Death Goes On Strike

If you haven't read the previous post, please do. It is the story of what happened to Death prior to this. I have written this story for the vamplit friday flash blog. The theme is Death.

Death Goes On Strike

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“Death, what are you doing?”

Death looked up at the figure standing over him, a smile playing around his thin, boney lips. “Uh, fishing. At least that’s what it used to be called when you put a worm on a hook and threw it into the water. Since I haven’t had any fish bite lately, I think it might actually be called loitering. But I like the term fishing, so I’m just going to go with it.”

Khronos sighed, “I mean why are you fishing instead of doing your job?”

“Oh that. I’m on strike.”

“You’re Death. You can’t go on strike. You know what happens when you don’t do your job.”

“Zombies.”

“That about covers it. And I’m not happy when zombies come busting down my door and try to eat my brains.”

“Hmmm,” Death said, reeling in the fishing line, inspecting his bait and then casting it back out, “not my problem.”

“IT MOST CERTAINLY IS!” Khronos paused, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t becoming of a god to lose control. After a moment, he continued on, calmer. “It most certainly is your problem. I have zombies knocking down my door because you aren’t doing your job. Now you’re on probation. I would think you would find it in your best interest to tow the line.”

“You know where I live,” Death said, “You’ve been there. You have met HER. I can’t take it anymore.”

“So move out.”

“I can’t. Not on what you and the Death Council pay me. So until I get a raise, I will not be collecting any more souls.”

“You can be replaced,” Khronos said.

“Oh no, not that! Anything but that!” Death fell on the ground, cowering at the feet of the god of time. Then he started laughing. “Please, do. I would like to see who you find to do this job?”

“Giltinė has expressed interest in having her job back.”

“Giltinė. You have got to be kidding me. She was old when I took over. She must be farting dust by now.”

“She has a certain style though. That poison tongue of hers was always a big hit with the council. And we never had zombies running around when she was collecting for us.”

“No? How about those seven years she was trapped in a coffin? Did people just show up at Purgatory and turn in their souls? Oh wait…you called it leprosy back then.”

“Zombies and lepers are not the same.”

“No, but no one wants to touch either one.”

“Get back to work,” Khronos pleaded.

“Give. Me. A. Raise.”

“You know the money isn’t there Grim. We have Xeracles working in pest control. Budget cuts have forced even the highest paid demi gods to take cuts in pay.”

“I’m not asking for much. Just enough to move out of my mom’s place. Do you know she has started dating? I don’t think I can stand much more of the sounds coming from her room.”

“She’s dating. Since when?”

“Hey wait,” Death said, detecting a bit of jealousy in his boss’s voice. “You don’t have a thing for my mother do you? You know she turns men into stone, right?”

“Of course not. Umm, how long has she been dating?”

“Three months.”

“Who is she seeing?” Khronos winced at the mild squeak in his voice.

“Poseidon this week. Who knows who she might be interested in next week. Could be you…if you play your cards right.”

“What do you mean if I play my cards right?”

“I know there has to be some extra money lying around someplace. You give me a raise, I go back to work and you take my mother out to eat at that new cannibal restaurant. It’s a win win for everyone.”

“Well, Xeracles has been getting lax on the pest control. There are rodents running around unchecked on Mount Olympus. I might be able to justify another cut in pay.”

“I want better health coverage too.”

“How about if we reduce your out of pocket?”

“We’re getting there. Give me a drug card and we might be able to end this strike.”

“Done,” Khronos said, producing a contract for Death to sign.

“Great,” Grim said. “This strike is over.”

“Death,” Khronos asked, feeling slightly as though he had just sold his soul to the Reaper,  “did I just pay to date your mother?”

“Yes you did.”

“You don’t find anything wrong with this?”

Grim shook his head. “Nope.”

“Oh, okay. Oh Grim?”

“Yes?”

“Start with my office when clearing out the zombies.”

“But of course.”

***

Later that night…


“It’s all over the news, you went back to work,” Medusa said, patting her son’s shoulders.

“Really,” Grim said, “what are they saying?”

“That you struck some kind of deal with the Death Council and that all the zombies have been taken care of. Xeracles is a little miffed though.”

“I imagine, having to take a cut in pay.”

“They fired him,” Medusa said, surprised her son didn’t know. They said that they couldn’t afford to pay for death and pest control both so they are combining the jobs.”

“What do you mean, combining,” Grim asked.

“Soul collecting and rodent patrol are done by one entity now.”

“No! That is not what I agreed to!”

“Didn’t you read the small print in your contract? What am I always telling you? Read the small print. You never listen to me.”

Death cringed as his mother began to rant about his inability to do anything right. Okay, so he would have to take care of rats too. And cochroaches. Death shuddered at that. Cochroaches were even harder to kill than zombies. Speaking of things that were hard to kill…

“I swear, I don’t know what you would do without me,” Medusa ranted.

“I can think of a few things.” Death looked at the clock and smiled. “By the way, you have a date tonight. Wear something hideous.”



Word Count: 999



Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.

Who's At Death's Door

This is NOT my Friday Flash, but it is the prequel to it. I wrote this a few months ago for a contest on writing.com. It won..YAY! So read this and then go on to the next post for Death's continuing story and his struggle with living with his mama.

Who's At Death's Door?

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

"Death, someone's here to see you."

Death, AKA Grim, looked up from the game he was playing and gave his mother a puzzled look as she entered his basement domain. " Me ? No one comes to see me. I go to them. That's how this works , I'm Death ."

Rolling her eyes, his mother replied, "Nevertheless, there's a man up there looking for you. Some kind of a reporter or something. He said he was sent to interview you."

"Hmmm, a reporter? That would be a pretty big coup, landing an interview with Death." Grim said, stroking his chin. "And he has guts; I have to respect that, although it could set a bad precedence. If I talk to him, next thing I know, everyone's going to want to come over and hang out with Death."

"I don't think you need to worry about that. Most people don't enjoy the smell of brimstone and, uh, dirty socks." She raised her eyebrows as she pulled a pair of smelly, stiff socks out from under a pile of trash.

"My lucky socks! I've been looking for those!" Grim snatched them out of his mother's hand and sat down on his couch, to put them on. He kicked off his sandals and scratched at his dry feet.

"I guess you didn't think to look under the box of moldy pizza." Grim's mother picked up a jar of dried fruit, then wrinkled her nose in disgust, her stomach turning as she realized that what she had first mistaken to be grapes, were actually dried up eyeballs that her son had preserved for some reason. She dropped the jar back where she had found it.

"This guy, he's not touched in the head is he? He does understand that he should be running from me, not knocking on my door?" Grim was looking at his foot, trying to pick something out from between his toes. He glanced up at his mother as he asked her this and scratched his head with the same finger he'd been digging between his toes with.

"He didn't knock on your door, he knocked on mine."

"Oh for Pete's sake, mom, for the last time, I pay you rent. That makes it my door too!" Grim was tired of the same old argument. He knew he should have tried to find a place of his own, but once you told a potential landlord that you were Death, they didn't exactly jump for joy at the prospect of renting to you.

" You pay me rent ? A few heads and lost souls every month is not rent. And the neighbors are talking. Apparently severed heads on the lawn is only approved for Halloween. Halloween's over with. What am I supposed to do with them now?"

"I don't know, boil them? Invite the cannibals down the road over for dinner. I think the one with the bone in his nose has a thing for you." Grim wiggled his eyebrows playfully at his mother. Spying the jar of eyeballs she had discarded, Grim picked it up, took the lid off and popped an eye into his mouth.

"Yeah, he has a thing for me, Death's mom." She shook her head in disbelief. "No one wants to touch me, for fear you will touch them."

"That's right; blame me and not the mess of snakes growing out of your head, not to mention that stony stare of yours." Grim gave his mother a cold look. "You know, you have your own reputation, you don't need mine to hold you back."

"Your father never complained."

"How could he? You turned him to stone!"

Medusa gave her son a stony glare, but it didn't work on him. "Look, I'm sending him down. Throw something on, unless you want it known that Death sits around playing Dungeons and Dragons in his underwear."

"These were a gift from Aphrodite." Grim said the name of the Greek goddess slowly, enjoying the feel of it on his tongue.

"Well, that explains the hearts, although I would have figured her for a briefs kind of a girl."

"Just hand me my cloak. Have you seen my scythe? I know it's around here somewhere. I might as well try to make a good first impression." Grim paused for a moment, reflecting on the irony of what he had just said. "You know, I've never had to worry about that before. My first impression is usually my last. Oh, there it is!" Grim, pointed to his scythe, in the corner, by the door. "Grab it for me while I pull on my lucky socks."

"I've asked you to stop putting this by the steps. One of these days it's going to fall when I come down and cut my head off."

"I could never be that lucky. Okay, I'm ready. Send him down.”

"I'm already here Mr. Death and your mother misunderstood, I am not a reporter, I'm from personnel. I'm here for your performance review. I'm afraid we have a few concerns."

Both Grim and his mother jumped as a cloud of fog rolled into the room, the voice emanating from within the mist.

"KHRONOS, old friend," Grim said, sounding anything but pleased, “what are you doing on this side of the underworld?"

"As I said, I am here for your performance review."

"Didn't I tell you to wait upstairs?" Medusa said, giving the man one of her looks. Who did he think he was, traipsing all the way through her house? She jumped back in surprise as he slithered, snakelike out of the fog and pushed his hood back off his head, or rather heads, since he had three. The first two had been hidden beneath the hood.

"Time waits for no one Madame. It would do your son good to learn that rule"

Medusa nodding, couldn't take her eyes off the lions head and was a bit fearful of what the bull head would do, if she got too near.

"Mother, this is Khronos, the god of time."

"Pleased to meet you," she stammered, backing towards the door that led out of the basement. "If you'll excuse me, I have something I need to get done. Then, she turned and fled up the stairs and away from the three headed god as fast as she could.

"What is this about a performance review? In all my years working for The Fates, I've never had any complaints."

"Well they aren't too happy with you now. It seems you've been cutting some corners." Khronos pulled out a file as he spoke and fixed all six of his eyes on Grim.

"I've never cut corners!" Grim protested.

"Really? Well how do you explain Elvis?"

"Elvis?" Grim scratched his head. "You mean that rock singer?"

"The King of Rock and Roll . You took him before his time."

"So I made a mistake! It was pretty hazy in there from all the smoke. That dude could party hard!"

"That dude was taking a dump in the bathroom and you fell on him!"

"I was woozy. It could happen to anyone. Besides, you guys fixed it. You sent him back."

"After he was already declared dead! We couldn't fix that. Now we have Elvis sightings all over the place. It's almost a repeat of the last time you took someone prematurely. Thousands of people shouting Hallelujah and declaring victory over death!"

"Jesus ? Now that wasn't my fault. That was between Hades and the Big Guy up there. And besides, no one told me He was HIS Son ! That might have helped in the decision making, but usually, when you hang someone on a cross, they die !"

"Which is why we didn't talk to you about it then. You were new to the job; your scythe was almost too big for you to hold. And besides, J did say He forgave you for it, so who were we to criticize?"

"He is rather big on that forgiveness." Death said, feeling a little warm at the memory.

"But there are the other incidents."

"What other incidents ?"

"Atropos has complained that there are times she snips the thread and you have neglected to take the person's soul. Do you know what kind of chaos that creates?"

"Okay, so we have a few Zombies running around up there. That girl needs to slow down. She's snipping faster than I can work."

"Perhaps if you'd quit playing with your joystick." Khronos suggested.

Grim appeared shocked, sputtering for a moment before it dawned on him what the god had meant. "Oh, my games...well even Death needs to have some fun every now and then."

"Not while there are zombies walking around. They eat brains. Did you know that?"

"You ate your children," Grim scoffed, popping a few eyeballs into his mouth. "What do you care about a few brains?"

"That wasn't me !" Khronos said, feeling more than a little irritated at this moron. "That was Chronos with a C. Why does everyone get us confused? You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to clear my credit up!" Khronos took a deep breath, calming himself before continuing, trying to get back on topic. "There is an order to things. Atropos cuts the yarn, you take the soul. That's how it is done. If you can't do the job, I'm sure we can find someone else that will.

"Fine, I'll be a little more careful, but Atropos could give me a little more warning too. And it wouldn't hurt Lachesis either to lengthen some of the yarn a bit. Do you know what it does to my reputation, every time I have to take a child? They blame me, not those three witches!"

"That's would be Pestilence you would need to talk to, not Lachesis. She can only work with what she is given."

"Of course ," Grim said, crossing his arms and giving Khronos a suspicious stare. "Stands to reason you would defend your wife's daughters. Anyway, why are you the one giving me my review? Isn't that a bit beneath a god?"

"Orders from The Big G," Khronos said, sounding put out. "Cutting corners and stuff. Gold roads aren't cheap and all those mansions He's building...well, long story short, anyone with a lower case is expendable. He has Zeus cleaning toilets in his spare time."

"That I would love to see," Grim said, chuckling at the idea of the big Olympian god scrubbing the porcelain god.

"Not if you don't want a lightning bolt up your ass. Hera laughed at him and she still can't sit down, which makes it difficult to do her job at the DMV."

Khronos picked up his clip board and stood. Pulling his cloak on he said, "I trust I won't have to come back for another review. This was just a verbal warning. The next step will not be so pleasant."

"I promise to do a better job." Death said, rolling his eyes. "No more zombies walking around eating brains and no more premature deaths. I promise."

Khronos sighed. He wished he could believe Grim, he hated this end of Tartarus and had no desire to come back. However, he had heard rumors that there were a few vampires running around unchecked. Once The Big Guy got wind of that, there'd be hell to pay. He wondered though who they could get to replace Grim, if it came to that. There weren't many willing to live in Tartarus, and for the pay being offered, they were lucky they'd found anyone to do the job.

"Okay, well keep your nose clean for six months and this will roll off your record... that's a rolling six months . Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go deliver a warning to Zeus. He's been cutting corners and not cleaning under the rim. The Big Guy hates dirt, which is surprising, considering He created it."

"Well you know what they say," Grim said, opening the door for Khronos, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness."

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.

Headaches, Feathers and Wars Between Twins

Headaches, Feathers and Wars Between Twins
by Lisa McCourt Hollar

Maggie woke with a killer headache. She pulled her blanket over her head and tried to go back to sleep, but the arguing in the next room told her that wasn't going to happen.

"I HAD IT FIRST!"

"IT'S MY TURN!"

"GIVE IT BACK!"

Sighing, Maggie tossed the blanket on the floor and sat up, the sound of thunder greeting her, followed by lightning dancing across a quickly darkening sky.

"Just perfect," Maggie groaned, wincing as a bolt of pain stabbed her in the head. "Happy birthday to me."

Stumbling into the livingroom to end the war of the twins, she nearly became a casualty as a pillow sailed through the air and hit the glass vase Aunt Marna gave her and Owen for their anniversary. The vase, a family heirloom whose history Marna claimed traced back more than a hundred years, barely missed Marna's head before it crashed to the ground, breaking into just as many pieces as its long life.

The silence that followed was nearly deafening. James stood there with a pillow raised over his head, while Jane, posed on the couch as though preparing to do a swan dive on top of her brother, was frozen in place. A variety of snack foods littered the floor; chips, cookies, some crumbs that Maggie couldn't identify, as well as feathers and stuffing from the pillows.

"What is going on in here?" Maggie's voice was quiet and she pronounced her words one syllable at a time. Her twins knew they were in trouble when she spoke to them with this voice and they hurried to try and appease her before it would begin to grow louder, as it always did when their mother was angry.

"It was James," Jane said, straightening up and stepping off the couch, taking care to avoid a can of soda sitting on the floor, tripping and knocking it over anyway.

Maggie rushed to the kitchen for a rag to mop it up with. Behind her she heard James angry response to his older by two minutes twin. "It was not my fault! Jane threw the pillow, she broke the vase!"

"Only because James was being a jerk face and wouldn't give me the remote back. He knows it is my turn to pick what we watch. He got to pick the last time!"

"No one but you wants to watch silly Milly Montanna Billy but you," James said, purposely mangeling the name of his sister's favorite pop star, which sent Jane off into a rant about his favorite show and how only a poopy head would enjoy the lame cartoons he liked. Rag in hand, Maggie arrived back in the living room just in time to prevent Jane from resuming her earlier dive onto her brother.

"I don't care who started what," Maggie said, kneeling on the carpet and sopping up the soda with the damp cloth. She felt chips grind into her knee. Closing her eyes, Maggie silently counted to ten. When she opened them again she saw Jane sticking her tongue out at James. Seeing her mother watching, the six year old closed her mouth and tried to look innocent. "Why are there chips all over the floor," Maggie asked, trying to keep her voice patient.

"Oh," the twins said in unison, "we made our own breakfast! We didn't want to wake you. It's your birthday!"

"Of course," Maggie said, taking in the mess and trying to appreciate her children's good intentions. She'd never liked the vase Owen's sister had given them, so some good had come to this day. "Always look for the silver lining," Maggie thought, trying to buck her spirits.

Grabbing the broom she began to sweep everything up into a pile, trying to get the stuff the vacume sweeper couldn't handle. "I didn't care for the color of the pillows anyway," she said, picking up the feathers and stuffing. "Red would probably blend better with the couch. Wait a minute...feathers?"

Maggie plucked one of the feathers from the growing pile she'd swept up. It was a light yellow. So was the next one. "These pillows aren't filled with feathers." Maggie's voice was quiet again and her words very precise. James and Jane slowly began to back out of the room just as Charlie, their yellow canary, landed in front of their mother, right on cue. Minus a few feathers.

*****
copyright 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved

Me, Shatner and the P B & J

A few years ago I had a dream where I met William Shatner. Yes, I said William Shatner. I am a huge …huge Trekkie, (not Trekker, makes it sound like I’m a trucker and besides, Gene Roddenberry coined the term and who am I to argue with the creator of one of the best shows ever,) and some of my fondest memories involve the original series. 

When I was younger, there wasn’t a family holiday that went by that didn’t have my cousin and me sitting on the floor in my grandmother’s living room, watching Kirk get his shirt ripped off as he battled a Gorn or some other strange alien. I loved it and when my cousin passed away in a tragic accident I found myself looking to star trek to try and reconnect those memories. Over the years other series have come and gone, The Next Generation, which I watched reluctantly, late at night as my first born, kept me awake. I grew to love it and then along came DS9, my all-time favorite. It is the first and only series that reminds me of the friendships forged in that first series with Jim, Bones, Spock and Scotty.

The following story is based on my dream.

Me, Shatner and the P B & J

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

Tanya looked up as the bell over the door rang, indicating that a new customer had entered. She was standing next to the register, working on an inventory sheet and was ready for a distraction. These numbers had her eyes crossing. She looked at the man that walked into the store and blinked. Her eyes really must be wacky, because it looked to her like James T. Kirk had just walked through the door. She opened them and looked again. He was still there, Captain Kirk, older than he’d been when she watched him on her grandmother’s television screen, but still Captain Kirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he contemplated the unknown.

“Of course he really isn’t James T. Kirk,” Tanya chided herself, “any more than he was T.J. Hooker or Denny Crane, asshole lawyer. He’s William Shatner, an actor and another person, just like yourself. Remember that when he speaks to you.”

“Excuse me,” William Shatner said, “but do you have…”

“Oh my God, you’re William Shatner,” Tanya squealed, forgetting her reminder that he was just another person and not a demi god.

“Yes I am,” he answered, a patient smile flickering briefly across his face. “I was wondering if perhaps you might have a phone…”

“Can I have your autograph,” Tanya asked, her eyes searching franticly for a piece of paper her idol could scrawl his signature across. Maybe he would sign it To Tanya, my favorite fan, or To Tanya, the most beautiful woman I’ve had the fortune to meet. Her eyes fell on the inventory paper and she snatched it off the counter and thrust it at William…could she think of him as William, her eyes pleading with him to sign his moniker on the yellow form paper.

The light went out of his eyes and Tanya had a brief impression of him as James T. Kirk as he faced Kahn, anger seething just behind them as he prepared to face down an enemy. “I am not going to give you my autograph,” he said, speaking the words slowly so that she would understand. “I just came in to see if I could use your phone. My car broke down and there is no signal for me to use my cell.” 

Tanya stared at the actor, not comprehending what he meant. She pushed the paper at him again, pleading, “Please.”

“I told you, no. Why should I give you my autograph? You’ll just sell it. If anyone is going to make money off of my signature, it should be me. Now may I use your damn phone?”

Tanya thrust the paper at him again. Shatner sighed. Looking around the rustic store he spotted a loaf of bread and some Goobers peanut butter and jelly. Crossing the store to the counter he searched through a drawer and found a knife that would serve his purpose. To Tanya’s bewilderment, William Shatner pulled out two slices of bread and began slathering P. B and J all over them. Then, slapping the two pieces of bread together, he handed the sandwich to Tanya and said, “There, try selling that.”

Spying the phone, the frustrated actor lifted the receiver and made a call. When he was done he left the store, the tiny bell over the door jingling on his way out. Tanya stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the sandwich in her hand. Then she too lifted the phone and dialed.

“Steph,” she said into the phone, “You are never going to believe who was just made me lunch!”

The End

I seriously had that dream, where William Shatner wouldn’t give me his autograph but instead made me a P B & J sandwich. I don’t always remember my dreams in detail, often they fade shortly after I open my eyes, but this one has stuck with me over the years. Perhaps there is something to it. Maybe one day I will meet the legendary James T. Kirk and have a chance to sit down and discuss Star Trek with him over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If that is the case, then I wonder…strawberry or grape?

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.