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Author's note: continuing story. last chapter found here

And so I became death's roommate. While it may sound like the worst horror movie ever, it turned out to be pretty nice. For reasons I couldn't fathom, he actually lived in an apartment. A big one. The building itself was pretty nondescript, bricks, mortar, cutters. The elevators were dirty, and the halls looked relatively boring, with peeling wallpaper in bland colors.

However, when he opened the door, it I was given pause. The front door opened into a big open area, hardwood floors, and walls that looked like they had been tye-dyed with a spiral green and blue pattern, but with no center to the twisting colors. A large round rug a deep shade of purple, shot through with jagged white lines covered the center of the room. Against the wall on my left, sat the widest leather couch i'd ever seen, and in front of that, a small coffee table of black marble streaked with white. On the opposite side of the room from the couch was a TV that almost completely encompassed the wall it stood against.

To my right, the wall opened up to reveal a very well equipped looking kitchen, in shades of brown and red. Across the room from me was a window, just above one arm of the couch, that held a great view of the city. Next to the window were two closed doors, spaced out along the wall one was the same green streaked around the walls, while the other matched the shade of blue.

Between the doors was a bookshelf, the top of which was covered with various sized books of content I couldn't discern, save on hard-bound item with a spine at least two inches thick with "BOOBIES" in bright red letters covering most of the spine's length. The bottom half of the shelf was a closed cabinet, and the whole thing was made of a deep red-hued wood, that contrasted the twisting wall design.

"Kitchen, my room, your room," Roger slipped through the doorway as I marveled at the huge open space, then pointed first at the obvious, then the green door, then the blue. He backpedaled into the middle of the room, held his arms wide, and then flopped them down to his sides. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"Hardly," I mumbled as I composed myself after the initial shock of his residence, "Is this place rent controlled?" I asked as a reflex of living in the city for too long.

He raised an eyebrow at me, "You realise that this is the afterlife, right?"

"Yeah..." I let my voice trail off as the feeling that I had just asked a very stupid question settled on me, without any reason as to why it was so stupid.

"And I'm death," I nodded stupidly, "And do you realise what that makes me?" Finally I shook my head. He grinned, "I'm the freaking landlord."

"Ah," I said with the smallest of grins.

He smirked at me and flopped onto the couch, using the table as a foot-rest, "Well I've had a long day. Make yourself at home." I stood there for a moment as he picked the remote control of the table, turned the TV on and began flipping through the channels. I wasn't sure what was on, but some of the things he passed by looked bizzare.

"Uh, if we're going to be living together, you mind if I ask you a question?" I asked as I sat down on the couch. He gave something of a grunt in the negative as he continued channel surfing. "Why, exactly do you look like..." I waved my hand vaguely at him, "this?"

He turned to look at me, his eyes moving up and down, as if he were trying to decide something about me. "Why not?" he answered finally.

I opened my mouth to respond, and quite suddenly realized that I didn't have a response. Why not indeed. "But, why this specifically? Why not taller, or older? Or female?" I finally managed.

"Who names their daughter Roger?" he raised an eyebrow at me.

"You're someone's daughter?" I asked, without actually thinking.

"Do I look like someone's daughter?" he asked with a grin, as I realised I was just playing his straight-man.

"You know what I mean. Why are you this, and not something else? Why do you look like some kid playing hookey from high school, and not the bringer of death?"

He smiled at me, as if I couldn't see the forest for the trees, even as it was pointed out to me, "And what does the bringer of death look like?" My brow knitted at the question. "Should I be dark and forboding? You want a skeleton in a big black robe taking you to the mysterious abyss? Who says death's a bad thing? Some of my best friends are dead, and they love it." I couldn't help quirk a brow at "some," but he didn't seem to notice. "Not to mention that almost every single religion, every culture, every person, has their own idea of this physical representation of death. You expect me to conform to all of them at once?" I shrugged weakly, and his smile seemed to get bigger. I knew then this would end in a bad joke. "Even the grim reaper isn't a universal metaphor. No, I'd rather be the death I'd like to be. I'll be the Jolly Roger, I'll take people to the next life with a real smile, not some bone-headed grin." He seemed to straighten up as he spoke, until he finished with a toothy, white grin on a head held high. I couldn't help but smile back at his conviction in looking fourteen. He gave a satisfied nod, then leaned back into the couch and continued channel surfing.

There was a pause as I turned to the massive screen and watched the clips pass through it, then he spoke up again, "You mind if I ask you something while we're pouring out our souls here?"

I looked at him then shook my head, "Uh-uh, go ahead."

"I've never seen anyone take to death so easily as you. Was your life really that bad?" he continued clicking the button on the remote.

I thought for a second. I'd almost forgotten what I'd left behind with all the events of the day. "Well, it's like I said when I met you, I didn't have much to live for. My job was a pain in the a**, I was never very close to my family, no woman in my life, few friends, never very attached to worldly possessions..." I trailed off as I realised I was pointing out how my own life had been pretty much devoid of any significance at all. "You don't get many people who don't have much to live for, and stay away from suicide out of habit?"

He seemed to think for a moment, "Mmm, yeah, I guess so, but even they're usually a little surprized, or sceptical at first. You just accepted it a little better than I'm used to." I shrugged at him as the TV finally stopped flicking between channels, "Oh, I love this guy."

I turned to the screen to se a man jump on the back of a very large, three-headed dog, and wrap his arms around the center neck. "Wait a second, is that the crocodile hunter?"