Of iPads and Scythes

So I was sitting on my couch when this dude wearing a black hoodie popped up next to me.

‘Whoeryou?’ I slurred. (My head was still ringing from all the alcohol from yesterday’s orgy.)

‘Hi, Jack Clove,’ the dude said cheerily, ‘I’m the Grim Reaper.’

As I said, he wore a black hoodie, black jeans, black sneakers, and had a black iPad tucked under his arm. His hood obscured his eyes and nose, but his mouth was curled back in a very human grin, one that you could find on some relaxed beachgoer. His skin was deathly pale - whiter than his teeth, which were already blinding.

‘Ok, Mr Grim Reaper. What’re you doing in mai house?’ I wondered if I was hallucinating.

‘I’ve come to claim your soul. Your time is up,’ he said again in a bright tone. ‘In about an hour, I’ll take your soul and present it to the Lord for judgement.’

‘So, may I ask how you would like to be found dead?’ he continued in that calm tone. He switched on his iPad and tapped it several times. A holographic projection popped up, suspended in the air above his iPad’s screen.

‘As in, how would you like your dead body to look like? Creepy grin, tortured grimace, open eyes?’ he offered.

‘Um . . . I think I’ll like to die lying down.’ He nodded and tapped something on his iPad.

Apparently, the Grim Reaper had judged right, because in an hour we had sorted everything out: I would be found lying down, eyes open in terror, mouth twisted in a terrified expression, hands and legs splayed. Strangely, I didn’t feel panicked that I was going to die. Maybe the Grim Reaper had an infectious atmosphere of zen.

‘Alright, Mr Clove. Now, I’m going to take your soul. It won’t hurt at all . . . who am I kidding? It’ll hurt a lot.’

He rose to full height, and his iPad flashed, elongating into a long staff with a long, curved blade on one end. He brought down the scythe, and in one slash severed my soul from my body.

Did it hurt? Yes. Imagine a turtle being pulled out from its shell, and you’ll have a brief idea of how it feels.

Once my head stopped ringing and I no longer felt nauseous (which took a few hours), I noticed that I was still in my house, except that I was sitting on something that looked like me.

Oh, wait. It was my dead body. Exactly in the planned posture.

Before I could scream, throw up (can spirits throw up?) or faint, a calm, familiar voice spoke next to me.

‘Don’t panic, Mr Clove. You’re dead. There’s nothing you can do about it.’

Instead of the figure in a black hoodie, I saw what the Grim Reaper looked like for the first time.

He was cloaked in a black hooded robe, the same scythe in his hand. Except that the scythe now burned with blue fire. His face was exposed - a skull with pools of red for eyes. Looking into them, I saw all the dead souls he had collected over the millennia.

Again, I didn’t feel scared. Just a strange sense of calm.

‘Now, I’ll bring you to judgement. Follow me.’

He was right. I was dead. No changing that fact. I trailed him closely, heading for my judgement.

. . .

A few days later, a tall teenager dressed fully in black came into the library - black hoodie, jeans, sneakers. His hood was pulled back, revealing startlingly warm brown eyes and artistically tousled black hair. He pulled a book from a shelf and started reading it. Barely half an hour had passed when he felt a buzz in his pocket. Taking out a black iPad, he scrolled through the screen’s contents briefly.

He sighed. Don't I ever get a bit of rest?

He switched the iPad off, returned the book back to the shelf and left the library.

The book which the teen had read was called Death; An Inside Story: A Book For All Those Who Shall Die by Sadhguru.