8 - Cloud Couch

PORT

I finished my task early since the majority of the letters are addressed to Pixie Realm. When I reached my room, I was reminded of that Reaper who asked me to come back.

Doom.     

              

For nine glorious years as a Herald, I had never made a single mistake in delivering a message to anyone. I always make sure that the letters I relayed to the receiver are always in good condition and safe as it reaches their hands.

I recognized my mistake, and it was a clear violation of the rules I signed up to. No excuses, it was all my fault. But I don't know the intentions of that Reaper called Doom. I was also unaware of how they negotiate. I had never known another angel outside my class—might as well be a Reaper.

I opened a portal back to the Reaper's room, I didn't want to walk in the pavements of the Reaper's Lair, and it would only creep my spine. Hearing those imaginary animals and predators around the vicinity would only turn me nuts. Luckily, one of our blessings was opening a portal of a place we've been to.

"I'm here, Reaper!" I said, annoyed as I marched outside the portal inside his room. I saw the Reaper only wearing clouds on his bottoms and his bare shining body screaming to my face.

"I said I have a name," Doom complained, his face turned sour. He was sitting on a floating cloud couch.

"What would you want me to do, 'Doom'?" I made an emphasis on his name. He's too obsessed with that name. "Also, for starters, I am not comfortable seeing you naked when we are alo—" in a snap, Doom was instantly wearing a black and white Reaper suit.

If there's one thing I liked among Reapers, it's their suit with only one sleeve, and the other is sleeveless. Ours was a boring yellow-green suit with long sleeves and random ribbons flailing in our arms with no particular function. The ultimate downside was it was an ankle-length disaster.

Back in my training days, when I had to deliver a message to an entity who lived in the rice fields in Thailand, my attire did not cooperate. It was soaked and slowing me from doing my job. Whoever designed this garment hadn't tried Heralding.

He suddenly stood. "I stopped the time for an hour. I got dressed a minute ago," he said calmly, looking at his nails.

"What? An hour? So, what did you do for the unaccounted time?" I asked.

"Why would I tell you?" Doom answered, raising his left brow with a grimace.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Okay, so you're dressed and all, what now?"

Doom brushed his dry black mullet using his sleeveless arms, flexing his immature yet lean muscle, his sharp jaw set on a side frame. It made me skip a beat for the sudden movement of the Reaper. I turned to his face, and it was looking directly in my eyes as if I were his next prey.

"W-what do you want?" I asked, crossing my arms against my chest.

"Well…let me think…." The Reaper sauntered towards my direction, and all I could do was move backward until my back hit the wall.

"Ouch!" I yelped as my spine hit the doorknob. I arched my back and massaged the stricken part. 

"What is wrong with you!?" The Reaper's face beamed. I wanted to shout on his face; obviously, he's the reason why I hit my back, but seeing the Reaper's smile was a strange, unique view to begin with. What was wrong with me?

"You know what, I hate you!" I let out and snapped. The cloud chair moved toward me and sat upon it. While the cloud chair was moving back to its original position, I made a glance of the Reaper's room. It was painted with a plain beige tone, frames of flowers—daisies and magnolias to be exact hanging on the wall, and a vast, colorful canvas on the side room. It was the complete opposite of the dull appearance of the lair outside.

"I know what you're thinking…" said the Reaper.

"And how did you know, are Reapers good in mind reading now?" I reacted, still massaging my back.

"You're stereotypical."

"I am what?"

"Yes, you are! You heard it; you're stereotypical—a very terrene characteristic." He said, turning scarlet.

"H-how?" my brows lined in one.

"You see us, Reapers, as dreadful and bad angels. You think of us as angels who conform to dark stuff, am I right?"

I paused. In some ways, I think of them that way. It's how the whole Heavenly Realm sees the Reapers. Besides, the way I was traumatized by the façade of their lair had me wanting to go to a terrene clinic for professional mental health guidance.

But Doom's point was certain and valid; even in reclassification, there are only a few angels who have chosen to change classes to be a Reaper.

"I am sorry if that's how I view all Reapers," I said, lowering my head.

"This is not me speaking on behalf of the Reapers, but I think it's just sad how terrene's bad attitude was also reflective of us, angels. Does that make us like them too? How are we different from them? Or are we not?"

I didn't respond. That was deep; I hadn't thought of that. How do we draw a line between being an angel and a terrene?

"If you're a Reaper, you will completely understand how I feel—we feel. It's disheartening how other angels distanced from us simply because of our class. You won't know it because Heralds sent messages and letters, Keepers protects their subject and Weavers helps in finding the soulmate of their subjects, but for us Reapers… it's a different story; one might think we're the bad guys in heaven—almost close to being evil,"

It's sad hearing this directly from the perspective of a Reaper. Of course, I feared being associated with them with the impression of the grim façade of their lair compared to other areas in the Heavenly Realm.

Here, you will see the bright and ancient Superior Hall surrounded by Archangels and higher hierarchangelical beings. There's Keeper's Town with houses resembling terrenes apartment complexes with different shades of blue; the Weaver's City with houses floating in the midair, in the water, and those erected in the ground with a variety of colors resembling a rainbow.

And my current locality, the Herald's Ville, with arrays of houses, identical structures, and design but with comfortable vicinity and neighborhood. But when it comes to Reaper's Lair, creepy was an understatement to describe it.

 "I am saddened but glad to hear this from you. Now, I am aware of how you feel about being cramped in a box like that. I think I still have time to change and learn from this," I said with an apologetic smile.

"We're actually used to this type of treatment. I love my job as a Reaper; these things and the bad treatment doesn't matter to me at all,"

"Wow, you know what? You can be a great terrene public speaker," we both laugh. He lost his eyes from laughing. "By the way, I would like to know, what's good in reaping souls?"

"Well, not all souls are half-hearted about reaping. Some of them are thankful that we ended their suffering—albeit their destination was hell, they're still grateful. And every time I meet souls with this kind of behavior, it makes me think that my class is not as bad as everyone sees it. Besides, we never kill, we just reap—it's just fetching them and bringing them to their destination,"

"But have you met a soul who doesn't want to go with you?" I leaned forward.

"I guess thousands, most of them—with a great negotiation, they will go with us. Some are naughty enough to run away from us, which most of them ended up being an evil entity, especially when demons tried to win over them." Doom explained with ease. "Anyway, how's your back?" Doom suddenly asked.

I massaged my back, "I think it's already fine. Maybe this is one thing we differ from terrenes; we easily heal." I said and let out a small laugh. For a while, I felt comfortable with Doom.

Doom rolled his eyes, and before I could react, Doom suddenly jumped on the cloud chair I was sitting on. As he joined me, the cloud chair shook in the midair as it tried to balance the unexpected change of weight.

"What is wrong with you, Reaper!" I exclaimed.

Instead of stopping, Doom playfully rocked the couch, which made the whole cloud flail uncontrollably. It reminded me of the nauseating feeling when I was training in using a portal. It's like all of my insides wanted to leave my body through my mouth.

"Doom, stop!" I shouted several times, but Doom was not listening; he continued shaking, flailing, and rocking the cloud couch. He wore a wide grin, savoring my misery. "If you won't stop this—"

"Then what?" Doom continued to flail the entire cloud.

"—I will kiss you,"