Shinigami
by Jade Watersilk

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Exhaustion grips me, and I fall back onto the bed. Actually, it really isn't a bed; it's more of a cot. And it's pretty fucking uncomfortable. But it's what's available, so I'm grateful.

I pull the thin blanket up to my chin and smile wryly as I remember all the times that I would be without a bed. Times were hard, but I had Solo to look after me.

The sharp sting of unforgotten memories almost brought tears to my dry eyes. Sure, I was alive, but Solo wasn't. He should have survived; he was stronger than I was.

*No* I shake my head. *He wouldn't want me to think that. He'd probably just smack me upside the head for getting so depressed. *

And he would be right.

I hate to be sad. Whenever I am, I feel this . . . presence; it comes to me, reminding me of everyone that I love and where they are. I hate death.

It's kind of ironic; the fact that I hate death. No. That's not right. I don't hate the act of death. I hate the emptiness that death leaves behind.

And I'm as empty as they come.

I roll over and try to get more comfortable. It doesn't work. Even though I'm really, really tired, I can't sleep. That makes sense; death never sleeps.

My fingers play with the end of my braid. I should really get to some sleep. If I'm tired, I won't be able to perform properly tomorrow. And that will make me dead.

Now that would be a waste. I'm not expendable. I do my job well; killing people. Nobody can pull it off quite like I do, because there is a certain finesse to taking life.

Finally, I can feel sleep ebbing at my mind. I smile in my sleep because I can't wait for a new day. I can't wait to kill again. It's what I do. It's why I'm Shinigami.

OWARI

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Disclaimers: I don't own Duo, or any of the other Gundam Boys (although I'd like to). I don't own the Gundam Universe or any of it's affiliates. I'm just an author who is borrowing Shin Kidousenki's ideas. Thank you Shin!