I own all of the words i'm writing down. pardon my fractions.

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People have always asked me what I want to do for a living. Sure my ultimate goal is to make films or help the mentally insane, but little does anyone else know that , I've already been doing something for quite a long time.

Grave-burying.

It started when I was 10 I think. Burying. No, I haven't been burying people. I've been burying their secrets, their guilt, their rage. Even my own. Then, covering it up like it was just a clot in the ground.

Why am I saying this?

The past that I have been burying is starting to push through the barrier of air and dirt. From my neck being almost cut with a knife, to watching him blow up and almost choke him to death over who ate his cereal . I've seen alot of things spilled onto this floor. Blood, spit, water, even candle wax. But, it's always my job to clean it up or cover it up like anything else.

I can't do it anymore. I'm tired of seeing him die over and over again, only to befriend the reaper over and over again and both of them ostracize me. Over and Over again. The only thing he hasn't done is rape him.

Why Am I telling you this?

I am sworne by a pact. A pact of blood. And, even though the reaper and I hardly cross paths, when we do, It is I who recieves a punishment far worse than he. Only a fourth of it is mentally rattling. One fourth is the hardening of the middle of my chest. One eighth is the stings that sting and show for a little while. The rest; well, everyone blames the digger when a body is missing.

so here I am, smile and disposition sewn on my face. all I can do know is try to pick up the pieces when the reaper goes after him again and tries to fix it.