“I didn’t do it.”
“As you can see, many demonstrators with their red placards have gathered here in front of the U.N., demanding Death to publicly address Security Council Resolution 2566 which ‘condemns his homicidal and genocidal actions without consent of the individual or any civil authority’. So far, he has not shown.”
“Thank you, Sally. Now, onto finance: the dollar has again weakened—”
Death tossed aside the remote. “You see, Mrs Clyde, those I have to ‘address’?”
Mrs Clyde sipped her tea, then discreetly discharged it back into her cup.
“Is your hot-water system malfunctioning again?”
Mrs Clyde put the tea down. “Bloody cheap-labor imports. Anyway, I am sure people can be reasonable if you explain things clearly. Now, run through it again. Remember: use your diaphragm and enunciate.”
“I don’t have a diaphragm but I know what you mean.”
“Don’t be so technical. Many people don’t appreciate that.”
And then Death began his speech.
Glares filled the U.N. Assembly Hall. None escaped Death’s notice. The hate surged when he mentioned the bodycount attributed to the debt-based banking system, war and GM tarts. And so he hurried, but not too much as Mrs Clyde taught, to his concluding statement.
“…consistent to your charter, I do not make distinction to race, sex, language or religion. My duties are post-mortem and therefore does not require permission. To summarize: I do not kill people. People kill people.”
Boos and hisses were hurled against him. At least in here there were no eggs and tomatoes.
Then they slowly approached the podium, shaking their fists. “What about disease, famine?” – “Lack of hot water?!” – “And natural death? You’re responsible for that at least!”
“I covered those in paragraphs two, three, eight and one.”
Death then found something odd. There was a large number of fashion accessories, papers and folders in red, not unlike the sea of placards outside. And there was a particular glare which stood out. It was one which he found familiar. He saw it in the mirror and in Mrs Death but these pair of eye sockets were different. The blaring red hooded robe really brought them out. They were mean.
Death gritted his teeth and strode towards the red figure… then he detected a faint odor which nobody seemed to notice.
Green clouds billowed out of the doors. The shouting intensified although no protester or police dared to actually touch Death. In this instance, he did not mind people’s ignorance. To make a path, all he had to do was wave a hand. Or a scythe.
“He gassed the U.N.!” – “Terrorist!” – “Murderer!”
Death reached the police command truck and tore off the door. The one in red stepped out.
“Hello War, how fitting to find you here.”
Silence. Cameras focused on the two cloaked figures.
War pulled out a dagger but Death parried the thrust with his scythe.
War snickered. “Hey, it’s my job to organize nonsensical treaties and trade and to incite war.”
“Yes, but why frame me whilst I merely performed my duties?”
“But you admit it now.”
War shrugged. “You caught me. Doesn’t matter now. Everything is in motion. You think humanity will change now that they know?”
With a huff, Death put away his scythe and whipped out a… a B-press and a foil packet which was fast expanding. Then he dropped the latter. “Fine, kill each other all you want. I have a hot-water unit to replace. Enjoy the stink bomb.”