Part Two- Decision
  Life never seemed hard to deal with before this all happened. In the past, I had a quite carefree life. I'd had friends, my family, hell, I'd even had a girlfriend. But just four hours ago, my body decided it was my parent's time to die, and I sacrificed them to become the Grim Reaper.  Why is that? I look at myself in a puddle I pass. The person who stares back from the puddle is not me. He has deep red eyes. He's cold an emotionless. Everything about the man I see in the puddle says "stay away."  Suddenly, I realize something. I don't actually regret killing my parents. My heart only hurts because they meant something to me. My feet begin to move again, walking quickly, but not quite jogging.  
  This quiet street is unsettling. Almost like it should be more than it is. Kinda like me. I've always been a disappointment. Now, I'm a disappointing murderer who's feeling odd pangs of complete sorrow and lonliness. All alone, I just keep moving forward. There's nothing else I can do at this point. Moving forward will take me to the future, and hopefully away from my past. What were mom and dad feeling as I tore my scythe through them? What did they think as they saw their own son slaughter them? I'm sure they wished I'd never been born. In a way, I kinda think that too. If I were never born, then they'd be alive and happy. A sad smile spreads across my face, and I wipe my eyes, to make sure that no remains of my previous tears are there. None that I can feel still stay on my face.
  A familiar ache begins to bubble up again. The pain that tells me to kill some more people. The scythe starts to materialize and before it finishes, I throw it on the ground. Life as I know it has begun to change. The ache won't go away, and the scythe remains on the ground. Why won't it go away? Can't it see that I have no need for it? I don't want to be the Grim Reaper, so why am I still feeling the pain of wanting to murder? Thoughts pulse through my mind. Names float in, as if begging in a sweet voice 'kill me, Damien, kill me please.' Sickened with myself, I run past the scythe, leaving it behind. Why kill people? So people they love can go through as much pain as I go through right now? Do I kill them to save lives? What do I kill for? I don't see the point! People should be able to live for as long as they please, with the people they love most. The ache continues to bother me, even though I'm attempting to ignore it. Still, I run from the scythe, hoping the annoyance will be left behind with it. The more I hurry away, the more intense the pain becomes. It starts to burn. Before it can get any worse, I'm forced to slow to a stop. Side to side, I look back and forth, for somewhere to sit down. On my left, there's a building. On my right, a large sycamore tree. Without even thinking, my feet turn and begin moving towards the tree. This tree is tall and gnarled. In a way, it's beautiful, elegant. The structure proves to be sturdy. Suddenly, an idea makes it's way right into the core of the mind inside my skull. I will climb this tree and sleep in it, providing I can even get to sleep with the annoying burning sensation. With a strong grasp, I grip the tree and begin to pull myself up. One foot after another, moving in an upwards direction, making sure to get on a sturdy, gnarled part of the tree. That's how I manage to move. Though it takes a considerable amount of time, I make it to a nice, large branch. My chest releases a sigh. Nothing in this world seems worth it, at this point. I'm the Grim Reaper, but I don't want to do my job. Why would I? After giving it some thought, I decide I just won't kill people. Why should I? I mean, why was I even "chosen" or whatever. This job is like one of those unerasable sins that people try to go to confessions for, but no matter what, the sin can never be whiped from existance. So you hide it and bear the burden? Wrong, you forget about it and pretend you're forgiven. That's exactly what I'll do. I'll remain on the run, and I'll be sure to never use that damned scythe ever again. Everyone on the world will be able to live peacefully and lovingly with their families. Who am I to play god?
  I try to get myself into a comfortable position on the branch I'm sitting on. As I think I got a good position, I feel myself slipping. No, not in any sort of good way. My body falls, and falls right off the branch. My eyes widen as this happens, for I know this fall won't come without injury. I tuck my legs and arms into the fetal position and hit the ground like that. I hear a loud snapping noise, and I know that something broke. My eyes widen in fear as I search my body for what broke. As I feared, it's a leg. As I see it, the pain hits me like a ton of bricks. The sharp pains and just overall aches are just unbearable. I let out a small cry, nothing like the one I made earlier. This one is more animalistic and pained. The undeniable agony takes over my whole body and causes me to twitch and have random muscle spasms. I groan and gasp for about ten to fifteen minutes.
  The pain slightly dies down after an hour of attempting to ignore it, but I haven't moved the whole time. I know this will be serious if I can't find some method of fixing the problem, but I'm unsure of what I'm going to do. I've never had a broken bone in my life, up until now, so I have no idea how to deal with it. What to do, what to do.... Once again, the burning feeling in my chest begins to bug me again. With my leg, it's very hard to deal with. Just as I feel like I'm about to pass out, a hand touches my shoulder. It's a girl, with very short medium brown hair that's curled inwards. She looks very serious, and her chocolate eyes peer into my eyes with such intesnity, that it almost takes my breath. I go to say something, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I look carefully at her face. It's slightly splashed with freckles and her lips hare a deep red. She's short and very lean.  There's a few more seconds of silence between us. The girl breathes, ready to speak.
  "Are you Damien Rose?" She asks. Is she part of the police department.
  "N-no," I barely choke out in response.
  "Liar, you are. You have the circle birthmark on your neck, the one I was told to look for," She says. At this point, I'm positive that she's part of the police.
  "How did you find me so fast?" I ask, extremly curious and delirious.
  "You threw your scythe away, that's how," She explains," All these souls are swarming it, ready to be reaped, but no one is answering their prayers. So I came to find you and make you give them salvation."
  "W-what?" I reply. This girl makes no sense at all. My eyelids begin to feel heavy, and my body seems to be slipping.
  "Geez. You're tired from the strain. Okay, go to sleep, or you'll die," She says. I understand her, but I don't get what she's saying. So I let myself drift off into a deep sleep in hopes that I can trust this very strange woman. Maybe, when I wake up, she'll have answers to my questions. Or I'll be in jail.