms, as if to mock him.

- I did my best. What did you want me to say? “Good question, I don’t know”? How would I have looked?- He commented back. – He may be dead, but I wanted to give him a good ending.-

Sahaquiel burst out laughing, Death was just the best God he could have chosen to serve.

That’s how Death was.

He was a librarian, a gardener, a theater lover and once a poet, but now he was incapable of creating anything.

He didn’t lack imagination, he had simply made an important choice.

But that’s another story.

- Death, lately wars and cases like that have increased. Do you have any idea why?-

- It seems that Time and Fate know something about it, there’s even a trial for Prelati, but at the moment I don’t know anything. I imagine I’ll know something at the next Council.-

He stopped for a second, there was something strange.

Why didn’t he know? He could examine the memories of every deceased being with a soul, but none of them had the slightest information about the latest events.

Why? Literally no information.

Either all those who had the slightest information were still alive or… or someone was voluntarily hiding the information.

But who? One of his Angels? Impossible.

He knew them all, they were his friends. He opened his eyes, making the Archangel shiver.

They were completely black sclera, with purple irises and, in the center, crosses and at each end of those crosses there were triangles.

Death never opens his eyes, like not having prejudices.

When he opened them it was not a good sign.

Never.

- Sahaquiel, bring me all the information available on the influx of souls and the books with their vital information. Then warn Time, if it is as I think, we are in trouble up to our necks.-