Shut Up

Every twisted bad bone in my now terrifyingly placid self underwent a series of transformations in about 5 minutes after I died.

In the first minute, I turned a sick pasty white hue, as if I was in the process of becoming a ghost, like Phil and Lorelei.

In the second minute, I began to loose the normal properties of a solid body and became transparent, a see-through something you'd cross your fingers in a cross at and mutter a terrified 'Leave this world, poltergeist'.

In the third minute, just before my 3 judges came to retrieve me from my dead body's proximity, I lost my eyelids, my lips, my ears and my nose, morphing into a disgusting skeleton of a ghost, of a stationary soul, a passerby.

In the fourth minute, after the tiniest of the three Reapers had muttered an ominous "Impii non moritur", I reverted back to the distasteful transparency that I gained after death.

In the fifth minute before my official death, I became me...color began to drip from somewhere onto my skin and stretch and spread and then I turned from gas to solid.

My shoulders slouched and my head fell on my chest when I met the scrutinizing cavities of the tallest of the Reapers, the one holding the very threatening scythe that was pointed at the top of my skull as a hint of my current position, just where it's eyes where supposed to lay rotting.

It's fangs escaped it's black, black lips that it had brought into a scowl and grazed the sensible skin on it's chin, drawing a thin line of rotted blood; I averted my eyes to the cave-like surroundings these three soul-keepers brought me into. No air, for me to breathe, no light, for me to see anything but my three very observant judges, no earth beneath my bare feet, because I didn't felt one( which meant that I was levitating)...

"In Libra, tantum peccatorum pessima et erit amabilissimi mores"

The language seemed to deflower my ears, because I understood what it had said and immediately turned sour and absent. The best thing I have done is die...I don't think it will do any good against the ton of 'wicked sins' I have collected along these years to make my bones heavy as lead and thus make me incapable of doing anything but sleep...

I watched stoically as the tiniest Reaper began to add to the black side of the libra, so many black coins I thought she'd never stop; but when she did, the tallest of the Reapers approached and began adding more black coins to the already too heavy side. I turned depressive when it pulled back it's hand to grin at the emptiness of the white side; as I said, I have gathered too many sins during 27 years of life that my mother had endowed me with idiotically. I should have never been born...

But after the tallest of the three judges walked back to his place and the judge that was as tall as me approached the libra, he smiled and began adding to the white side, so many coins my eyes widened to the size they appeared to be when I lacked eyelids; after it had finished, the white side weighed twice more than the black side, making the two other Reapers scowl dissatisfied.

"The wicked never die, but nor do the good"