The most annoying thing about death is all the paperwork involved. Every morning, Lyle and I make the trip to the warehouse to sift through today’s files and see whose soul we get to summon and send into the light. “Harold Lassiter, aged eighty-six,” I read from the list of names. “Heart attack. Leaves behind… Continue reading The Deathworkers Agency
Writer + Doodler
Brighton Rose 