The Apprentice | A Work in Progress
{ 404 words so far } “I am Death,” he tells me as he hands me the scythe. He had personally forged the blade out of stainless steel himself. I can’t help but be amazed at his resourcefulness, and the meticulousness of his craft, his attention to detail and his drive to be the best he is at what he does. “If you join me, Callie, you will be Death’s apprentice. That is, if you agree to be my assistant.” He presents even more weapons of horror to me from a briefcase that lay on the table in his basement. I could not begin to describe most of them with words. “And provided that you were not just telling me what I wanted to hear when I saved you from the empty life of a rudderless street urchin you were living.” That stings. I hate his throwing my recent status as a homeless person out at me as some kind of grand judgment of my worth. I start to think that in his deep-seeded misanthropy …