Reluctant Reaper

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In high school, I wrote what was considered a weird story although it would now be considered post-apocalyptic YA.

  1. The Accidental Duchess (Fairbourne Quartet Book 4).
  2. Chapter VIII: The Reluctant Reaper.
  3. From the Shadows: Q+A with Gina X. Grant (The Reluctant Reaper).
  4. Eve Ottenberg.
  5. The Reluctant Reaper.

I suspect the school administrators wanted to send me for counseling. Instead, the brilliantly insightful teacher typed it up and distributed it around the school.

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But then, real life kicked in. I earned a degree in business that near sucked the life out of me. Eventually, I started writing fanfiction back when the internet was young.

  • Eve Ottenberg.
  • The Reluctant Reaper (The Reluctant Reaper, #1) by Gina X. Grant.
  • Reluctant Reaper - E-bok - Gina X Grant () | Bokus!
  • #23 The Reluctant Reaper - Background Version.
  • Anyone remember when YahooGroups was still OneList? When we used HotBot as our search engine? My big claim to fame is, at this point, a vicarious one: I have the same agent as Suzanne Collins.

    ASMR Roleplay: There is no escaping death [Afterlife] [Reaper]

    Perhaps one day Ms. I was delighted by the combination of fantasy and humor.

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    I try to use that my own writing. No, just kidding. I would like to be able to make people happy, to be an anti-dementor. Plus it has feral desk accessories.

    Table of Contents

    Name one other urban fantasy with feral desk accessories. Still, I can't help wondering how different things might've been had I not died when I did. Being always alone, depressed and scared I could probably endure or use up my entire lifetime trying to, but eternity's a phenomenon whose scope and limits I can never dream to grasp, let alone survive. Having lived in a predominantly Catholic country, I've been preached at, laden with guilt and warned of a realm that arranges the eternal punishment of the wicked. But who could've thought such a place had any basis in fact?

    My flesh crawls and my insides turn to mud every time I think of what other sights lurk behind the closed doors, on this sadistic torture tour where all the showcased victims were once human, only they can't remember anymore how it was being treated like anything but animals. I could pass out again just thinking of my own sentence: to be thrown at the mercy of potbellied, winged viragos, the infamous Harpies, every waking moment of insomniac death.

    The Reluctant Reaper eBook by Gina X. Grant | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster

    Like I thought at the terminal, there's a very thin line between real men and sissies in the face of hellfire. The only thing that keeps me from unraveling, the only thing that holds me together in this cursed place where God Himself turns a blind eye, is the fact that at least one person in the world of the living knows about me and remembers.

    My undying light in the pitch-black depths where I descend. Memories of her readily bring tears to my eyes. A second suicide's not an option simply because you can't kill someone who's already dead. Basically, I've landed myself smack inside the perfect prison, where all the doors don't have any knobs to turn. Or there are simply no doors.

    So I turn my thoughts to Septimus Rex. The Grim Reaper knows about my past, my being an orphan for all of my childhood. This could hold the key to the mystery of why I was chosen out of countless others. Unfortunately, when it comes to my past, I have locks on locks put up for good reason. I don't delve too deep for fear that I would uncover something I shouldn't. I consider what Septimus Rex has offered me, the possibility of seeing Sam again. Though I don't want to pin my last hope on the words of the reaper, at the same time there's nothing else for me to hold on to except the wish, no matter how improbable, that I could visit Sam one last time.

    I suppose looking forward to even the briefest meeting with her in my present state is better than facing eternity without a glimmer of hope. Just a few minutes in my appointed prison yard and I'll surely cease to remember how I existed, whether I walked or crept. Forums The Watty Awards. Go Premium.