The Grim Reaper sat on the rock promontory. From this perch, the wide swath of beach along the coastline was visible for miles. “Heh, heh,” he muttered under his foul breath. “It won’t be long now before I can claim a few of those unsuspecting souls for my own.”
And indeed, humans littered the beach as it was nearing the end of summer. Some of the swimmers wore silly caps, Grim observed. MATA was written in bold letters across the brim. Someone was shouting through a bullhorn, “Make America Tan Again.” There was a whole group of these morals preachers running in and out of the water. “Sun screen is a hoax!” someone screamed. “Science is lies! Get a tan!”
Incredulous, the Reaper watched as people tossed their bottles of sun block into a deep pit. Under the bright blue, cloudless Earth helmet, they danced not realizing the rays of the brilliant Day Fire of summer was slowly eating away at their protective coating. The Grim Reaper began to cackle as the peoples’ skin began to crackle.
Further down the beach, Grim observed a group of Tree Huggers roasting marshmallows. They were organic, of course, and made with all local ingredients including local seaweed for flavoring. “Yuck,” Grim grimaced, “what those people put themselves through just to be a little healthier. I’m not as bad as that marshmallow must taste!”
Basle cell carcinomas were popping pretty profusely along the bodies of the MATA crew. The Grim Reaper returned his attention to them since eschewing sun screen would get him the results he desired faster than the seaweed flavored marshmallow-eating humans, although he’d get them in the end, too, for all their efforts.
“Fry, Baby, fry,” a phrase Grim had heard on television, but had never really appreciated until that moment, reverberated through the Reaper’s body as he watched the MATA makers turn from beige to pink to fire engine red. He was exhausted by the lunacy on the beach. The MATA movers had started rubbing their bodies with Ankle Biter Oil mixed with iodine and the Tree Huggers were protesting the use of iodine as it was somehow affecting the seaweed they used in their marshmallows.
The Grim Reaper moved off of the rock he had occupied for the better part of a century. He was depressed. There was so much activity around him, feeding the eagle was getting harder and harder. And anyway, Grim wasn’t sure that rune callers, bean counters, and pencil pushers were his enemies. Couldn’t humans all get along, and couldn’t he be accepted as part of life?
Slowly, the Grim Reaper made his way down the large dunes to where all the humans were gathered – the Tree Huggers and the MATA Maniacs. No one was talking as the White Death enveloped each and every one. Grim chuckled as he devoured them individually. “Yummy,” the Grim Reaper exclaimed. “There’s no problem with Diversity Equity and Inclusion at my door; all are welcome,” and he laughed Thor’s laughter all the way to the sea.
Feldman lives in Moretown and wrote this short story earlier this month.
