The question is: what color will everything be when I come for you?

This particular time it was a series of neutrals, followed by a chalky blue sky and a complimentary darker shade of the same color on the horizon. The sun is modest, with the wind cutting into ones skin. A crowded people hustle and bustle down below on the rough pathways, as rust red and stone gray buildings tower ahead. Others rest comfortably in the reassuring metal boxes; the byproduct of theirs a sickening mushroom soup gray. It is astonishing how many times a year those vehicles claim the lives of so many and deliver so many souls to me. One particular vehicle, complete with painfully fluorescent red paint, rotating wheel caps, and a gold trim, was driving ever so haphazardly. What the driver does not realize is that he will, metaphorically speaking, carelessly drive into my arms. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

A quick note about our driver:
His name is Tyler McGill.
He goes by “Ty”.

“Ty”, as I shall from now on call him, is twenty years of age. He lives in a building made of rust red brick with the outside being decorated with an off-white triangular roof and tapering pillars of the same color. Three Greek letters: Omega, Theta, and Delta, are painted in yellow at the top of the building. A few rolls of toilet paper are strewn across the front deck, as well as beer bottles.

Earlier this morning, his vehicle described earlier was in the garage askew to the building. Its top was down at the time.  Ty, along with his partner Becki (No, you didn’t read that wrong. Her name is spelled with an “i”.) jaunted into the garage. Joining him was his accomplice Brody, and his partner Lexi. Ty opened up the mini fridge in the garage and tossed each person a beer. They hopped into the convertible from above, completely neglecting the existence of doors. Our main protagonist, if you can even call him that, took a big swig of beer before he opened the garage door and sped out.

If anything, alcohol is a burden to me,
for it means a shorter lifespan, and
subsequently, more souls to collect.

For Ty, it was not his kidney failing that killed him, even though alcohol was certainly a helping hand in the end to his short lifespan. We return to the crowded streets and the intimidating buildings, where Ty’s vehicle is above both the speed limit and most likely the noise regulation, considering he is blasting a tasteless techno song that sounds like a whale choking on an electric guitar. He takes a sip of beer, then turns to the back of the car and asks Brody,
“Do you know any cool things to do?”
Brody responds “The Hancock Tower has a wicked view of the city!”
Ty laughs at the name of the building, and then decides that the group is going there. He all of a sudden makes a sharp right turn, causing Brody to spill his beer on Lexi. She lets out an eardrum popping squeal, then laughs and starts licking the beer off of herself. Then Brody joins in.

I am disappointed with the
“evolution” of the human brain.
I do not seem to understand how
humans could evolve into stupidity.

They pull up to the Hancock Tower parking lot, but not before Ty gets another beer from a street vendor. They make way to the elevator, which happens to be crowded. Ty was talking to Brody rather loudly about how the beer at the fraternity home tastes way better than the beer he got from the vendor. The others in the elevator did not enjoy the entourage’s behavior, or the smell of beer they introduced to the small space. Almost every patron vacated the elevator as soon as it reached the second floor, most likely to use the stairs or any other form of vertical travel through the building that doesn’t involve the stench of beer.
A drunken Ty stumbles out of the elevator, with laughing friends following. He draws the attention of everyone in the observation roof, those with children pushing them away for our soon dead compatriot. He tripped and fell into the chain link fence, preventing falls off the edge. He had a terrible idea.
“Hey, how about I climb up the fence and you guys take a picture!” Ty managed to get out.
“Ha ha, yeah!” encouraged Becki.
Ty started to climb, still holding his beer. He had some trouble at first, but he was able to get a foothold. His friends pull out their phones and start taking flash photography, even though multiple signs say that it is not allowed and it is the middle of the day. He started to rock back and forth on the fence, because the other fences would get pulled and would crash into each other. Coincidentally, on this very day, on that very fence, happened to be a very loose bolt. A bolt when unthreaded would render the fence a heap of fence parts. The fence made a somewhat satisfying metal on metal clang, which to everyone’s ears, was no doubt the end of a life. Funny, how from the beginning of the fall all the way to the end, Ty held his beer for dear life.

He came down with a trail of screams and beer foam following. Many heads were turned. Many gasps were heard. One last swig of beer was taken. I caught him in my sweet embrace.
His body was a pancake on the ground, his frail limbs twisted into inhuman forms. I know that’s a gruesome sight, but I can’t sugar coat everything. I am amazed that a human could replace common sense with a beer and end their unfulfilled life so abruptly. It sickens me, to be honest.

A last note from your narrator: I am disturbed by humans.