G.R.I.M.

• Jake Nelson, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2008

FLOOR THREE, EAST WING. GRIM REAPERS' INTELLIGENCE MISSION HQ, THE OTHERWORLD

Paperwork.
If there was one thing Agent KFPB loathed about her job, it was the paperwork.
There was a massive pile of it on her desk now, rivalling Everest in size. It sat there, daring her to try and finish it.
She sat back and blew a lock of chestnut-brown hair out of her face.
She always did this to herself. Every time. She constantly avoided her paperwork, and it always came back to bite her in the backside. She prayed for something, an assignment, scrubbing the floors of the cafeteria with a toothbrush, getting a cavity filled, ANYTHING that would get her away from the loathsome presence in front of her.
Like a miracle, the jet-black mobile phone at her hip jangled. Salvation! She snatched it up and flipped it open.
"Agent KFPB speaking," she answered crisply.
"KFPB, this is CRFH. Report to Dispatch immediately. We have a Renegade."
"On my way." She flipped the phone shut and glanced at the malevolent paperwork. She could have sworn it glowered back at her with a look of arrogance; a look that dripped with spite, almost as if it was saying "Running away, eh?"
"I'll show you," she growled. "I am NOT running away. I'll finish you off, the minute I get back."
But it was an empty threat, both she and the paperwork knew it. She sighed, pushed her chair back and stood wearily, then made her way past endless identical cubicles to the internal elevators at the far side of the room.

DISPATCH OFFICE, FLOOR TWO, EAST WING. GRIM REAPERS' INTELLIGENCE MISSION HQ, THE OTHERWORLD

In contrast to KFPB's horrifically messy cubicle, Dispatch Office was as neat as the proverbial pin. Along one gleaming wall stood a bank of golden elevator doors; against the other was a fine mahogany desk at which sat Dispatch Officer CRFH, a well-groomed man in an immaculate pin-striped suit. He eyed KFPB's casual clothing disapprovingly as she entered. "Have a seat," he motioned, indicating a small-backed, armless chair in front of the desk.
KFPB took a seat. "So, fill me in, bossman."
CRFH winced internally, but kept up his external composure. "Female Renegade. Biologically, about fifteen years of age. Broke through into the world of the living approximately two minutes ago, currently located in New York City. Died in the year-" CRFH consulted his brief- "1900. Murdered."
"And she'll be wanting revenge, yes?"
"Naturally. OK, standard procedure. Flash the badge, tell her to come along like a good little Renegade. That doesn't work, bring out the scythe."
KFPB rolled her eyes. "I know standard procedure, Chief."
CRFH's left eye twitched slightly. "Good." An elevator opened behind KFPB. "Get to it, then."
KFPB stepped into the elevator. "Bye, Commandant!" she called, waving as the doors closed.
CRFH sighed. She was a cheeky one, that girl. Promising reaper, but much too facetious for her own good. He shook his head and returned to his filing.