25 July, 1858

I am writing this here diary on account of me being dead. Some days ago (the 21st to be precise) I expired from consumption. That horrible affliction ravaged my body for many months until my constitution failed me and I passed on. The silver lining to my departure is that I have witnessed first hand the immortality of the soul first extrapolated by the eminent philosopher, Plato then preached by Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. However, I am in neither Heaven nor Hell but in the company of the grim reaper which I would not deign to call Purgatory. The grim reaper and I met when my body expired and my soul became free. I watched as all my loved ones cried next to my deathbed as the good doctor checked my pulse for a final time. Then I felt a hand touch my shoulder; I turned and nearly died a second time from shock. Standing before me was the grim reaper herself, Mori Calliope. Now, whatever lost soul who may be reading this might wonder what my grim reaper looked like. First, toss out any preconceived notions you may have about what a grim reaper might look like for my reaper did not dress with a hooded robe nor did she carry a farmer’s scythe instead she wore a ballroom gown that matched the color of her pink hair and she had the biggest bust I’ve ever seen on a woman. Lord have mercy on my soul, but those things were ginormous even if they were pressed together in that tiny dress of hers. Just thinking about those giant pale breasts is making me sweat. Anyways, after my fright was over, she said to me, “Sup, it’s ya boy, Mori Calliope. An underworld apprentice to the big GR himself.” By God, I thought to myself, she speaks like a Nego! I introduced myself as well and then she told me she had come to reap my soul. I tried hopping back into my body but that didn’t seem to work so I begrudgingly went with the reaper to the afterlife.

On our journey to the underworld Mori told me that I’d make a good companion and when I inquired as to why she got flustered. I told her, “You’re a grim reaper. Why would the personification of death ever need assistance?”

She squeaked, “I get scared sometimes.”

“What? How can an immortal being such as yourself be scared of anything?”

“It just is okay.”

“Well no matter. I’ll be your companion on your quest to reap the dead.”

“Really?”

“Yes. After all I’m not going to be doing much for the foreseeable future.”

“Thanks dude!” She hugged me tightly. My head was firmly in between her breasts and in that moment, I was in heaven. Those warm jugs were as soft as any feather pillow I’d come across. Verily, I could fall asleep resting on them. Skipping ahead, we arrived at the center for all the underworld reapers. I sat on a chair made of bones while Mori argued to have me be her partner. The sight before me was quite unsettling. Skeletons, imps, and all manner of the undead were arriving with human souls. How fortunate I was! To instead have such a beautiful girl harvest my soul! Soon Mori told me that we were officially partners in the affairs of the dead. The idea to start this diary came to me then at that moment.

26 July, 1858

Today, after a night’s rest (yes even the undead did to rest), Mori taught me how to reap. It was really as simply as touching the deceased’s soul. After that, she explained to me, they were in your custody until their soul was harvested back at headquarters. Simple enough, I said. But we didn’t get an assignment so we stayed in her quarters throughout the rest of they day.

27 July, 1858

Once again, we stayed inside her quarters. Mori was writing something throughout the entire day and told me she’d show me it on the morrow. I can only hope. On another note, if we don’t go out soon enough I might abandon this diary entirely. I want to record what happens when a soul is reaped not dilly dally in a square room listening to a quill scratch paper form dawn to dusk.

28 July, 1858

I’m starting to suspect that Mori isn’t particularly liked in the underworld. Today was yet another day without a single soul being reaped and not only that but when I was out stretching my legs, I overheard an imp say to another, “Hey, look. It’s a deadbeat,” while pointing at me. They broke out in thunderous laughter but I just stormed off. Their thick and juicy demon dicks intimidated me. I would’ve hated it if I got into an argument with them and they pinned me to a wall and made me service them before having to wrap my lips around their giant dicks as they finished. That would be horrible!

Later that day, Mori showed me what she’d been working the previous few days. She described it to me as sung poetry that combines both rhythm and poetry. I was rather confused at what she meant by sung poetry but she quickly gave a recitation which I’ll transcribe to the best of my ability: abab cdcd efef gg

I’m bound like a spell to this reaper’s job

yet my passion is singing my own songs

which I write while I get called a slob

by bugs that speak the language of ching-chongs.

Still I persist to succeed in this world

like a flower hidden from the sunlight

underneath a vast green canopy curled

around a tree rising with all my might.

When my grind is done I’ll be on the surface

performing shows live though I’ll be nervous.

I was quite flabbergasted by this performance of hers but she seemed rather excited about it and told me that was only one verse she had written in her song. I fell asleep to Mori reciting her poem over and over again. Surely the next day would be better.

29 July, 1858

We finally got our first assignment together. Finally, we were able to start someone’s journey to the afterlife. I was so excited. If only I knew what horror I was about to witness. Mori and I traveled to a cotton factory powered by the Mississippi. We went through the front door and saw that a gaggle had gathered around one of the cotton gins. An industrial accident. A grim sight but I saw worse at Veracruz though it always pained my heart to see grown men cry like how they were crying at the factory. We walked through the crowd and saw the deceased. My heart sunk into a pit in my stomach. A little girl, in factory overalls, laid dead on the water-powered cotton gin. Her right arm was extended and twisted around itself as if she went to grab something. What was worse was that the gin had sliced her head apart right above the eyes so that her eyeballs dangled down into the exposed gray matter. A lake of blood and its rivers pooled below being supplied by a steady drip of blood. If I were alive, I would’ve puked then fainted. Mori turned to me and said, “See what I mean?” I could only nod. The girl’s soul was confused as to what happened when we reaped her. It was better off that way. That was the only assignment for the entire day and I was exhausted.

30 July, 1858

Today I learned that you could die twice. That’s what happened to me at least. The day was going on how it usually did with Mori writing her singing poetry and me trying to waste time when Mori suddenly farted. The fart was comparable to a cannon rather than a toot. It started with a loud bang and I could hear wet noises when it finally quieted down. The noise was terrifying but the smell was worse. When that rancid smell of dead bodies and eggs hit my nose, I keeled over dying instantly. A hand tapped on my shoulder and I looked. It was another Mori. Fuck my life. I knew I was in hell at that moment. Goodbye diary, goodbye everyone. Time for eternal torment for the sins I’ve committed.