“Bryce Middleton, date of birth, 9:17 am, 9th of January of 1999.” He says while reading his book with thick bent pages in one hand and pen in the other.The man watches from afar, on the street, where more humans surrounded the road, and it seemed no one noticed him to be the only one dressed in a fine black tuxedo, his visible mini scythe hanging from his belt or the fact he had a book with ‘human death records’ written in bold text.
”Date of death, 8:20 pm on the 31st of October, 2017. Cause of death, excessive bleeding and blood loss from a car accident.” The man closes the book and groans, it was exhausting to do the same thing which went on days on end, but it was soon to be his occupation for life as he was still in school, training and training to repeatedly observe and record deaths.
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Blood seeped and dripped down his face, painting his tan skin and blonde hair to be red.He was bleeding from his brain and stomach while his ribs were broken from the impact of the crash. He was drifting to eternal sleep.
Bryce awoke and he could feel dreary with a shot of pain in his stomach, but no visible wound. He blinked before taking in his surroundings, that he was surrounded by pure darkness. But, off in the distance he could see a white but aged door. He walked towards it and as he stood in front of it he couldn't seem to turn the handle to find what lays behind it.He spat blood onto the door and thought 'I gotta do it now or I'm dead.' He firmly grabs the knob and dashes