The Grim Reaper came around yesterday and told me that I have one week left before he comes back to collect my soul. Shit, time really flies as it only seems like yesterday when I made that deal with him. I tried to reason with him, telling him that I am 68 years old and since the average American male only lives to be 77, that if he just came back in another 9 years, that I would be more than ready to go with him. I told the Grim Reaper that I had just met this fine-looking woman and I wanted to start the final chapter of my life with her. He said that he was tired of hearing people beg for their lives and that I had nothing to negotiate with, but if I could find a talking raven, that maybe he would listen to the bird.
I searched high and low for a talking raven and everyone thought that I was stark raving mad for trying to talk with these birds. My search seemed futile, but then a raven came knocking on my door at midnight. I let it in and I fed it and I took care of it and we became good friends and she said that her name was Lenore. We had some great conversations and I told the bird that I needed her to talk the Grim Reaper out of taking my soul. The bird said, “You have been off your meds for two weeks and you need to start taking that Lithium again and get off of this crazy train. There is no Grim Reaper and I am not a bird, I am your brain speaking to you, and I took on the guise of this raven, because I thought this was the only way to get through to you. Promise me that you will start taking your medication again.” I told Lenore, “Nevermore” and then I stopped talking to her after that.
Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where this week the prompt is collect.