Death never takes a holiday.
Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, it was all the same to the Grim Reaper.
He’d had this job for hundreds of years, having taken over from his Father who had retired after hundreds of years of service.
His father was now taking it easy, just lazing his days away watching his son make a mess of the job that he had done so successfully.
He forever nagged his son about the wasted opportunities that he had failed to exploit.
That car full of drunken young people last Saturday night.
All that they had had to suffer was a few broken bones, when really it should really have been an horrendous tragedy for their grieving parents.
And that train-full of commuters who had all walked away scot-free from the head-on crash with the huge haulage wagon that had failed to clear the junction in good time.
What were things coming to nowadays?
Luckily none of the aforementioned people had pledged their souls to Old Nick, otherwise there would have been hell to pay!
No,his son really wasn’t the right person for this job; too soft-hearted, that was his problem.
Of all of the seasons he himself favoured Winter, especially Xmas-time, to swing the scythe and bring misery to many families.
What a great time of year to download sorrow and misery on the festive season. Yes,that was surely the very best time of year to bring your years total to a glorious crescendo.
What had it been in his last year?, thirteen millions and a few thousand.
Now looking at his sons abysmal total he felt like weeping, two hundred and seventy thousand, what a damned dismal failure his boy had turned out to be.
To think of the opportunities nowadays, what with nuclear bombs, nuclear reactors overheating and exploding, and genocide in those countries where a life wasn’t worth a fig.
He really wished he was still active, but time had moved on and he had served his term.
Time for young hands to wield the scythe, but he felt that it had fallen into weak hands.
Kitos.